“Oh shit.” I held my tumbler to my lips and tried not to laugh. “Hope you guys never watch Toy Story 3 together.”
He leaned his cheek on his hand. “You know what movie makes me think of my mother?”
“Tell me.” That night I'd talked more than I had in months—about the sanctuary, the animals, Hades, Persephone, and Morrigan, Ariel and Taggart and the new baby. I’d even touched on my time in the service, but Sebastian had barely opened up until now.
“Snow White,” he whispered.
“Yikes.” I had no words for how fucked up that was.
He grimaced. “You know how people say so-and-so was raised by wolves? Wolves are more direct than my mother and less driven. They’re equally dangerous.”
“Wolves are way more caring than most people think. They form lasting attachments and love and grieve and mourn.”
“And if you know their nature, you’ll be prepared for what they’ll do. People are duplicitous. Not my mom, though. She’s the Polar Star. Love her or hate her, you could navigate by her. She’s exactly what it says on the tin.”
“And what’s that?”
“Nah.” He shook his head as though to clear his thoughts. “We should talk about something else.”
“Are you tipsy?”
“Maybe.”
“It’s getting late. Dinner was delicious.” I checked the time on my phone. Eleven thirty. “You should probably head back, huh?”
“Let me help you wash up the dishes,” Sebastian offered.
I stood and started gathering things up. “I’ll get them later. There’s hardly enough room in the rig for one person.”
“All right.” He stood and stretched his compact body. “I’ll do it, then. You rest for a while.”
“I rested all day,” I reminded him. “I thought we’d leave tonight, but I had such a good time talking, and it’s late. It’s better if we wait until morning now.”
“And you were drinking.” He shook one of the two empty wine bottles and winked. “Better drink a gallon of water and take some ibuprofen, or you’ll be dragging yourself to Colorado.”
“Good idea.”
“You won’t crate Hades and Persephone all the way home, will you?”
“That’s the protocol. We’ll make good time, and they’ll be thrilled to get home where they can run around and pee all over everything again.”
“Bet you can’t wait to let them free.”
“Yeah. It’s like what you said. They have their nature, and a trip like this goes against it.”
“They’ve been amazing. I’m so honored to have spent time with all of you.”
I gestured at the food. “What do you need to take back with you?”
“Why don't you keep the leftovers for your trip home?”
“That’d be great. Thank you.”
“I’ll just need the basket. Charles would lose faith in me if I didn’t return it.”
“Is Charles your guy?” Sebastian hadn’t said, but from the things Deacon said, I got the feeling he was gay.
“My guy?” Twin spots of color crested on his cheeks “No, why would you think that?”
“No reason.” I turned away, embarrassed.
“Charles is my father’s PA. Molly arranged the meal with him.”
“I…don't have the kind of life where people arrange meals for me. Sorry if I assumed.”
He ran his hand over the basket. “You can’t be expected to know the players without a program.”
“Hey,” I said, “I had a really good time. We should do this again when you come to visit. I hope you will. I look forward to it.”
He dipped his head regally. “I’ll save you a spot on my dance card.”
Was it weird that I found Sebastian kind of charming?
I sensed he was a bit shy. Alone with him, I’d discovered a fun, funny, irreverent kid who’d made me laugh but also asked insightful questions.
I hadn’t talked about myself that much in twenty years.
I hadn’t revealed so much about my life to anyone since Serena.
Before I knew it, hours had passed pleasantly where I didn’t once think of my past or my scars or lost friends. Lost hope.
He sauntered away hugging his basket to himself. Nose near my hand, Morrigan whined.
“What?” I asked as though she’d answer. “Did you have fun too? Gonna miss him?”
She gave a soft woof. Hades and Persephone watched us silently from inside their large kennel. I checked their water bowls.
“You guys were good today.” I praised them before pulling out two of the fancy dog treats Bast had given me. I slipped one through the bars to Hades. He stretched out happily to give it a chew.
“Good, huh?” Morrigan came over and flopped down next to the fence. “You miss your friends, huh, baby.”
I glanced at the sky to gage what the temperature would be. Because of the wind, it was especially cold there on the bluff overlooking the water. But the tradeoff was a canopy of stars so bright it felt like I could reach up and pick them like ripe apples. Morrigan’s fur, crested with moonlight, rippled under my fingers.
“It’s a nice night. What do you say we camp out here? You want to hang out with Hades and Persephone?”
The two hybrids, hearing their names, bumped the kennel wall with their long, wolfy snouts.
“I’ll be back in a sec.” I went into the trailer for my sleeping bag, a lantern, and the bottle of Maker’s Mark. When I got back, Morrigan quivered with excitement. “I know, girl. You’ve missed your pals, huh?”
Once I opened the kennel gate even a few inches, Morrigan squeezed inside happily. The animals greeted each other with excited sniffs and rubs and a little good-natured play fighting.
I unfurled my bedroll and squeezed in after them, bringing my bottle and latching the gate carefully behind me before making a makeshift pallet for myself. By the time I was lying down, looking up at the stars, Morrigan was ready to curl up at my side.
I took a long pull of bourbon.
What, I wondered, would the boys from my unit think of me dining with TV stars and sleeping with wolfdogs. My unit had once been called “The Wolfpack,” although by my time, it had been renamed several times over. During my service, we’d been the Mountaineers.
I bet Tony from my unit would have called me a damn hobo and a clown for walking away from Serena and the kids. Shin would open his eyes, glance over, then go back to listening to his music. Berto would give me all kinds of shit, like he always did, trying to make something perfectly innocent into a sex thing.
“That’s not me, Morrigan.” I turned to my emotional support dog. “My eyes never fell out of my head over the girls the way Berto’s did, but despite what they thought, I didn’t dig the boys either.”
There had only ever been Serena, the girl I’d met in the seventh grade and had grown to know and love and eventually desire passionately. And God, I had wanted her. There was no doubt about that. Even after three kids, even after the trauma, I’d lost none of my desire for her.
But eight years after the accident, four after the divorce, and two of knowing she would climb into bed with her new husband every night, there had still been no one else for me, not emotionally, and not physically.