"What's going on?" I sounded grumpy, but that would have to be fine. Aver could be grumpy.
"It's just a family in need of support. You know how running a pack is. You're only as strong as the weakest of you."
Never mind the fact my father had never uttered an expression like that in his life. I knew this moment for what it was: a trap.
I guess that meant only Branson, Nash, and Wyatt got a break from Elder manipulations.
Still, the people of the pack weren't my parents. For the most part, the shifters who lived on this side of the island had grown up in this pack. Generations of shifters had been born and grown up here. And we'd had transplants as well, those who had come from other packs that were less compatible with them. And those people were the ones would suffer during all this confusion with leadership.
"Is it serious?" I asked, keeping in step with my father to his Range Rover.
"Not yet, but I think it could be. A recent pledge came with her children. She's a single mother and very ill."
My father didn't know a thing about caring for children or the ill. He likely planned on getting there and writing a check to make the problem go away.
"I'll follow you," I growled.
Again, his eyes widened, but he quickly blinked the expression away. "If that's what you want…"
I didn't bother answering the not-actually-authentic question but got in my car and turned around, following my father's car to a small manufactured home. A few toys lay scattered in the small yard, but the windows and blinds were shut. In the driveway, Paul's car was already parked in the vacant space, so I parked behind my father on the side of the street.
Paul was a relatively recent member of the Walker Bay pack who had quickly become indispensable both here with the pack and over at my own home with my cousins and their mates. I hadn't known he was already here, and if I had, I wouldn't have come. I trusted Paul to be able to care for both kids and the ill.
The front door opened, and Paul came out carrying a large plastic trash bag. When he spotted the two of us, he froze but recovered quickly. "Is something wrong?" he called out. "Something with the pack? The cousins?"
Paul didn't know where to lay his concern, but he was ready nonetheless.
"No, no, nothing is wrong, Paul," my father boomed, sounding much too jovial for a man on a sick-call. "I'm here to help, and I believe my son would like to help as well."
If he spoke any louder, those who lived in the homes surrounding would flood out of their houses to see what all the shouting was about. I hastened forward to get inside before he could show me off like a prized pony. Inside, the home was clean, if not a little cluttered. Three children sat in the living room watching cartoons while the mother sat hunched over the dining room table. Tyrone, another new pack member, stood behind her, his thick brown fingers deftly braiding the woman's frizzy hair back off her face.
"Thank you so much, Tutu. It feels amazing just to get it up," the woman said with a tissue to her glowing red nose.
My gaze met with Tyrone's, and I arched a brow at him. Tutu… ?
"It's what my niece calls me," he grunted. "It's starting to stick."
"Hush now, Tutu," Paul called from the other room. He returned into sight with a baby on his hip. "When you finish there, I've got one more dirty diaper where this one came from."
Until that point, my father had stood, ashen-faced, near the front door. I smirked at how out of his element he looked, but then he jolted forward. "What can I do to help?" he asked.
Paul and Tyrone both stared at each other. Paul was the first to recover. "Um, yes, Interim Alpha Walker, after diapers, I was going to start some soup, then lunch and naps. Basically, if you have a hand and time to help, I'd appreciate it."
I was sure the mother was getting a kick out of four grown men needing to come together to do the job she normally did on her own. But even though the kids were quiet now. I knew how loud they could be when they wanted.
Even though Kansas and Wyatt's child was just almost old enough not to be considered a newborn, when those four children combined their forces, they could scream the roof off.
I fully expected my father to counteroffer and agree to manage or some bullshit like that. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and went into the kitchen. I watched him move, wondering if I was seeing the same man I'd known all my life. My father never cooked. In fact, he hated doing things he could just as easily hire someone else to do.
Paul went with him, quietly giving him directions on how to get started, and as my father began cutting an onion, I realized if I didn't help, I'd be the one standing around.
If there was one task I knew I could do that would help those around me the most, it was changing diapers. I turned to Paul, coming out of the kitchen with the baby still on his hip and a horrible smell floating around them. "Let me handle this little guy." I said. "You're a better supervisor anyway." He didn't seem lost or unsure but calm and confident.
Paul shrugged and handed me the baby.
***
Several hours passed, and though I'd noticed each one—my skin itching to return to Hollister—I couldn't leave while there was still care to be given. We got the children changed, then fed. After that came the process of putting those of nap-age down for the afternoon. Once they were asleep, I felt confident I could leave without detriment to anyone.
The biggest surprise of all was that my father was still there, helping where he could. He didn't interact with the children a lot but stayed busy in the kitchen cooking lunch, cleaning, and then starting something for them to heat up for dinner.
One day of not being an entitled, homophobic asshole wasn't going to erase a lifetime of distrust.
"I need to get going, Paul. Is there anything else I can do before I do?"
Paul looked around for something that needed doing. "Maybe just take the garbage out on your way? I just took that trash out." But with diapers, tissues, and other extra garbage, it overflowed once again. "We'll stay here until everyone gets down for the night, so don't worry about us."
I grabbed the trash bag, replacing the can with a new liner before finding my father. "I'm leaving now, Father. I'll be leaving into town for a bit on business."
I didn't wait for his reply. The children were all quiet, or sleeping like their mother, so I left silently. The moment I stepped out of the house, my steps lengthened, bringing me to my truck. The urge to grab my phone and check to see if Hollister had replied was strong, but if I did, I wouldn't be able to stay away longer, and I needed to make one more stop before I was free. I'd already been away from him longer than I'd ever intended. The fury I felt at missing those hours with him wasn't something I could tamp down, so I didn't try the entire drive over to my cousin's home.
My home.
Except, as the beautiful bayside cabin came into view, I didn't feel the same contentment as I once had. Now, if Hollister were inside, safe and secure, waiting for me to return home, that would be something else entirely.
I opened the door and stepped out, convincing myself I could smell Hollister's scent. It was wishful thinking. He wasn't here. He couldn't be.
I tried to shake away some of my simmering anger at being away from Hollister. My cousins didn't deserve my temper, and neither did their mates or children.