"It's okay, Hollister," Wyatt said comfortingly. "He'll stay outside then. If he doesn't want to go, that's his choice. But we don't have to let him in."
The four of them walked to the house, Branson keeping watch on me until the other three had gone inside. He followed them in, closed the door, and locked it.
***
The hours went by, but the door never opened. I retreated back to the forest line so I wouldn't frighten the children when they woke up. My clothes wore torn from the fights, and my face ached. I'd bruise, but it would heal quickly. Like Nash's nose.
My lips twitched at that. The circumstances around headbutting him made me feel like shit, but actually headbutting the man after nearly forty years of his teasing had felt good. When the others would get wound up, they'd go in the yard and fight it out. After, they'd come in with bruises and cuts but smiles, like punching each other had been all the other needed.
I'd never joined in. Never had an anger that I thought would be fixed by pummeling another.
My phone rang, and my chest felt light, filled with effervescent bubbles. Maybe Hollister wasn't ready to forgive me, but he was at least ready to talk on the phone.
Except it wasn't Hollister, but my father. I answered.
"Aver, did you lose track of time? The guests are arriving, and you are not here."
It looked like I really would get the fuck-you party Hollister told me I was planning. Only not in the way I thought. "The party's off."
"I think the connection cut out. It sounded like you said the party is off? What do you mean off? Do you need me to postpone?"
"No. You need to cancel it. Or have it anyway, I'm sure the pack members will enjoy the food and music without us there."
Mr. Boots padded over the fallen leaves and sticks, coming from the direction of the house. He stopped three feet away from me and sat on his hind legs before lifting his paw and beginning to groom himself.
I was supposed to be surrounded by friends, proudly showing off my mate as we danced, drank, and laughed. Instead, I was sitting on my ass on a log, my mate didn't want to look at me, my cousins never wanted to see me again, and a cat was licking his nonexistent balls in front of me.
"I didn't pay all that money for the pack to dance and eat lobster," my father snarled.
I snorted at his anger, the sound dissolving into laughter.
"What's so funny?" he hissed.
I wiped my eyes. "You. Me. All of this. I'm the stupidest alpha on this island, aren't I?"
My mother's voice whispered in the background.
"Why didn't Mother tell me my mate had called?"
My father sputtered something before covering the phone with his hand. Their conversation was muddled, but I could still hear the urgency in their tones. "She said it was a misunderstanding. She thought it was a prank for your mating par—"
"That's enough," I growled. Despite what I'd thought, I still had the capacity for anger. But now, I was finally directing it toward the people who deserved it. "Do what you want with the lobster. Throw it into the bay. I don't care. But you should give it to your people." I hung up, setting the phone on a pile of sticks in case Hollister did try to call.
Time marched on. I noticed with a detached sort of interest when the time for the party came. I didn't know what my parents had decided to do, but I'd meant what I said. The pack deserved a party.
It grew dark and cold, but I remained where I was in the woods. My legs hurt from sitting in one spot for so many hours, and I was starving, but I'd made this mess, and now I had to clean it up.
I'd forced my mate away. Not Branson or Nash or anyone else. Me. My anger and unwillingness to listen. Hollister had once called me a demon. My cousins had always joked I was a puppy.
I needed to learn how to live somewhere between demon and puppy. If I didn't, I really would lose Hollister. I searched the front of the house through the trees. My bedroom light was on, and that gave me comfort. I was cold and hungry, but Hollister was warm and safe, and that was all that mattered.
At some point I'd fallen asleep. I opened my eyes, and the morning sun streamed through the trees. A warm, furry body snuggled against my back. I spun over, coming face to face with the slightly cross-eyed stare of Mr. Boots.
"Did they kick you out too, buddy?" I asked.
Mr. Boots got to his feet and hissed softly. Maybe he had a thing about morning breath.
My stomach growled. I could've left for food or even hunted, but I worried about what might happen when I was away. "Think you can get us some food?" I asked.
I could fall no lower. I was dirty, cold, and banished to the woods, and now I was talking to a cat.
Mr. Boots padded off without a backwards look. I checked my phone, but the battery had died sometime in the night. That was for the best. I'd only have a thousand voicemails from my parents, and I would have to go through and delete each one just to check to make sure Hollister hadn't left one somewhere in the middle of theirs.
Sometime later, Mr. Boots returned, dropping a dead bird at my feet.
"Wow. Thanks?"
When I didn't immediately dive in to consume the tiny robin, Mr. Boots gave a huff and picked it up, dropping it near the tree, where he began tearing it apart. I wasn't squeamish, nor was I above hunting to eat, but the robin was so small it would be like sucking meat-flavored toothpicks.
While Mr. Boots ate, I did what I could to clean up myself. I didn't have much on me, but I rolled my sleeves up, leaving my jacket to hang on a tree branch. I rolled my pant legs too, the ends tattered and caked with mud.
A branch snapped, and Mr. Boots and I both whipped our heads to the sound. A wolf stood among the trees, staring at me and the cat with cautious, yellow eyes, wearing a backpack.
"Which side sent you?" I asked.
The wolf's form shook, as the shifter transformed. "No one," Paul said. "I came out here to see what the heck was going on. Last night, Interim Alpha Walker dropped off containers of food at my doorstep, instructing me to pass it out to the pack. Wasn't that your party food?"
I nodded. At least the pack had eaten well last night.
"Kansas called me this morning. He said that you guys had a fight, and you were roaming the woods like Bigfoot."
"That sounds like Kansas," I grunted, turning to check on the house. The light in my room had gone off somewhere around midnight the night before. I hoped he was still sleeping. He'd looked tired yesterday.
Tired and scared.
Paul walked to my side, sinking down to sit on the log. "What happened?"
"I was an idiot."
Paul gasped sarcastically. "No way, a Walker alpha did something they regret? That's unheard of."
He had a point, but all the times before, I'd been able to sit smugly on the other side of the issue. "I freaked out. I was so scared and angry and hurt…" I looked over at Paul. We'd never been what I called close. We didn't call and chat like he did with some of the others, but close or not, he was here trying to get both sides of the story.
But if he thought my side of the story would absolve me of guilt, he was wrong. I'd had a lot of time over the night to play back every mistake I'd made, every wrong choice. My alpha nature hadn't been what propelled me; my own insecurities had.