Cathy

I SHOWED up at the Wolf Ranch carrying a tray of deviled eggs. I wasn’t much of a cook, but that was the thing my foster mother had always brought to potlucks, so it seemed like the thing to do.

I’d hated these get-togethers as a kid, always feeling out of place. I was just another one of the Johnsons’ many foster kids that everyone kept a sharp eye on because we couldn’t be trusted with their children or their things.

I didn’t particularly want to be at this one, either. No, that was a lie. I liked being here.

Too much. I liked the closeness of Rocky’s family. The way they seemed to have each other’s backs.

The past week with Rocky had been delicious. Sinfully delicious. But the whole time, I’d known they were stolen moments. I couldn’t have Rocky Wolf.

Being here with his incredible family and pack made that painfully obvious. I didn&rsqu