Chapter Two

By the time Mom comes downstairs, Drevin has been gone for almost twenty minutes and I’m still irritated about it.

Not devastated.

Not worried.

Just irritated.

That is what I tell myself while I rinse our breakfast plates and stare out the kitchen window like his truck might suddenly reappear between the trees.

It doesn’t.

“You’re going to wear a hole through the glass.”

I jump.

Mom leans against the kitchen doorway in her robe, holding an empty coffee mug.

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Of course not.”

“I wasn’t.”

She hums and walks past me.

My mother has perfected a specific kind of hum that means I know you’re lying, but I’m going to let you embarrass yourself instead of calling you on it.

I hate that hum.

“Where’s Drevin?”

“Gone.”

“That explains the silence.”

“He’s not that loud.”

Mom gives me a look while filling her mug.

“Your father can hear him from the garage.”

“That’s because Dad complains about everything.”

“I heard that.”

Dad’s voice carries in from the mudroom.

A second later, he walks into the kitchen wearing grease-stained jeans and an old Silverpine Auto shirt.

Mom smiles innocently.

“You were meant to.”

Dad kisses the side of her head as he passes.

“Good morning, traitor.”

“Morning.”

He reaches for the bacon.

I slap his hand.

“No.”

Dad stares at me.

“That is my bacon.”

“It was Drevin’s bacon.”

“He left.”

“Exactly.”

“So it’s abandoned bacon.”

“That isn’t a thing.”

“It is now.”

He steals a piece anyway.

I’m surrounded by thieves.

“What are we yelling about?”

Callum walks in scratching his stomach, shirtless and half-awake.

“Put clothes on,” I tell him.

He looks down at himself.

“I’m wearing pants.”

“That’s not enough.”

“This is my house.”

“It’s my house too.”

“Unfortunately.”

I throw a dish towel at him.

He catches it and grins.

Callum is seven years older than me and has spent every one of those years treating the age difference as divine permission to irritate me.

He drops into a chair at the table.

“Drevin already leave?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

I narrow my eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That sounded like something.”

Callum shrugs.

“He’s usually still here stealing food when I wake up.”

Mom glances at me over the rim of her mug.

I immediately regret mentioning anything.

“He had stuff to do.”

“Drevin?” Callum says.

I glare at him.

“He has a life.”

“Debatable.”

Dad points a piece of bacon at him.

“You’re one to talk.”

Callum puts a hand over his heart.

“Wow. Attacked in my own home.”

“Put on a shirt and I might respect you.”

“No promises.”

Dad shakes his head and heads toward the coffee pot.

This is most mornings in our house.

Someone arguing.

Someone stealing food.

Mom pretending she isn’t encouraging it.

Dad pretending he doesn’t.

Callum being annoying simply because breathing apparently isn’t enough stimulation for him.

It’s loud.

Messy.

Comfortable.

Home.

Mom carries her coffee to the table.

“Seven days.”

I groan.

Callum grins immediately.

“Oh, yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Do not start.”

He leans forward.

“Baby sister’s first shift.”

“Call me baby sister again and I’ll break your nose.”

“You’d have to reach it.”

I grab the salt shaker.

Mom points at me.

“Do not throw that.”

I slowly put it down.

Callum smirks.

“Coward.”

“Mom said no.”

“Exactly.”

Dad sits across from us.

“Are you nervous?”

The question is gentler than the teasing.

I hesitate.

“A little.”

Mom’s expression softens.

“That’s normal.”

“Were you nervous?”

“Terrified.”

I blink.

“You always said you were excited.”

“I was both.”

Callum snorts.

“She screamed.”

Mom turns to him.

“I did not scream.”

“You absolutely screamed.”

“My wolf appeared while I was holding a pan of cinnamon rolls.”

Dad laughs into his coffee.

“I remember.”

“You weren’t even there.”

“I’ve heard the story enough times that I feel like I was.”

Mom points at Callum.

“And you’re hardly one to laugh. You shifted in the backyard and ran straight into the fence.”

I burst out laughing.

Callum’s smile disappears.

“That has never been confirmed.”

“I watched it happen.”

“You were eleven.”

“I had eyes.”

“You were an unreliable witness.”

“You broke three fence boards.”

Dad raises his coffee.

“Four.”

“Thank you,” I say.

Callum glares at all of us.

“This family has no loyalty.”

Mom reaches over and pats his arm.

“We love you.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s better.”

For some reason, that makes me smile.

Maybe because it’s true.

I look around the table.

My parents.

My brother.

The familiar kitchen.

Sunlight spilling across the floor.

I’ve never had to wonder whether I was loved here.

It’s in everything.

Mom saving the corner piece of lasagna because she knows it’s my favorite.

Dad checking the tires on my car even when I tell him I can do it myself.

Callum sending me stupid videos at midnight from the bedroom down the hall.

They drive me insane.

But I’ve always known they’re mine.

And I’m theirs.

Dad leans back.

“Have you decided where you want to shift?”

“The clearing, I think.”

Near the eastern edge of our property, there’s a wide patch of grass tucked between the woods and the creek.

Callum shifted there.

So did Dad.

Mom smiles.

“I like that.”

“I want some space.”

“You’ll have it,” Dad says.

“But we’re staying close,” Callum adds.

I look at him.

“I know.”

He shrugs.

“In case you panic.”

“I won’t panic.”

“You definitely will.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

My stomach tightens at the familiar phrase.

Drevin said the exact same thing this morning.

Callum notices my expression.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

I reach for my juice.

Across the table, Mom watches me again.

Too closely.

I take a long drink.

“Is Drevin coming?” Dad asks.

I nearly choke.

“To my shift?”

“Unless you don’t want him there.”

“No. I mean—yes. Obviously.”

Obviously.

Drevin has been there for everything.

Why wouldn’t he be there for this?

The thought settles strangely in my chest.

“He’ll come,” I say.

Callum reaches for a piece of toast.

“He’d better. You sat through his.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“He was terrified.”

“So are you.”

“I said nervous.”

“You’re terrified.”

I kick him under the table.

He kicks me back.

Mom sighs.

“I raised wolves and somehow still ended up with toddlers.”

Dad nods solemnly.

“Our greatest failure.”

Callum reaches across the table and steals the last piece of bacon off my plate.

I gasp.

“You asshole.”

“Callum,” Mom warns.

“What? She said it.”

“I’m the youngest.”

“That means you should be more respectful.”

“That is absolutely not what that means.”

I lunge across the table.

Callum jumps up laughing, and within seconds we’re circling the kitchen island while Mom threatens to make both of us clean the entire downstairs.

Dad does nothing to help.

He just moves his coffee out of the way.

Coward.

Callum ducks behind him.

“Protect me.”

Dad steps aside.

“Absolutely not.”

“Betrayal!”

I catch Callum’s shirtless arm and dig my fingers into his side.

He yelps.

“Camille!”

“Give me my bacon.”

“I ate it!”

“Then suffer.”

He manages to grab me around the waist and hoist me off the floor.

I shriek.

“Put me down!”

“Apologize.”

“Never.”

“Children!”

We both freeze.

Mom stands by the table with her hands on her hips.

Callum lowers me carefully.

“Sorry, Mom.”

“Sorry.”

She looks between us.

“Sit.”

We sit.

Dad hides his smile behind his coffee.

I elbow Callum.

He elbows me back.

Mom points at us without looking.

“Don’t.”

We stop.

For maybe five seconds.

Then Callum whispers, “Baby sister.”

I stomp on his foot.

His muffled curse makes Dad choke on his coffee.

And just like that, the kitchen erupts again.

Seven days from now, I’ll meet my wolf.

Seven days from now, something inside me will change forever.

But sitting at this table with my family laughing around me, it feels impossible to imagine anything could ever change enough to make this place stop feeling like home.