Jag grabbed the edge of the window and peeked into the car with a scowl. “What did he do?” he asked with rage reserved for those who endangered people he considered part of his pack.
Dex covered his bruised forehead. “It’s not his fault, I did this to myself. You really don’t have to protect me.” It still hurt to admit his failure, even though he didn’t need to disclose any details to those who hadn’t been present at the cabin. Had he listened to Hammer, the plan would have likely worked out, and the two of them might still be out there, celebrating a successful hunt. But he’d chosen to disobey a man much more experienced than him, causing not only emotional fallout that made his heart as desolated as the junkyard, but also making their job a complete failure. Worse still, Hammer had lost a finger trying to save him. Was there even a way back from this?
Jag’s features twisted, and he grabbed Dex’s shoulder, squeezing it. “You deserve someone better. Someone you could build a den with. Someone to take care of you.”
Dex rolled his eyes. “I’m not a kid. I can take care of myself.” Though it had been really nice to be taken care of at times. Hammer always seemed to have his shit together and it had been a relief to be around a man so steady. So yeah, he would absolutely choose Hammer as his den mate if they were homeless. Maybe once Jag saw what kind of man Hammer was inside, he’d even offer to help them build one.
But with things as they were, Dex was back at Frank's with his tail between his legs, once again proven wrong.
“None of us is a lone wolf,” Jag said, nodding as if he’d just said something novel and profound, even though he’d been the one to insist on being self-reliant not that long ago. Though even back then, his lifestyle included stealing food from Frank’s fridge, which kind of proved the point he was currently trying to make.
Dex rubbed the bruise on his forehead. “How angry is he?” He’d rather brace himself for the confrontation with Frank, because their argument before Dex’s departure had been a shitshow.
Jag’s shoulders relaxed, and he tapped his spear against the side of the car. “Like a father worried his daughter has chosen the wrong mate.”
Dex groaned and shook his head. Frank might be happy to hear that Hammer had sent Dex away. For all Dex knew, the two of them might be already over and he just didn’t get the memo yet. Wasn’t that what I-need-space and I-need-to-think usually meant?
“Don’t come over for a few hours. But you’ll probably hear us for miles anyway.”
Jag crooked his head. “My mate’s at work all night, so I’ll be on patrol. Family quarrels are not my business,” he said, though the flash in his eye told Dex that Jag might be eavesdropping.
After all, Dex had told him there would be drama.
Dex drove off, well aware that he’d been stalling on purpose, because going back home felt like intentionally putting his hand into a pot of boiling water. He’d thought a lot about apologizing to Frank and how to go about it, but a sinking feeling inside him warned that nothing he did would ever be good enough. He’d cut the branch he’d been sitting on and might just find bags with his stuff resting on the porch.
The drive through the junkyard felt like a long slog, even though he knew all the tracks by heart. By the time the canyon of rusting cars spat him onto the sprawling plain in the middle of Frank’s fenced-off property, he was so exhausted all he could think of was what a disappointment he’d been to everyone in his life. But with nowhere else to go, he drove toward the lights of the home that might no longer be his.
When he stepped out of the vehicle, a part of him itched to sneak into his room from the back, since he'd practiced getting in through the window, out of Frank’s sight, many times in the past, but the main door opened before he could have seriously considered his options, and Frank stepped through, bowing his head to avoid hitting the doorframe.
He was busted.
Dex swallowed, doing everything in his power to avoid Frank’s gaze and make himself smaller. “Do you want me to take my stuff?” he mumbled.
His uncle’s hulking form slouched. “What the fuck are you talking about? Come’ere.”
Dull pain flared up in Dex’s chest as he climbed the steps to the porch, barely able to breathe. He wanted to apologize, to saysomething, but his throat clenched, rendering him mute. As soon as he was within Frank’s reach, massive arms pulled him in for an unexpected hug.
The embrace brought such comfort Dex grabbed his uncle hard and sobbed. “I fucked up so bad,” he managed to utter, hiding his face against Frank’s shoulder. He hated how emotions got the best of him. They were like a flash flood that swept him away and he couldn’t fight it no matter how desperately he swam against the current.
Frank exhaled and patted Dex’s back gently, as if he worried doing it in a normal fashion might shatter him. He smelled of beer, and woodchips, and home, and Dex was so happy to be welcomed back he cried even harder, no doubt soaking Frank’s T-shirt.
“What happened? Whose car is this?” Frank asked but was already pulling Dex inside.
Dex rubbed his face with the sleeve of his jacket, embarrassed by this emotional outburst. “It’s… we need to get rid of it.” He sniffed as exhaustion crashed over him like the cabin had following the grenade explosion. “We went to hunt down Ryker, but he had company. I thought I had an opening, and I acted, but it was too soon, and I hit my head, and they caught me. I should have waited, Hammer told me to, but I was stupid, and reckless, and wanted to show off, wanted him to think I’m the shit, and then he had to save me. Because of me, Ryker got away, and Hammer lost his finger, and now he doesn’t want to see me, but I love him,” Dex finished with another sob that would have choked him if it wasn’t released.
Frank closed the door behind them, patting Dex’s back as they stood in the middle of the living room, in the familiar glow of the single wall lamp and the TV. For several moments, he kept quiet, but eventually, his chest trembled as he cleared his throat before speaking. “You do? It’s been only—” he stalled and for once stopped himself from chastising Dex for jumping the gun.
“I don’t even know how long. Three weeks? What does it matter if that’s how I feel? We’ve been through so much together already, and we are just such a good fit. I just… I need to fix it somehow.” He dared to meet Frank’s eyes. “And I’m sorry for what I said about my mom, I was so angry. I can never do anything right.”
Frank opened his mouth, closed it, and then guided Dex to the table where the remains of the day’s dinner still rested on a plastic tray. “Everyone fucks up sometimes,” he said and squeezed Dex’s shoulder. “I’ll make you something to eat, hm?”
“I am hungry…” Dex said reluctantly and sat down, slouching under the weight of the world. “You don’t fuck up this way, you know. Normal people don’t. I ruin everything. I said such shit things to you, and now you’re trying to makemefeel better.”
“Well, I fucked up too,” Frank said, standing behind his usual chair and grabbing its backrest. His gaze passed over Dex’s face before settling on a piece of meat he’d left on his tray. “Shouldn’t have smacked you. I just got so angry I lost my cool.”
Dex shrugged. “I deserved it.” And he would have preferred a punch from Hammer to the silence.
“No,” Frank said with a firm shake of his head. “Even if you crossed the line, it was wrong to hit you just to make myself feel better. Which didn’t work, by the way. I’ve been through enough to know nothing good comes from hitting your kid.”