Asher and Roman were waiting outside the door, leaned up against the log building like they’d been there for hours. Annoying.
“I’m calling a pack meeting,” she muttered as she shoved open the door.
“You can’t call a pack meeting,” Asher gritted out. “A, you aren’t an alpha, and B, we aren’t a fucking pack. We’re three rogues and a human.”
“Princess Human,” Roman corrected, following Blaire inside. “I like her. She’s feisty and yells at everyone. She’s fun to piss off. I kind of want to keep her, like a human pet.”
Asher huffed a pissed-off sound. “Keep her all you want. Die with her and Gentry for all I care. I’m out of here as soon as we dump the old man’s ashes.”
“I can hear everything you are saying,” she muttered.
“You can?” Roman asked with his face all scrunched up. “I thought humans couldn’t hear hardly anything.”
“Seriously?” she asked, giving him the dirtiest face she could muster. “Are all werewolves this judgmental?”
“Yes,” Asher and Roman both muttered in unison.
Fantastic. “Gentry?”
“Yeah, back here,” Gentry called from the kitchen.
The Striker brothers hung back as she made her way around the bar top and through the kitchen door. She hadn’t been in here before, but it looked nothing like the main room. This was all stainless-steel countertops and matching double ovens, stoves, and even dual microwaves. There was a walk-in fridge on the far wall. Gentry had just entered through the back door with a huge rolling trashcan he must have just emptied in the dumpster outside.
He looked exhausted, but his lips curved up into a smile immediately when he saw her. “Hey,” he murmured, approaching her slow, like he didn’t want to startle her.
“I did something bad,” she murmured, bracing for his reaction.
Gentry just leaned into her though, hugging her tight. He didn’t say anything, just swayed them side to side. Something was wrong. Blaire could feel it in her chest.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Gentry lifted her up to sit on the counter then pulled her against him. He dipped his lips to her neck and pressed them there, let them linger until he finally sighed and said, “I’m better now. It was just a long day.”
“Your dad?”
Gentry’s attention flickered to an urn that sat on the counter against the wall. “I picked up his ashes today. Blaire, I think I let him down.”
She eased back and cupped his cheeks. He’d shaved, so she could see every beautiful, sharp angle. “You didn’t. You were out there living your life. If he wanted your help, he would’ve asked.”
“He did ask, though. He asked me to stay and take on the pack.”
“When?”
“On my eighteenth birthday. He was tired. He wanted to train me to take over, and I left instead.”
Gentry glanced at the door, and when she followed his gaze, Roman and Asher were there, leaning their backs against the counter like they’d been there the whole time. Both had their eyes downcast, but she could see the gold and silver from here.
“I never understood why he didn’t ask Asher,” Roman said. “I mean, I get why he didn’t ask me. I would hate being an alpha, but Asher’s the oldest, the biggest, the most dominant. He always was. He wanted it. He was trainable, coachable. He worked to please Dad—”
“Enough,” Asher demanded. “He didn’t ask because he didn’t ask. Drop it.”
Roman stared at Asher a few moments too long, then huffed a disgusted breath. “Fine. We’ll act just like we did when we were kids then. Nobody talk about anything serious, just keep everything fucking buried until it festers and ruins us all.”
“That’s not how I remember it when we were kids,” Gentry said, holding Blaire’s hips tighter. He had his chin tucked to his chest, but he was meeting Asher’s challenging gaze.
Asher crossed his arms over his chest, bulging out his biceps as his eyes filled with fury. “Your memories aren’t real, Gentry.”
“Bullshit. You mean they don’t count.”
“That, too! You were favored. You were king. I was nothing. Dad wouldn’t even look at me. Do you know how it feels to devote your life to pleasing a man who finds you completely and utterly fucking invisible? He didn’t see Roman either, but Roman didn’t need to be seen by him.”
“That’s not true,” Roman warned.
“You didn’t! You made a joke of everything. You always had a smile on your face, always made people laugh, were always happy like you didn’t give a single shit about what was happening in our fucking house. You and I were in the corner in the darkest shadow the entire first eighteen years of our life. You want to talk about something real, Roman? How about you didn’t give a shit when we were kicked out of the pack, and I still hate you for not being angry.”