“I know, man, I know,” Ford says.
And I can feel forgiveness flowing out of him as well.
Which I guess means I have two dads now, along with a stepmother-aunt…and whatever the hell Yancey is. Uncle-in-law? Okay, I’ll figure it out later. Right now, I focus on the hug. Because for the first time in like—well, forever—it’s feels like I’m actually part of a real loving family.
Thank you, FJ and Olafr, I think. Because none of this would be happening if not for them.
I’ve totally forgiven the brothers for leaving. But I’ll never get over them. They are the only wolves I’ll ever love, and I’ll never settle for anyone else like Ford did. Which means I’m going to need this family going forward.
Yours always. I think of my two mates as I hug the family they’ve unexpectedly given me to sustain me through their loss. Yours always.
51
Four Years Later
“You the worst mama I done ever laid eyes on!” my grandfather tells me as the summer sun sets behind the mountain, just outside the bay window where I’m comfortably seated.
“Ah, thanks, Granddad,” I say, not even bothering to look up from my text chat with Iggle about our upcoming Centurion Shifters game.#p#分页标题#e#
This is a familiar scene. Me texting in the bay window seat while the girls play Viking Shifters on the floor…and my grandfather fussing at all of us from his perch on the couch.
“This a damn shame! Why you got to make my grandbabies play that damn video game of yours every damn night?”
Now I look up, but only to raise an eyebrow at my grandfather. My stubborn grandfather, who for reasons still unknown to me, has insisted on staying at the Upper Peninsula kingdom house. Despite having to share it with “the worst damn alpha this state ever done had, white or black.” His words, not mine.
“If the ‘babies’ you’re referring to are my three-year-old daughters, you know why, Granddad.”
For all we knew, Ola and Fensa would need this training once they inherited their thrones. To just about everyone’s surprise, the North American Council hasn’t vetoed the use of video games as alpha death matches. I think they might be secretly running a five-year study of some sort to see how our communities fare with a female-run kingdom.
The answer: Not too bad. Not too damn bad at all. In fact, Detroit managed to climb right on out of mange state status within two years of me taking over.
Not only are our she-wolves thriving inside a pack that does not demand their degradation at every turn, but Tu and I just graduated our first class of OB/GYNs from medical school. Five she-wolves who will soon take up residencies in Alaska, Oklahoma, Detroit, Colorado, and Wyoming, in order to pay back the full rides they got, courtesy of our two houses.
What’s more, other states joined the program and are now on the waitlist to receive OB/GYNs of their own. Including North Dakota—though I had a feeling that might have been a move made by Kyle, the first ever gay alpha, to stay in his she-wolf constituents’ good graces.
It worked. He and Clyde continue to enjoy a pretty high approval rating with very few protesting the fact that their state king is not only gay, but also married to his beta.
Yes, there was some grousing at first when Kyle first came out to his pack with Clyde by his side. But that was before my brother pulled out his sawed-off and put a hole in the chest of the wolf yelling the loudest about it. Then he asked if anybody else had concerns about Kyle’s ability to lead. Nobody did.
Apparently the only thing the newly appointed North Dakota king needed to earn a way more progressive pack was a Detroit beta with a shotgun standing by his side. And now there’s even talk of one of my girls taking over the kingdom when Kyle ages out of his kingship in a couple of decades.
Which is why I make the girls play an hour minimum of Viking Shifters every night before bath time.
“I tired this game!” Ola says. “Want bath now.”
“Me too!” Fensa says, in typical twin collusion. At the tender age of three, my girls are completely ride or die—unless there’s a My Little Pony doll involved, then it’s a twin fight that makes the old “Speak Now” ritual look tame.
“Keep on playing for a few more minutes,” I say to them. “Mama needs to finish talking to Auntie Iggle.”
“What you need to be doing is teaching them how to catch a strong man,” Granddad grumbles. “So everybody don’t think we a bunch of rich-ass punks sitting around eating caviar or whatever those soft Alaska relatives you love so much be doing.”
“Yeah, Granddad,” I say, reading over the last of Iggle’s thoughts on my thoughts about how to implement the suggestions Alisha, now She-Wolf Industries official history consultant, sent in yesterday. “Being rich and soft is just the worst. I can’t believe I’m actually raising my girls in this terrible environment filled with love, peace, and a doting grandfather.”#p#分页标题#e#