ONE
Vera
I stare at the text from my dad, chewing an already blunt nail while I consider how to respond.
Dad: Are you coming home for Christmas? You know your mom would love to see you.
My teeth snag skin and I wince, pulling my hand away from my mouth to see a spot of blood where I hit the quick. Biting my nails is a bad habit, but at least I don’t drink or smoke or anything like that. Though there’s plenty of opportunity living on campus. That stuff just never interested me much.
I push the phone away from me into the center of the mattress, not ready to answer yet.
I avoided going home for Thanksgiving, making the excuse that I had to work to save up to cover my costs while I’m on internship this January. I won’t be able to work for at least a month, and even though I’m looking forward to it like it’s my birthday, it’s going to hurt my bank account.
Truth is, though, I’ve been saving all year because I’m boring and responsible like that. So I could afford to take a break over Christmas. Besides, I know if I asked them, Mom and Dad would cover my rent for a couple weeks.
I won’t ask though.
The phone vibrates and I groan, turning it over to discover another message, this one from my older brother, Riley.
Riley: Hey, bunny, you better be coming home for Christmas. Dad won’t say anything, but he thinks Mom’s symptoms are getting worse.
Shit.
I remember the day Mom was diagnosed. I was eleven. I’d never heard of multiple sclerosis before, and I was in that awkward preteen stage when none of your limbs act like they belong to you and you suddenly realise how awkward it is to have hands because where are you supposed to put them and why don’t your feet look like they belong to you anymore?
I’d listened silently as my dad explained enough about it to me and Riley that I understood Mom was never going to get better. I didn’t wait for him to say anymore. I’d gotten up and run out of the room, and Riley and Dad knew better than to try and stop me.
Running while you’re crying isn’t a smart idea. I banged into more than one doorframe on my way out of the house. I didn’t care though. In a way I’d relished the pain. I’d wanted to hurt. Everything was going to hurt forever now that Mom was sick anyway.
I wasn’t ready to face any of them. I knew Dad was going to tell me to be brave and I wanted to, but I didn’t think I could.
So I climbed the fence into the neighbor’s yard and made my way up into the big ash tree, hoping to crawl into a dark corner of the old treehouse there and lick my wounds where nobody could see me.
Only I wasn’t alone. As soon as I scrambled over the ledge and onto the wooden platform I froze, blinking into the dim space at another, much bigger figure tucked into the corner with his long arms wrapped around legs which were hugged up to his chest.
Bastien looked up at me and hastily wiped the back of his hand across his face. “Vera! What are you doing here?”
My cheeks heated as bad as a radiator with a broken thermostat, just like they’d been doing for the three months before that—every time my brother’s best friend talked to me. It was like this weird reaction I had no control over, and it made me even more ridiculously conscious of every part of my awkward preteen body.
I’d always been close with Bastien. For as long as I could remember, I’d insisted on tagging along with him and Riley whenever I could force them to slow down long enough.
It was Bastien who had taught me to ride my bike without my training wheels when Riley refused, so I could follow them up to the top of Broadbent Street and ride down the hill squealing at the top of my lungs.
It was Bastien who picked me up and carried me home the day after that when I’d fallen off and grazed both my knees and hands so badly I was covered in bandages for weeks. Being a bear shifter had always meant Bastien was bigger than the other kids at school, but he was a gentle giant. He was never the type to start fights, though it was usually him ending them when Riley stirred up trouble.
He mastered his shift early, shooting up at thirteen into a solid boy with enormous hands and feet that seemed too big for his already adult-sized body and kind brown eyes and a shy smile that I convinced myself was reserved just for me and Riley.
I’d never seen him throw a punch. I’d never even really heard him raise his voice. I’d sure as hell never seen him cry before.
“What happened?” I whispered in the dark, crawling closer, my own pain forgotten for a moment.
Bastien shrugged. “It’s nothing. You shouldn’t be out here after dark, Vera. Do your parents know you’re here?”
At that reminder, my eyes welled up all over again and the tears escaped to flow down my overheated cheeks. I brushed them away angrily. “No. I’m not a kid anymore, Bas. I’m pretty sure my childhood is over now.” Yeah, I was dramatic. I was eleven.
His brow lifted and he loosened his grip on his knees to pat the floor next to him. “Oh really? Sounds like you need to talk about it. Come here.”
Glowing with pleasure and trying my very best not to show it, I crawled even closer until I was sitting right beside him. I could feel his heat all along the left side of my body, even though we weren’t technically touching.
