Page 12 of Wolf

“I don’t get what you’re saying. When would I ever need to do that?”

“Who fuckin’ knows, man?” He tosses his hands into the air, as exasperated with me as I am with him. “Better to have it than not, right? Hold onto it.”

I still don’t get it. I wish I wasn’t there. I wish I didn’t know all of this. It makes things even more complicated.

I grab the folder, the truths inside burning in my hand, and stand. “I need to go.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Tracker says to my back, and I’m sure he timed it so I’d be too far away to hit him. I’m tempted to prove him wrong.

Instead, I go outside and I’m on my way down the porch steps when the door bangs open behind me.

“Wolf,” Edge says. “I saw it on your face in there, when I said challenging your conviction would cause trouble for people. You’ve been to see Julia already, haven’t you? You’ve got that look.”

I keep walking, my sights locked on my bike. “What’s it to you?”

“No one wants to see you getting hurt again. Just be careful. She’s still married. Her husband won’t like having another man prowling around.”

I swing my leg over my bike and ride off without bothering to respond. My chest tightens with possessiveness. Julia was mine once. She probably won’t be mine ever again, but no amount of time passing can fade the memories of what it was like to have her.

I know I won’t be staying away from her. I should. I can’t. Whether she likes it or not, I’m going to be there, helping her. Even if she never looks at me and never says another word to me, I’ll keep showing up and doing what I can.

If her husband has a problem with that, I’ll handle it.

Chapter 6

Julia

“Thank you so much. Mhmm, bye.” I end the call with my lawyer and sag onto the bed in what was my childhood bedroom. Old, forgotten belongings from my youth mingle with cardboard boxes, because it was turned into storage in my absence. I’d moved enough things around to be able to sleep on the bed and access the dresser, and that’s all. I am constantly exhausted, to the point where the ancient mattress underneath me actually feels comfortable. I could sleep for days.

Hopefully, I’ll soon have one less thing to worry about.

I just finished officially filing for divorce. My husband, Malcolm Quinn, will be served with the papers immediately. My lawyer, Asha, has reassured me that it’s only the most hotly contested divorces that drag on for ages. Because I don’t want the house, or any money, or even really any of the items I left behind, there’s no reason to get into a legal battle. There should be nothing to argue about or fight over. All Malcolm has to do is sign his name and I’ll no longer be Julia Quinn. I’ll be Julia Palmer once more, free to rebuild my life yet again.

“There’s always the possibility that Malcolm will refuse to sign,” Asha had said. “In which case, there will be more paperwork and appearances before a judge. But we won’t worry about that until it happens.”

I run my hands over the cool sheets beneath me. After what Malcolm did that caused me to leave him and come back home, there’s no way that he’ll refuse to sign. I don’t want to because it would be so upsetting and complicated, but I absolutely would tell the judge what happened if I had to. Malcolm’s reputation would be stained. I know him. He doesn’t want that. He wouldn’t risk that. He’ll sign.

This will be over soon. I have to hold onto that, believe that.

“Julia?” There’s a knock on my door.

“Come in, Mom.”

Mom steps inside and looks at me lying flat on the bed. “Did it… go well?”

“I think so.” I sit up, folding my legs. I’m reminded of all the times she came into my room when I was growing up, to bring me a snack, to talk with me about a hard day, to hug me and tell me she loved me. Those visits had trailed off through the years as my father stifled her just like he had stifled me. She had, over time, made herself smaller and quieter, like a mouse who didn’t dare squeak for fear of catching the cat’s attention.

“Are you happy?” She peers at me, her hands clasped together. I see the way that her nails puncture her own skin, the edges long and ragged.

“I will be. Did you want something?”

Mom looks at me, her thin brows furrowing. After a moment, her expression smooths over again. Whatever thought she had, she’s not sharing it with me. “Have you thought about dinner?”

I restrain a groan. I’ve been the one planning and preparing the meals because Mom’s evidently been surviving on frozen dinners for who knows how long. A growing boy needs better food than that. “No. I guess I should, shouldn’t I? It’s getting close.”

I swing my legs off the bed and start for the hallway, expecting that Mom will fade back and let me out of the room. Instead, she remains blocking the doorway. She peers at me from under her cloud of thin curls. She doesn’t style her hair, so the color the stylist put in yesterday is randomly, chaotically dispersed throughout.

“I was wondering if you would want to go out to eat tonight.” Mom blinks slowly. My friends used to ask me if she was on Xanax or something, because of how languid she can be. As far as I know, she’s never been on medication, although there wouldn’t be anything wrong with that if she was. She just exerts as little energy as she can because it’s easier to go unnoticed when you don’t move at all.