Lessons in Love

Chapter 3: Memory Lane

POV: Beta Ben Westlake

I pinched the bridge of my nose and looked at my watch. I had promised I’d visit my mother tonight and fix a couple of things around the house. Things my father had undoubtedly broken. I closed the ledger and stood up. I stretched the stiffness out and promised myself to take a long run as my wolf as soon as I was done at my parents’ house.

I left my office and started the walk over to the house I grew up in, my mind drifting back to my conversation with Rick about the new schoolteacher.

Rick had always wanted to find his mate. I hadn’t been that concerned. Neither of us had, though it wasn’t surprising to us that we hadn’t. Both of us had been born and raised in Sapphire Lake. Marcus didn’t travel much. Truthfully, most people dealing with us wanted to come here and see the farms and produce firsthand. Business parties didn’t often have women amongst them, fewer still who were unmated.

Both of us had wondered if our mates were male. Wolves had bisexual tendencies, so it wasn't out of the question. We had even wondered if we were mates because of how close the two of us had always been. Still, Rick held out hope that the love of his life would pop up someday and he’d have a house full of children to succeed him. I, on the other hand, had grown up seeing the ugliest possible side of matehood. I believed I was a good person, but would I be a good mate, or would I be a horrible one, like Marcus and my father. I didn’t really want to find out.

I made my way to the second floor and got changed. I’d take that run, clear my head, and I would do as I often have over the years … sneak up behind my parent's place and make sure mom’s okay before I head back.

I left the packhouse and drew a deep breath. The packhouse was situated in the center of the territory. Farmland and apple orchards stretched out around in every direction with clusters of homes nestled in between. The smell of apples reaching peak ripeness hung in the air and mingled with smells of vegetables almost ready for the harvest.

I made my way past the hospital to the east of the packhouse. My parents lived in a small neighborhood about 10 minutes up the road. It was a small cul-de-sac with two-story, cabin style homes. It was where I had grown up despite the suite available to us in the packhouse. My father probably hadn’t wanted anyone to know what he was doing to my mother and me, a secret that would have been hard to keep in the busy packhouse. The neighborhood looked the same. The trees were bigger, the road was a little worse for the wear, but it was mostly the same as it was when I was a child.

“Evening Ben,” Mr. Sloan hollered from his porch, as he often did when I walked by to get to my parents.

“Hi Mr. Sloan.” I gave him a wave. Even the neighbors hadn’t changed, I mused as I walked up the street. Mr. Sloan had lived there for as long as I could remember. He’d had a mate, but she died decades ago. He had nothing but daughters who all moved away with mates of their own. Mr. Sloan never used my title when addressing me, something that drove my father nuts. I was just Ben from up the road, the kid next door. It was the same with Rick.

I reached the house moments later. My parents’ yard looked unkept, and I instantly felt guilty. I hadn’t had time to come over and mow their lawn or fix the screen door my father had apparently pulled on too hard, letting himself in a few weeks ago. At least, that’s what I had been told. I’m sure it was a drunken or angry or both kind of action that had led to the damage.

I knocked twice and let myself in. My mother insisted I knocked twice before entering the house, even when I had lived here. She had always said it was the polite thing to do, but by the time I was a pre-teen, I knew it was about warning her I was home in case she was crying or fighting with my father. As I opened the door tonight, all was quiet, and the delicious smell of her fresh baked chocolate chip cookies filled the house.

“Mom?” I called out.

“I’m in the kitchen, sweetheart.” She called back. I took my shoes off and went to the kitchen to find her pulling a huge tray of cookies from the oven. I reached for one, and she jerked the tray away from me. “

“You’ll burn your fingers.” She scolded with a smile. She rested the hot tray down and handed me a cookie from the cooling rack with a pat on my cheek.

I would be a 7-year-old in her mind for the rest of my life, I smiled to myself, accepting my prize. “Where’s dad?” I asked, biting into the cookie and finding it still warm.

“On patrol,” she avoided eye contact. ‘On patrol’ either meant he was out drinking or was out sleeping with someone he shouldn’t be. It wasn’t like my mother didn’t know I drafted the patrol schedule, but it was the line she’d fed me as a kid, and it was a line she continued to feed me.

I didn’t understand the mate bond. Maybe it was another reason I didn’t want to be mated. The bond was supposed to be this divine gift, iron clad. It was supposed to be about love, reverence, and making the other person your whole world. That was not the reality I grew up with.

My father had been in love with another woman before he met my mother. He had kept seeing the other woman on the side, forcing my mother to feel that infidelity for years until the other woman found her mate and left Sapphire Lake. It had been the spring I turned 8. I remembered it clearly because it was the first time my father hit my mother.

The anger and resentment had been palpable in the house after that, and the slightest thing had set him off. His drinking got worse, and he would disappear at night sometimes, stumbling home in the early hours of the morning. He hadn’t attacked me when I was a child, but I often stepped in when he was attacking my mother.

I was his Beta protégé after all, and the only one he was going to get. By the time my wolf emerged when I was twelve, his beatings targeted me more than my mother under the guise of teaching me toughness or some other valuable lesson. I had been fine with that. I would have done just about anything to protect her. I still would.

“Ben?” My mother’s voice cut through my thoughts.

“Sorry,” I forced a smile to my lips. “What was that?”

“I asked if you boys had found a new high school teacher?” She said, returning to her baking.

“Yeah,” I said, reaching for another cookie.

“And?” She promoted.

“And what?” I shrugged. “She’s a teacher. She starts in two weeks.”

“Mated?” She smiled at me slyly.

“Mom,” I groaned.

“What?” She laughed. “Is it so wrong of me to want my boy to be with someone special?”

“You want grandkids.” I chided. “Let’s not pretend this has anything to do with me.” I laughed and grabbed two more cookies off the tray.

“Didn’t you have dinner?” She asked, watching me stuff a whole cookie in my mouth. My face must have gone red because she started laughing again. “Go sit, I’ll fix you a sandwich.” She gestured to the kitchen table.

“No, please, mom. I just came to say hi and to fix the screen door.” I loosened my tie, pulled it over my head, and stuffed it in my pocket.

I left her in the kitchen to grab the tools and got to work. It didn’t take long to fix, and I was packing up the tools when my father staggered up the steps. I smelled the whiskey on his breath and turned to see that gleam in his eye. He was fixing for a fight. I swallowed a growl as a shiver went down my back. It killed me that a part of me was still afraid of him after all this time. I was a strong, powerful wolf. But standing there in front of him, I was 9 years old, about to take the beating of a lifetime.

“I fixed the screen door.” I said, clenching my fists in my pockets.

“Hmph,” he grunted. “Didn’t do the lawn, I see.”

Of course he’d say that, I thought. “I’ll be back on Saturday for the lawn.” I promised solemnly. “Were you with Alpha Marcus this evening?” I asked.

My father glared at me for asking about his whereabouts. “Yes,” he said with a bit of growl.

“How’s he doing?” I asked.

“He’s keeping it together quite well.” He replied, leaning heavily on the porch railing. Keeping it together wasn’t how I would describe Marcus, but then again, a bottle or three of whiskey blurs even a wolf’s vision.

“I made you …” my mom started to say as she came to the door holding a plate with a sandwich and more cookies on it.

“Wonderful.” My father flung the newly repaired screen door open, took the plate from my mother, and headed for the living room.

“I’ll make you another one.” She whispered.

I shook my head. “It’s okay.” I said and gave her hand a squeeze. “I need to go for a run badly, and I need to get some sleep.” I did my best to smile at her. I mind-linked her so my father wouldn’t hear, “He’ll pass out after the food anyway. If he doesn’t, you mind-link me, okay? Please?” I said.

She gave me a silent nod and a weak smile. “Be safe, and we’ll see you Saturday, sweetheart.” She said out loud as she put her arms around me. She gave me a tight hug and pulled back with a reassuring smile.

“I love you, mom.” I smiled at her, and she blushed. I must be the only person who ever tells her that, I thought, watching her reaction. “Bye dad!” I hollered in the direction of the living room and got a grunt in reply.