Ryan
Our meeting place was an old abandoned hangar a few miles from the pack house.
The road to the location was free and narrow, lined at the corners with tall familiar trees like those in my pack’s territory. I drove in silence, my fingers drumming against the car wheel to an absent beat–the only sound tainting the atmosphere. But my mind was in a million places.
I focused on the most pressing thought, the reason for my drive that morning. I knew my family wasn’t going to like what I was about to do when they’d eventually hear about it. Father would flip out the most, biting hard into his cigar as he smashed a bottle or two against the wooden floor of his study as he did when he was upset. I had given this some thought, and the truth was,
I didn’t care.
I wasn’t a saint, nor were my
