Merrick and I had parted fairly quickly after breakfast, which was my fault. Since I'd lost my phone, I didn't have a way to contact him other than mentally. And reaching out mentally felt like a bit of an invasion of privacy, so I hadn't done it.
He hadn't either, though. I hated the uncertainty, but I had no idea what that meant. Or what I was supposed to do about it.
Since I'd been visiting the shifters on his side of the river, I happened to pass Merrick's garage on the edge of no-man's-land. When I saw his truck parked out front, I pulled into the parking lot and slid out of Beluga. I knew I needed to talk to him, to make sure we were good after the breakfast with my parents and the drama that followed.
Merrick's upper half was beneath a car when I strode in through the propped-ope
