The War Within

Three Dollars and Seventeen Cents

Three days later, Karen was still thinking about the hardware store boy.

She told herself it was nothing. A fluke. She'd been vulnerable, fresh off Gideon's harassment, and anyone who offered her tea and a kitten would have made the same impression.

This was a perfectly logical explanation.

It was also a lie.

She knew it was a lie because she'd spent seventy-two hours inventing reasons to drive past Walker & Sons Hardware. She'd "accidentally" taken the long way to campus. She'd "needed" to check out a coffee shop in that neighborhood.

Pathetic.

Carissa had noticed.

"You're doing that thing," she'd said yesterday, not looking up from her phone.

"What thing?"

"The thing where your brain flies to wherever that hardware store is."

"My brain is fine."

"Your brain is trying to remember the exact shade of his eyes.

Karen threw a napkin at her.

On the third day, she parked outside The Gilded Page at 8 AM with a plan.

Not a plan to see him. That would be crazy.

A plan to buy shelf brackets.

Her bookcase was sliding dangerously to the left, and Liam had been too busy with pack duties to fix it. This was a legitimate hardware store need.

The fact that she was driving to 'his' store instead of the one three blocks away was purely coincidental.

The shop smelled the same. Sawdust and metal and something warm underneath. Fluorescent lights hummed. And there he was.

Behind the counter, the same young man from Tuesday. Dark hair, grey eyes, faded flannel. The tabby kitten, Widget, was curled in a cardboard box, her tiny paws twitching in her sleep.

He looked up. His face did something interesting when he recognized her. A small pause. A blink. Then a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"Hey," he said. "You're back."

She held up the brackets she'd grabbed on her way in. "I need these."

He glanced at them. Then at her. Then back.

"Three dollars and seventeen cents," he said. "But you knew that already, didn't you?"

She stiffened. "What?"

"You grabbed the exact brackets you need without checking the tag." He leaned against the counter, smiling. "Either you're a shelf bracket savant, or you've been here before."

"I have a good eye," she said.

"Clearly."

He was teasing her. Not the way Gideon teased, sharp edges and hidden blades. This was different, like an invitation to play along.

"Tea first," he said, already moving toward the kettle. "You look like you haven't slept."

"I slept."

"You look like you dreamt about murder."

She blinked. Then, despite herself, she laughed. Rough and surprised, like something she hadn't used in a while.

He smiled wider at the sound.

The tea was chamomile. He set the mug in front of her, the same 'World's Okayest Employee' mug, and she noticed he'd already added one sugar.

"How did you know how I take my tea?"

"Guessed last time. You didn't correct me."

"I didn't notice."

"You noticed." Not smug. Just matter-of-fact.

She stared at him.

"You don't know me."

"Nope," He shrugged. "But I'm good at reading people. Comes from retail." He paused. "And my dad. He was good at it too."

There it was again. The father. Mentioned casually, but with weight underneath.

"What was your dad like?"

His expression flickered. Something passed behind his eyes.

"He was a good man. Taught me everything about animals. Used to say they know who you really are. Can't fake it with them." He glanced at Widget. "She's been here three days and she already follows me everywhere. Animals know."

Karen looked at the kitten. At the trust in that small, curled form.

"My dog was like that," she said quietly. "Followed me everywhere."

"What happened to him?"

"He got old"

Jackson nodded. "It's hard. Losing someone who loves you that purely."

Someone. Not something.

He said "someone" about a dog.

Her heart somersaulted.

She meant to leave after the tea.

Then she noticed the shelf behind the counter labeled "Nuts & Bolts, Organized by Size", and the sheer chaos of it made her eye twitch.

"Your organizational system is criminal."

"It's organized."

"By what standard? Chaos theory?"

"The standard of 'I know where everything is.'"

"That's not organization. That's hoarding with extra steps."

He laughed. A real laugh. "Are you always this judgmental about hardware storage?"

"Are you always this chaotic about it?"

"I'm wounded."

"You should be."

She moved around the counter before she decided to. Her hands reached for the first tray of bolts, sorting them by size, her fingers moving with a speed that surprised even her.

Jackson watched her for a few seconds, then grabbed a second tray.

They worked in silence. Then Jackson started humming.

It was soft at first, barely a breath. An old melody, obscure and folk-like,

Karen's hands stopped moving.

She knew that song.

She didn't know how. She'd never heard it before, or had she? The melody tugged at something deep. Something old and buried and familiar in a way that made no sense.

Jackson noticed her stillness. Stopped humming.

"What?"

"That song. Where did you learn it?"

He blinked. "My dad. He used to hum it. I don't even know where he learned it." He paused. "Why?"

She stared at him.

"No reason," she said finally. "It's just . . . pretty."

He looked at her, then shrugged and went back to sorting.

But he didn't hum again.

And Karen couldn't shake the feeling she'd heard that melody before. In another life. With someone she couldn't remember.

"You never told me your name," she said after a while.

"You never asked."

"I'm asking now."

He set down the washers and extended his hand.

"Jackson," he said. "Jackson Walker."

She took his hand. His grip was firm but gentle. Warm.

"Karen White."

"Karen White." He repeated it like he was tasting the words. "Nice to officially meet you."

"You've served me tea twice."

"And now I have a name to go with the order." He released her hand. "Chamomile, one sugar. Karen White. Favorite color?"

"What?"

"Favorite color. I'm building a file."

"That's not how customer service works."

"I'm not a very good employee."

"You just admitted your organizational system is chaos."

"And yet you're still here, fixing it for me."

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

He was right.

"I assume you're a student, right?" she asked.

"yup, animal behaviour"

"Why animal behavior?"

"I want to work in wildlife rehab. Help injured animals, release them." He shrugged. "Doesn't pay much. But it matters."

"Most people would say veterinary school."

"Most people want money. I want . . ." He paused, searching for the word. "Quiet. Animals are quiet. They don't lie. They don't hide what they are." His voice dropped slightly. "I like that."

She thought about her wolf. The one that wouldn't come.

"What about you?" he asked. "What do you want?"

To shift. To be normal. To stop feeling like a failure every time I look in the mirror.

"To graduate," she said instead. "English literature. Something with books."

"Books are quiet too." he said calmly.

"I guess they are."

He smiled. That crinkly, full-faced smile.

"See?" he said. "We're both looking for quiet."

They worked another forty minutes.

For a while it seemed she had worries in her life. Just sorted bolts and listened to Jackson talk about Widget's eating habits and the time a squirrel got into the store and hid in the plumbing section for three hours.

She told him about Carissa's disastrous attempt to bake a cake for a pack, for a party, she corrected herself quickly. About her favorite spot on campus, and how she'd learned to fix a leaky faucet from YouTube tutorials because Liam was always too busy.

She didn't mention Liam was a werewolf.

She didn't mention she was supposed to be one too.

"Here," Jackson said, handing her a paper bag with the brackets. "On the house."

"I can pay."

"I know. But I'm not charging you for fixing my bolt section."

She took the bag. Their fingers brushed.

Neither pulled away.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked. "I have a washer section that's worse."

"I have a job."

"Bring the job. I'll make tea."

She shook her head, but she was smiling. "You're strange, Jackson Walker."

"I know." He leaned against the door frame. "But you came back anyway."

She paused with her hand on the door.

"See you around," she said, and walked out.

The bell chimed behind her.

Inside, Jackson watched her go. Watched her climb into her beat-up sedan. Watched her sit there before starting the engine.

His hand drifted to his chest.

Beneath his flannel, a dog tag rested against his skin. He gripped it through the fabric.

"Dad," he whispered. "What am I doing?"

The dog tag offered no answer.

Widget meowed from her cardboard box.

Jackson dropped his hand, turned away from the window, and went back to sorting bolts.

On campus, three hours later, Karen sat with Carissa in the student union.

"You're doing it again," Carissa said.

"Doing what?"

"Your brain is at a hardware store thinking about a boy with grey eyes and a kitten."

Karen's cheeks warmed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Carissa set down her fork. "Karen. You have been smiling at that sandwich like it told you a secret."

"I smile at sandwiches."

"Spill babe." She leaned forward. "Who is he?"

"Nobody."

"You just blushed."

Karen opened her mouth to deny it.

Liam slid into the seat beside her.

"Hey," he said, setting down his tray. His voice was warm, always warm with her, but his eyes flicked to Carissa, then to Karen's flushed face. "What'd I miss?"

"Karen's in love," Carissa said cheerfully.

"I am not."

"Infatuated, then. Obsessed. Enchanted. Pick your poison."

Liam's jaw tightened. Just slightly. Just for a second.

Then he smiled. The easy smile he wore like armor. "Someone new?"

"Hardware store guy," Carissa chipped in. "Has a kitten, makes nice tea, have sharp grey eyes that sparkle when he smiles." She mimed gagging. "I'm going to be sick."

"You're the one who asked for that information" Karen said chuckling.

"I'm supportive but also disgusted."

Liam picked up his fork. Didn't eat. Just moved food around.

Karen noticed.

"You okay?"

"Fine." His smile tightened. "Pack stuff."

Gideon's face flashed through Karen's mind. Arthur is dying.

"Grandfather?" she asked quietly.

Liam shook his head. "Not that. Just . . . territorial stuff. Patrols." He finally took a bite of his food. "Nothing for you to worry about."

Nothing for you to worry about.

The words stung more than they should have.

Because she was pack. She was the heir. But no one treated her like it. Not really. Not when she couldn't shift.

Carissa squeezed her hand. "Hey. Drinks on Friday. The three of us, no pack drama. Deal?"

Karen nodded.

Liam said nothing.

That night, Karen lay in bed.

The shelf brackets sat on her nightstand, still in the bag. She hadn't installed them. Maybe she'd keep them as an excuse to go back.

Pathetic.

Across the city, Jackson sat in the dark, Widget on his chest. Staring at his phone.

At a text he hadn't sent.

"I met someone," he'd typed. Then deleted. Then typed again. Then deleted.

He couldn't send it. Couldn't tell Ryle. Couldn't tell Marie. Couldn't tell anyone.

He set the phone down and looked at Widget. The kitten purred, utterly content, utterly unaware of the weight pressing down on his shoulders.

"Animals know," he whispered. "Dad always said animals know."

Widget purred.

Somewhere in the dark, the wolf inside Karen rolled over in its sleep.

Waiting.