Chaps and Hope (Mossy Glenn Ranch 1) (17 page)

BOOK: Chaps and Hope (Mossy Glenn Ranch 1)

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“I am sorry, so sorry,” Sully murmured, his voice cracking.

Wes had carried around his pain and anger, justified or not, for almost two years. He knew he shouldn’t have let it control him, but had been unable to stop it. “You were the only friend I had, Sul, and you left me.” Oh God, he really was pathetic. Wes sobbed then, ashamed of so many things, and sure they’d never be righted again.

How much time passed as he lay on the floor trying to keep himself from falling into a million pieces, Wes didn’t know. Sully had stopped talking, though, and was sniffling irregularly when suddenly someone else touched Wes’ shoulder.

The firm hand seemed to radiate out warmth and peace, two things Wes was in dire need of. His hearing clouded with a loud buzzing as the feelings of comfort increased.

Wes blinked and saw that Sully had got up at some point, but still that touch remained on his shoulder, soothing him inside. Eventually he rolled his head and found himself looking into a withered brown face, deeply lined with wrinkles, and the kindest almost-black eyes he’d ever seen.

“You will be okay, boy.”

Wes couldn’t even be offended by the boy part, not when the man looking at him had to be close to a hundred, if not in actual years, then in his soul at least. A kind smile spread on the man’s lips and Wes soon found himself returning it.

“I am Remus, shaman of the San Antonio wolf shifter pack. Would you like to come stay with me for a few days? I can help you find peace.”

Normally, Wes didn’t think of himself as the trusting or naïve kind—although some people would argue that last one with him. Or maybe they’d just call him stupid, and he’d have to agree.

But he knew he could trust Remus. He felt it inside, and his leopard was purring happily under the man’s touch.

“There are no easy instant fixes, but peace is possible. You have to look first in here.” Remus moved his hand, trailing warmth and tingles all the way down to where he then pressed on Wes’ chest, over his heart. “Be honest with yourself, and find out what has poisoned you, and why you allowed it. Then begin healing.”

“I—” Wes’ throat was too dry, as if he’d cried all the moisture out of his body. He swallowed and Remus eased his hand up to cup Wes’ neck. Wes didn’t know whether to be creeped out or grateful when the parched sensation ceased, but he went with the latter. “It’s not just me here.” Wes touched his chest. “I used drugs and sometimes I want them again, so bad.”

Remus didn’t appear to be surprised or disgusted. He canted his head and hummed as he stroked Wes from throat to chest. There was nothing sexual in the touch, only reassurance and that tingling warmth.

“You aren’t a lost cause, Wes. I do know some of what has happened to you. Your grandmother is a good friend of mine.” Remus held up a finger when Wes started to talk. “But I am no one to judge another. That is not my place, and besides, I know a good person—which you are, despite your fears otherwise—is harder on themselves than anyone else could be.” He leant down and whispered, “Who are you truly angry with?”

And despite his earlier claims, Wes knew the truth, and it scared him to his core. “Me.” Because if he hated himself, then what was the point to his existence?

“And many people love you,” Remus said quietly. “You have little faith in yourself. We will start there, perhaps.” He stood and Wes found himself pulled to his feet by the surprisingly strong old man. “Come. Let us get you to neutral ground.”

“Neutral ground?” Sully sputtered. “What does that mean? I’m not the enemy!”

Remus nodded. “Indeed you aren’t, but nor are you his friend.”

Neither Sully nor Bobby argued, although Bobby glowered. But Wes knew Remus was right. Sully wasn’t his friend just then. The two years since he’d moved away and hooked up with Bobby had eradicated most of the bond he and Wes had shared when they’d been younger.

“In time, you two can repair the damage done. For now, give me and Wes a few days, then perhaps, rather than having him stay in the house, you should trust him with the garage apartment and some privacy.” Remus didn’t wait for an answer, he simply turned and steered Wes outside. “Family means well, but they do not always know how to help. Indeed, they can make things so much worse.”

Did it make him a traitor to agree? Wes slanted the old shaman a look and saw only kindness in his eyes. “Yeah, I guess. I didn’t make it easy to help me, either.”

Remus made that humming sound again before he spoke. “Yes, but there is too much anger and hurt between you and your brother.”

“It’s just me,” Wes clarified. He felt so tired, and his muscles, what there were of them, were weak as if he’d worked out for hours. “It’s just me.”

“No.”

Wes almost stumbled at the forcefulness and certainty that one little word conveyed.

Remus stopped and Wes looked everywhere but at him. His brother and Bobby lived right on the outskirts of the pack property. There were mesquites and drought-dead grass, cactus and grass burrs all over. It was kind of pretty in a desolate way.

“You do not want to hear me, or believe what I say. You love your brother and want to keep idolising him, except you cannot. He failed you and it broke your heart.”

“It did not.” Wes had meant it to come out adamant, angry even, but his protest sounded feeble.

Remus peered at him with those eyes and Wes would have sworn the man could see right into his thoughts. Remus seemed to know him better than Wes knew himself. “It isn’t uncommon to idolise our older brothers. We measure ourselves by their standards, and want their approval and love. We want to be everything they are to us, but what we fail to realise is that they too are only human.” Remus’ lips quirked. “Or shifter, as the case may be. Still, they make mistakes, and they hurt people, and often it is the people who worship them that get hurt.”

Wes could have denied it, but he’d have been lying again. He wondered, though. “You have an older brother?”

Remus nodded. “Two. Both alive, in case you are wondering. I’m not as old as you might think.” He grinned and it was rather disconcerting to realise the old man was attractive with that long white hair and distinguished features. “Surprised you, no?”

Wes nodded dumbly, snapping shut his mouth. He’d not realised he was gawping until the breeze dried his mouth out.

Remus laughed, a rich, warm sound that encouraged anyone around to join in. “I get that often, as do my brothers. We are from a generation that spent most of our lives outside, and sunscreen was unheard of.”

“Would shifters really need it?” Wes asked, curious even though it was probably a dumb question, considering everything they’d discussed.

Remus nodded. “Oh yes. We cannot get many diseases, it’s true, but cancer is one that can kill us as surely as it can a human. While I’ve only known of one shifter to die from melanoma, it can happen. We have more protection against the sun’s damage, but too much can still hurt us. I am probably sun-proofed, like a piece of worn leather.”

“Huh.” Wes hadn’t ever been accused of being a chatterbox, or a brilliant conversationalist, and he obviously wasn’t going to start being one now.

“I can only keep you with me for a few days. Then there will be someone coming who must be assured of his safety. But I think, in those few days, you and I can make some grand progress.” Remus tilted his head and gestured for Wes to walk. “If you will be honest with yourself and me. You do want to get better, don’t you, Wesley?”

Did he? Or would he rather run away and lose himself, and his leopard, and, eventually, his life?

Wes had decisions to make, the first one being whether or not he was going to grow up instead of being a churlish brat. Yes, Sully had hurt him, but would he let that be the focus of everything in his world? Or would he make himself into a better man, one he liked and others might, someday, admire?

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About the Author

A native Texan, Bailey spends her days spinning stories around in her head, which has contributed to more than one incident of tripping over her own feet. Evenings are reserved for pounding away at the keyboard, as are early morning hours. Sleep? Doesn’t happen much. Writing is too much fun, and there are too many characters bouncing about, tapping on Bailey’s brain demanding to be let out.

Caffeine and chocolate are permanent fixtures in Bailey’s office and are never far from hand at any given time. Removing either of those necessities from Bailey’s presence can result in what is known as A Very, Very Scary Bailey and is not advised under any circumstances.