To Hiss or to Kiss (24 page)

Well, isn’t that loaded? Mate? Yeah, I am probably on board with that.

“So now here we are, blended into a world where most prefer to believe we don’t exist. And we also make great fodder for books and movies, although the damn wolves have really monopolized the Western media.”

“Please tell me you aren’t jealous of that?”

“Maybe a little.” It’s his turn to blush for once.

“OK, that deserves at least a little mocking.”

He shrugs. “Fair enough. But what about you? From where does the fair Chloe hail? And I want the long version this time.”

Damn. I was way more comfortable talking about Jorge’s origins, and, well, all the info he just dumped on me is downright fascinating and begs for more questions. But he deserves my story as much as I deserve his. “Well, up until a few days ago, I thought the short version was pretty much all that mattered.” I hesitate.

“But…” Jorge prompts, shifting on the bed so he can pull me into his arms.

“Well, I had a vision that brought up a repressed memory about my mother.” I recount the whole vision I had of my parents.

“Wow. Well at least I’m not the only one with family baggage.” He shoots me a grin. I realize he’s trying to diffuse my tension with humor, and it’s sort of working. He already understands me so well.

I swivel so I can throw my arms around him. “I love you.”

He returns my hug. “Cool. I love you, too.”

I pull back. “Cool? Really?”

He shrugs, keeping his arms around me. “So what does this memory mean for you, going forward?”

“I don’t know. I want to talk to my father. I’ve wanted to try to build a better relationship with him for a while, but I’ve been scared to try. And I don’t know if I want to start with talking about this. My mom’s family was a taboo topic even before she left. And, well, I’ve harbored a lot of anger directed at him. And I still have some, but I want to try to be closer to him.”

“I get that.”

“As for my mom, I don’t know if I want to find her or not. I mean, she could be dead. And what I overheard about her family doesn’t exactly beg for a family reunion. I think I just need time to process.”

“I’m here with you whatever road you want to take, whenever you want to take it. I believe you have the courage to do anything.”

It’s such a simple sentiment, but it means the world to me that he’d have my back that way. I don’t even know how to begin to express my gratitude, so I settle for a simple thanks. “So what about your parents? Your siblings?”

“My family’s close. I talk with my dad and mom at least once a week. My dad told me I was a fool for not coming back to you right away.”

I swallow hard. He talks about me to his family. Somehow that seems more intrusive than how I’ve spilled my guts to Naomi about him. What if his family hates me?

“I’m the middle child. My older brother lives with his wife and two kids near my parents in Edinburgh. My sister’s in graduate school at Stanford. They’re all pretty normal considering they have shape-shifters in the family.”

“I guess overall that’s fairly undramatic. I’m not seeing the family baggage.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. My mom tries to organize all of our lives, and my dad is horribly frank. My brother is pissed off that he’s not a shape-shifter, and my sister’s a drama queen. I mean, I love them and all, but they do tend to drive me crazy. Hence I’m in North America and on the opposite side of the continent from my sister.” He laughs.

My attempt to laugh comes out as a nervous flutter.

He turns me so I’m looking directly at him. “Hey, they will love you.”

It’s as if he heard my earlier thoughts. I am sure I wasn’t projecting, but it seems that my connection with Jorge is just about always on if we want to acknowledge it. And that definitely bears further investigation, but my brain is too full to ponder anything else right now.

“Yeah?” My voice quavers ever so slightly.

He leans in and kisses me softly. “Yeah. You’ll knock their socks off.”

I can’t help but laugh at his goofiness.

Chapter Eighteen

Before I completely chicken out, I decide to call my dad. Jorge’s confidence in me is a major catalyst for steeling my nerves.

When I asked, Jorge agreed I should invite my dad down for a weekend or at least dinner if he doesn’t want to stay. Knowing my dad, he won’t want to stay.

Jorge offers to sit with me while I call, but this is something I have to do on my own. And he understands, amazing man that he is. He says he’ll go walk the dogs to give me some time alone to call.

My dad answers on the fourth ring. “Hello?” He always says it like an accusation, as if you are being interrogated for calling.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Chloe. Hello.”

“How are you doing?”

“Fine. You?”

“I’m doing well. In fact, I called to tell you I met someone.”

“OK.”

I get the impression he’s either not reading between the lines or pretending nonchalance. I’m not sure which.

“Anyway, I really want you to meet him. I’d like to invite you to come to dinner, or we can come visit you.” I wasn’t planning to offer that, but suddenly I realize it really is important to me for my dad to meet and like Jorge.

My dad grunts a bit. “So it’s serious then? I guess I’ll need to meet this guy.”

Something in my dad’s tone puts me on the defensive. “Yeah, it’s serious. He’s really wonderful.”

“Well, when were you thinking?”

“Maybe some time in the next several weeks. You could come down for the weekend and stay with us.”

“You shacking up?”

“I guess that’s one way to put it. I’ve never taken you for a prude, Dad.”

“I’m not. Just want to make sure you thought this through. He treats you right?”

His explanation makes my anger fade. It’s not too often I hear my dad sound protective. “Yeah, he treats me right.”

He grunts his approval. “OK. I’ll call you back and let you know.” That’s my dad. He’s incapable of planning more than a week in advance. And it’s not like he has an active social life or insane calendar he needs to consult.

Now that we have tentative plans, I start to choke on my words when I try to talk about anything more. But I need to do this, so I suck it up. “Dad?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m hoping we can take some more time to talk, too. I feel like we’ve really drifted apart, and I want you to know that I do want you to be an important part of my life.”

He’s silent for a long time. Then he just grunts again, and I figure this is progress. At least he acknowledged me.

“And when you come down, I could really use some gardening advice. Jorge has great acreage.”

“I could do that. Although I’m a bit rusty. Haven’t gardened in years.”

“Well, you know more than I do, and you had the best gardens. I have a lot of great memories spending time with you in the garden.”

He grunts again and goes silent.

Finally I continue. “OK, well, call me when it looks like you can come down, and we’ll work something out. I look forward to seeing you.”

“You too, Chloe.”

“I love you, Dad.” I say it quickly to make sure I get it out.

The line goes silent again, but then finally my dad mumbles, “Love you, too.”

My heart soars. I don’t remember my dad telling me that since before my mom left. Not that I’ve done any better. “Bye, Dad. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye.”

He hangs up, and despite the awkward moments, that is the best conversation I’ve had with my dad in a really long time. It’s not going to be easy to keep moving forward and putting the past behind me, but I am committed to trying. I still am not sure I can talk with him about Mom, but we can wait to cross that bridge.

* * *

Jorge returns a short while later. I’m still sitting on the couch, cell phone in hand, staring at the wall. I’m not sure if I’m still processing or just letting my mind blank out as the adrenaline drains out of me. I had to really work myself up to make that call.

“Hey, beautiful. How’d your call go?” He leans over and kisses the top of my head.

I look up at him with a smile. “Actually, pretty good. He’s going to call with a date to come visit.”

“Great. I can’t wait to meet him. And, Chloe, I’m proud of you for facing your fear.”

Dammit, he’s going to make me cry—again. At least these would be happy tears. I manage to hold myself together. “Thanks. How are the dogs?”

“OK. They evidently don’t like being inside all the time, since they congregate around the door and whine whenever I get near the living room.”

“Can’t blame them for that.”

“No. Maybe you should talk with them and explain more what’s going on.”

“Like why they shouldn’t talk to strangers when they go out to pee and should look both ways before crossing the street?” I grin.

He shoots me an exaggerated glare. “Sure, but I was thinking more of why we’re keeping them inside.”

“Yeah, I can do that. I’m not sure it will make them any happier about the situation, but maybe it will help calm them down about it.”

I call all the dogs into the bedroom and explain in more detail why it’s so important for them to stay close and safe. As predicted, they don’t like it, not only because they want to go outside, but also because they want to protect us. It goes against their nature to sit idly by when there is a threat to their pack. But they reluctantly agree to stay away from strangers when they do need to go outside and to wait it out in the house. For all any of us knows, we’ll never see any mysterious slow-moving vans again.

I relay the conversation to Jorge. We are both relieved that the dogs agreed to cooperate, although I’m not too surprised that they did. So far they’ve shown themselves to be highly motivated by our praise. If nothing else, seeing that we’re happier with their agreement makes them happier with the whole situation.

This is the first time I’ve ever owned a dog—if you can even really say that one owns his or her pet. It’s like saying you own your kid, which in some ways is accurate but doesn’t really describe the nature of the relationship. After such a short time, I can already see the appeal of having such exuberant beings surrounding you all the time. As excited as Sashi and Enoki are to see me, their reaction pales in comparison to the enthusiasm of the dogs. I think I’ll always be a cat person though—which is a good thing for Jorge. I smile a bit wickedly at the thought of Jorge being all mine.

“What’s that look about?” The heat in his eyes says he already has a pretty good idea.

“Nothing much. Just thinking about how I love the dogs, but I’ll always be a cat person.”

He takes me in his arms. Our lips almost meet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I playfully nip his lower lip. He growls, letting the cat out to play.

* * *

Jorge and I are fast asleep after our antics in bed, when I feel a wetness on my hand and I hear Ringo calling out to me.

“Chloe, wake up. I really, really,
really
need to pee.”

I moan and sink deeper into Jorge’s arms, pulling my hand back.

“Chloe, wake up. I’m
dying
here. I
have
to pee.”

Ugh, why won’t that voice go away? I crack my eyes open and see Ringo by the bed, prancing around, doing the doggy version of a potty dance.

Ringo starts hotfooting toward the bedroom door.
“Thank goodness. I’ve
got
to go.”

With a sigh, I extricate myself from Jorge, which causes him to groan in his sleep. I get out of bed and throw on one of his T-shirts.

His voice is groggy. “Where are you going?”

“Ringo’s got to pee.”

He nods and closes his eyes.

Gee, thanks for the assistance. I roll my eyes as I head to the front door.

The other dogs all crowd around as I near the door. Guess Ringo was just the messenger. They all go flying out when I open the door. I send out a telepathic reminder to stay close to the house.

Suddenly I see headlights flip on, and a van pulls into the end of the driveway. Ringo, who is closest, starts to bark and lunges toward the van.

“Ringo, no, come back!” I yell at him aloud, but he keeps on going. I mentally tap him, but he is in the zone and doesn’t respond.

I watch in horror as the van door slides open and a man catches Ringo with a rabies pole and then hauls him into the back. I scream as the door shuts and the van tears out of the driveway. It peels away, dust flying in its wake.

The van is still in sight when Jorge rushes up behind me. His hair is mussed, and he’s wearing only a pair of jeans, which under other circumstances would have been a treat for me. “What happened?”

“Ringo just got pulled into the van, and they sped off.” I don’t know if I’m more pissed off or worried.

“I’m going to shift and go after them.” He starts to push past me, and my hand shoots out to stop him.

“Wait, that could be dangerous. Let me call Gracie. I asked her to follow the van around.” I call out to Gracie, who tells me she’s on it, which I relay to Jorge.

“I’ll call the police then.”

He heads back to the bedroom to retrieve his cell phone while I try to get the dogs settled down. I tell them it will be OK, that we’ll get Ringo back. I pray I am right.

I finally get the dogs to lie down next to the couch. They curl around my feet, seeking comfort.

Jorge comes back in. “The police said they could be here in about ten minutes to take a statement. I’m going to go get the security feed ready for them.” He looks at the dogs, then back at me. “Everyone all right?”

“Yeah, as well as we can be. Hopefully Gracie gets good intel or can at least tell us if Ringo’s OK.”

He leans over and kisses the top of my head before striding away down the hall. The clock says it’s four in the morning. I wonder how long those bastards have been lurking out there, waiting for this opportunity to arise. Fuckers.

I sink to the floor, absently petting the dogs. Together we wait for the police.

When they finally arrive, it seems too routine, too simple. They take statements from Jorge and me. Jorge gives them the security footage. We sign some papers, and they say they’ll call. It doesn’t feel like enough.