Page 83 of Villainous Fate

Yours always,

Deacon

XX

Ps. Cap agreed to take you to the signing in March. Get a disposable camera so I can feel like I’m there!

Iwipetheerranttear off my cheek after reading Deacon’s latest letter for the tenth time. My heart feels full having his words in front of me. Six months is long, but The Fates know what they are doing. They wouldn’t present this challenge to us if they didn’t think we could handle it.

For the first time in a week, I don’t request an extra shift, and instead, I head to the store for the ingredients I’ll need to make banana nut bread.

I can’t remember the last time I baked at home.

A quick cursory glance at the pantry shows we haven’t been shopping in a while, and I note some of the basic things we need. A pang of guilt hits, knowing my dad hasn’t had a good meal in a few days.

I get most of my meals from the diner, and I used to spend my off time with Deacon eating at the pack house, but it doesn’t feel right hanging around without him.

The only thing we aren’t out of is alcohol, which fills an entire shelf in the fridge.

That’s the only reason Dad hasn’t complained.

Straightening, I grab my purse and head out the door. Some days, I wish my mom was strong enough to stick around. I understand why she left us—Dad wasn’t the man she married—but her absence meant I had to pick up the pieces of him—a job I never signed up for.

I love my dad. I still hold onto the memories of when he used to take us on surprise picnics or build a tent in our yard for “camping” human style. He once burned a marshmallow so bad we couldn't get it off the stick, and that charred limb became a staple on all of our adventures.

I don’t think it’s come out of the closet since we moved here.

My mother couldn’t handle the shell my dad became when he lost his place in the pack. She loved him for his position, not the man behind it. Now, I come home every night and turn off the old television while he snores from his rundown recliner, reeking of the day's consumption of his favorite beer.

When I have the energy to fight him, I force a shower or coax a run for his wolf, leading us to the nearby stream.

It’s not a permanent fix, but it's working for now. I know he will find his strength again in time. He just needs purpose, and I don’t have an answer right now.

When Luca takes over, maybe he will find a place.

Deacon and I used to talk about how it would all work once we left, with my dad finding a new home in Luca’s inner circle.

I can only hope Luca will find compassion to see past the man he has become and give him a chance—one Giovanni never even considered. He saw my dad as used-up trash from another pack. Why would Giovanni Marlo want their scraps if they didn't want him?

He welcomed him into the pack but never allowed him into the pack hierarchy.

The chime on the grocery store door pulls me out of my inner dialogue and has me checking the list I brought with me.

“Hey, Gracie!” Brenda says from her checkout lane as I walk in.

I give her a wave but keep walking. Brenda’s a regular at Mel’s. She and her husband, Benny, come at least twice a week. They are kind people, but they are human, so they remain completely oblivious to the world around them.

I spent nearly an hour filling my cart with the supplies for the bread and some premade meals my dad would need to survive.

Frozen dinners may not be much, but on my waitressing paycheck, it’s what I can afford to spend.

Once I have everything I need, I head back to Brenda to check out, putting on my customer service smile as I approach.

“My oh my, you are stocking up this trip. How’s your daddy doing?”

For the last year, I’ve told people he’s fallen ill, which honestly isn’t exactly a lie, but it keeps social services away and limits the questions as to why he's never shown up to a performance or award at school. Why hasn’t he driven me to work on rainy days or picked me up to make sure I make it home after a late shift?

Medical issues shut people up because they don’t really want to help; they are just nosy.

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