Page 9 of Reclaiming Home

“Hey Hen? You’re important to me, too.”

“Yeah.” He inhaled, the sound a bit stuttery as he gathered himself. “I got to go.”

“Yeah, me too.”

I ended the call, put the box back to where I’d found it, and left his room feeling like I could maybe manage this trip. First things first, I needed to get my car from the underground garage. I just hoped it would start okay.

Inavigated through Ohio, stopping only to go use a bathroom and give myself and the sedan a rest. There were a million questions in my brain, floating around, distracting me enough that I couldn’t get overwhelmed with emotion again.

I didn’t call Dad. Not yet. Not until I’d made sure with Carys it was fine to call him, and that wasn’t a conversation I was looking forward to. There were things that had been said and done between me, Dad, and Theresa after Carys went missing that I didn’t want to rehash in my mind or on the phone.

At my second stop, I found a small grocery store in a town along Highway 80. I was at least in Pennsylvania by then, and the car was still working. I got myself some drinks and a sandwich, then walked toward the register through the tiny cosmetics section.

It wasn’t even that, really, more like random things on the shelves that were makeup or haircare related, I suppose. But what made me stop were the nail polishes. I glanced at my hands, wondering when was the last time I had polish on. Over two years, for sure. It had been our thing. Carys had loved nail polish since I first bought her a small kit for her birthday when she was ten.

I added black and purple bottles into my basket, then grabbed nail polish remover and some cotton pads. Whether she was into it anymore or not, at least I could use the black myself.

At the candy aisle, I picked up some of her favorites, too. I couldn’t help myself. Reese’s and Skittles had always been her go-to candy.

I felt somehow better, as if I’d done something for her, when I got to the car. Hell, I felt like I’d done more with those simple purchases than I had in the last two years of contacting people and scouring the internet every day.

The rest of the way to Luxton was easy enough. I drove through a lot of woods and small towns scattered along the roads. By the time I landed in Luxton, I got my phone out and called Carys.

“Kye?” she asked in a tone that was so fucking glad I was calling it made me tear up again.

“Hey, so I’m in Luxton, and I need directions. The map app I have doesn’t seem to recognize the address.”

“Oh, okay, let me give this to Brodie.”

“Brodie McRae speaking,” that deep voice I’d heard in the background said.

“Hey, I’m Kynan Rossi, Carys’ brother. I’m in Luxton and I need to figure out how to get to the address she sent me?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, so it’s a bit tricky if you don’t know it.” He proceeded to explain to me how not to accidentally drive past the right crossroad and then what to look for. Including some battered Private Property sign. “There’s no streetlights, so you really need to keep an eye on that turn.”

“Okay. I’ll try my best. Thank you.”

“See you soon.”

I ended the call, wondering where the hell I was going that was so remote.

As I drove the last bit, I tried to remember anything at all I’d heard Carys say earlier. She’d called him Alpha, so it was safe to say he was a wolf, then. But if he was the Alpha, was this his land? And who was his uncle who had been the one holding Carys captive? At least that’s what I thought the situation had been.

Even driving carefully, I almost missed that turn. Driving deeper and deeper into the woods in the dark was kind of unnerving. The Private Property sign made it better and worse at the same time, which managed to almost amuse me. By the time the large house popped up in a clearing, I was sure I was lost somehow, even though Brodie had said it was a straight shot from the turn.

The house had to have anywhere from five to ten bedrooms. It was hard to tell with the darkness, but it loomed big and imposing opposite from a barn that had—crime scene tape across the doors? What the hell? Oh, right, manslaughter or murder. But the wolfy kind, so who even knew. There were very different laws for different species in different situations.

I parked next to a rental car, which was curious. As I got out, I tried to see more of my surroundings, but there really wasn’t much light coming from anywhere other than a porch light and one bare bulb that hung from a hook by the barn doors.

I left all my stuff in the car, smoothed down my T-shirt and pulled my denim jacket on. Some stupid part of my brain contemplated whether these jeans and boots were good enough to meet my sister for the first time in two years.

As I walked up the porch steps, they creaked loudly. Then a tall, backlit figure opened the door and stared at me.

“Brodie?” I hazarded a guess.

“Kynan?”

“Yeah, uh, call me Kye.”

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