Page 45 of Wolf's Whisper

Janelle takes a deep breath, stepping forward before this conversation can spiral completely out of control. "Chloe, honey," she’s gentle but firm, "Wolf has her own home. And we’re not talking about anyone moving in right now."

Chloe frowns thoughtfully, tapping her chin like she was seriously considering my answer. "Okay," nodding like sometiny CEO making an executive decision. "Maybe not right now, but if you live with us, can you bring your bike?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "Deal."

Chloe grins triumphantly, as if she’d just won the most important negotiation of her life. "Okay, but you have to let me ride it sometimes."

"That’s a hard no," Janelle cuts in, her mom voice on full display. "You’re not even tall enough to reach the pedals."

"Mom!" Chloe whines, stomping her foot. "I’ll grow!"

"Not fast enough," Janelle retorts, her lips twitching with suppressed amusement.

Abel smirks at his sister, clearly enjoying her defeat. "Guess you’ll just have to wait until you’re old enough to get your own bike."

"I’m gonna get a pink one with sparkles," Chloe declares, undeterred. "And it’ll be faster than yours, Abel!"

"Dream on," Abel shot back before turning his attention back to me. "So, Wolf, if you’re gonna hang around for Christmas and bring all these biker uncles…”

*****

It’s been a couple of weeks since Janelle and the kids practically adopted me into the family. Things have been running so smoothly and to be honest I have been here more nights then at the clubhouse.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table, trying to make sense of Janelle's scribbled notes on the grocery list. "Green things for salad" and "that one cereal Abel likes but I don't remember the name" were my marching orders. The kids are in the living room, their laughter echoing through the small house as they argued over which movie to watch. It was chaos, but it was the kind of chaos that felt… right.

Janelle bustles into the room, her hair pulled up in a messy bun and an oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder. Shelooks tired but relaxed in a way I haven’t seen before. It’s nice—seeing her like this. Like she was finally catching her breath.

"So," she leans against the counter and crossing her arms. "You’ve officially spent more nights here than at your own place this month. Should I start charging you rent?"

I smirk, leaning back in my chair. "Depends," I cross my arms to mirror her stance. "What’s the rent? Pancakes on Sundays and putting up with Abel’s interrogation sessions?"

Janelle chuckles, shaking her head. "That might cover it. But you’d also have to throw in 'fixing whatever Chloe breaks' and 'keeping Dillon out of the cookie jar before dinner.'"

"Sounds like a steep price," I tease, tapping the pen against the notepad. "But I think I can manage."

She rolls her eyes but smiles. That smile makes my chest feel a little lighter every time I saw it. "You’re ridiculous," she said, grabbing the kettle to fill it with water.

"Ridiculously helpful, you mean," I quip, holding up the grocery list like it was Exhibit A. "Who else would decipher this masterpiece of cryptic instructions?" I pointed to one particularly confusing note. "'Not too spicy but not boring'? What am I supposed to do with that? Hunt down the world’s most balanced salsa?"

Janelle laughs, the sound warm and easy. "It means get something everyone can eat without complaining," she says, setting the kettle on the stove. "Which, considering this house, is basically an impossible task."

"Ah, so you’re setting me up for failure. Got it," I reply, scribbling a dramatic question mark next to the note on the list.

She shakes her head, leaning against the counter again as she watched me. "You know, you don’t have to do this," she said softly. "The grocery runs, the helping out with the kids… all of it. You’ve already done so much for us."

I look up at her, my pen stilling on the page. The way she’s looking at me—it wasn’t pity or gratitude. It was something deeper. Something warmer. "I want to," I said simply. "This isn’t just about helping out or doing my job. I care about you, Janelle. About the kids. This feels… right. Like where I’m supposed to be."

She blinks, and for a moment, I think I’ve overstepped. But then she smiles, soft and a little shy, and it was like the whole room got warmer. "You’re really something, Onyx," she murmurs, shaking her head like she can’t quite believe it.

"Something good, I hope," I say lightly, trying to ease the sudden tension in the air.

Janelle’s eyes soften, and for a moment, there was just the quiet hum of the kettle heating up and the distant sound of the kids arguing about whether they should watch “Frozen” or “Star Wars”. She opens her mouth to say something, but Dillon burst into the kitchen like a hurricane before she could.

"Mom! Abel’s being a buttface again!" he announces loudly, his hands on his hips like a pint-sized lawyer ready to present his case.

Janelle sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What now?"

"He said if we watch‘Frozen’, my brain will freeze and I’ll turn into Olaf forever," Dillon huffs, glaring over his shoulder as if Abel were standing right there.

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