Page 105 of The Good Boys Club

Eventually, I pulled the car over in a lay-by at the edge of his pack’s reserve. I threw my belt off and jumped out.

“Why are we here?” he said, following me, frowning through his confusion. “I thought you were gonna take me for dessert.”

“You just had two cheesecakes at Clem’s.”

“Yeah?”

I cupped his shoulder and spun him to face me. “Look, I know you’re panicking about giving everything up for . . . this. You miss Remy, and you’re wondering how you’ll ever cope here in the middle of nowhere. So I thought I’d show you why thisisyour place, Mash. This place is perfect for you. I know you never told me about the alpha thing, and I understand why, but having been here in Howling Pines, I get why you—not Clem, or Zac, or Mika, but you—were chosen as the alpha.”

Mash pursed his lips together, no doubt holding back a retort.

“Come, I need you to see this.” I grabbed his hand and started walking into the forest. It took only a minute before the trees became so dense they blocked the road from our view. We walked on for a few more minutes, our destination a tall pine tree of . . . some variety. I came to a stop at its base.

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I worried I might miss the mark completely.

“Okay, so . . .” I tried to sound as sure as I felt a moment ago. “This is Exhibit A.”

Mash still said nothing. He raised a questioning brow and drew his finger and thumb down over his moustache.

“Consider old man’s beard . . . your favourite lichen,” I said, holding my hand out in atah-dahkind of way.

Mash dug his hands into the pockets of his shorts. He chewed his lip, but couldn’t hide the smile beginning to form. Fine, he was playing hard to get.

“Old man’s beard, right? I’ve forgotten the scientific name for it. Grows where the air is really clean. Don’t get any old man’s beard in Remy, do we?”

“How do you know what my favourite lichen is?”

Gods, had there ever been a more adorably delivered line? “Because five years ago you took a research fellow job at RU and your very first lecture was about identifying lichen. You made me sit and listen as you practiced your speech for hours andhours. And you didn’t know this at the time, but I snuck in to watch the real thing. Sat at the back in disguise.”

“I knew that was you,” he said softly.

“I was in disguise,” I reiterated, somewhat irritated he’d never told me he knew.

“Wearing a maroon beanie instead of a mustard beanie doesn’t really count as a disguise.” Mash tilted his head to the side and gave me a curious smile. “So, this is why I should be happy about moving here? My favourite lichen?”

I spun him around in a circle. “It’s everywhere. That means the air is super fucking clean here.” I drew a short vertical line in the air with my finger. “Howling pines one: Remy nil.”

He snorted. “Oka—”

“I’m not done yet.”

I marched off down a long sloping bank. Mash followed until I stopped again, seemingly at random. It wasn’t at random, though, far from it. We had been on several hikes over the past few weeks, and this spot had stuck out in my mind. I hadn’t thought about why, but now I understood.

“Do you remember the very first week of uni? I asked you what your favourite tree was. What did you say?” I said.

“Pines.” Pines were his go-to answer. He loved them, yes, but Mash was a lot more complex than the simple short answers he gave everyone else.

I pointed to a tree in front of him.

Mash looked up and up at it. A medium-sized trunk rose twenty feet into a firework of busy foliage and spiky green fruits. The mace-like seed pods littered the soil at the base of the tree. Some had split open, revealing their shiny brown treasures.

“It doesn’t matter if you’ve forgotten. I remember what you said. You said,‘This time of year, horse chestnut, because of all the conkers.’”

“How do you remember that?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I placed my hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him, turning him around forty-five degrees. “And then you said,‘In the spring, my favourites are the limes, because of the blossom scent, though they have nothing to do with the citrus fruit.’” I pointed to what I was about eighty percent sure was a lime tree. If it wasn’t, Mash was either going to roll his eyes or pretend it was to spare my feelings.

“What the fuck?” he said in a whisper.

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