Page 13 of Leave Me
Always the quiet one in our friend group, I wasn’t surprised at his brevity. An older man I vaguely recognized from the Northlake tribestood and said something similar to the others. About being an old friend of Alpha King’s, knowing him to be a great leader in his prime, and then offering support to the family.
The owner of The Barn, where Alpha King liked to drink, talked about how he had to cut him off, steal his bike keys, and call the cops on the man, but joked he kept him in business during the recession. We all chuckled at his levity, and the man stepped away.
Taking my mom’s hand, I leaned down to whisper, “Do you want to say something?”
She shook her head, and I found my gaze straying back to Fowler. Would he say something about his estranged father?
When an awkward silence ensued after a neighbor spoke mostly about how noisy the motorcycles were and how much she missed Amy King, many looked at Fowler like he would speak. He gave nothing away and didn’t even flinch toward the podium.
Pastor Don stepped up again. “In lieu of flowers, consider giving to the local causes that David King helped to grow, always leading the holiday charity ride. Please offer your condolences to the King family as you make your way to their house. There will be food and refreshments where you can share your memories of David King.”
As Mom and I made our way to the line forming, I glanced over at the ceremonial resting place for Fowler’s father. The new gravestone read:
David Merle King
Loving Husband,
Father & Son,
Alpha
Seeing the order and wording, I couldn’t help noting that Husband came first and Alpha last, as if for emphasis. If only he had put more effort into being a father.
Chapter nine
Fowler
Barely absorbing the words from my family and others, I couldn’t bring myself to show emotion. Plus, I’d cried my eyes out over the letter in the previous days, and after drinking myself into oblivion the night before.
Hopefully, my glasses hid my red eyes.
My father was all the things everyone said. He was a good husband and a born leader, but he was also hard to love. An alcoholic who apparently found his way to accept me and sobriety in the end. Channing told me he died of liver cancer, which was rare for a shifter. He hadn’t wanted treatment and refused to shift, which I had to guess meant he wanted to be with my mom.
One part of me wanted to say, ‘good riddance,’ but a voice in my head growled at my disrespect. My Alpha was partial to happy memories and how my father led by example for most of my childhood. I’d learned how to be a man partially from those memories, and also hownotto act from the years leading up to my leaving.
Those conflicting thoughts had me reining in the tears until Uncle Clark had spoken. He stepped up in my life when my dad wasn’t there for me and Channing. I’d spent a lot of time in the Finley household, just down the road behind the Motorvated shop, and I needed to remember to show my appreciation to him for his help.
After a handful of people had spoken, most I knew well, I felt the eyes of everyone on me. They wanted me to speak about my father, and I could bet some wanted me to tear into him. The joke was on them because there was no chance in hell I would make a spectacle of myself for the man I called Dad.
What would I even say? I loved my father for the first ten years of my life, when everything was picture perfect, and then I resented him. He was an amazing father, and then he was the reason I ran away, leaving Channing behind. I loved my baby sister and never blamed her for Mom’s passing the way my father had. Anything I said about Alpha King would reflect poorly on her, so it was best if I didn’t say anything at all.
Channing, Gramps, and I waited beside the path to thank everyone for coming while they offered platitudes. Avoiding everyone’s eyes during the funeral meant I was surprised by many of the people who shook my hand after the minister dismissed us.
Most people said how sorry they were for our loss, and I could simply give a nod and a quiet, ‘Thank you,’ before they moved on. But some wanted to gush about how great it was to see me home.
“It’s good you’re home now. Your sister could sure use your help,” our neighbor, Pam, insisted in a passive-aggressive way that poked a finger at my guilt. “Though I don’t like the idea of another noisy motorcycle racing up and down the road, stirring up dust.”
Her complaints weren’t new, and I was glad we kept her away with stories of wolves on our land. It was a rumor we usually laughed at, stating there were no wolves so far south in California. They’d rarely been spotted in the state for decades. But for nosy neighbors, Dad hadn’t minded spreading that bit of tea.
“The road is paved now, Pam,” Gramps pointed out, and I let them talk, movement catching my eye.
Most of the younger guests had already left for the house for food and drinks, but one dirty-blond head of hair caught my attention among the little old ladies at the end of the line.
Though I hadn’t seen him in a decade, and he was noticeably older with laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, I would know him in a sea of people.
Riley Jones.
Another, stronger pang of guilt hit me squarely in the chest. I felt bad about leaving him behind in a whole different way than I felt about everyone else. Riley was always soft, only having his mom and never being able to shift. He’d always been an outsider. I was the one who protected him.
