Page 12 of The Wild Moon
Powerless to help, I did what I could. I sat next to her and held her while she cried. I was going to have to change my shirt. Again. At this rate, I’d go through my entire wardrobe before I left town. On the plus side, shopping spree? Though I’d have to come up with the money somehow. That was a bit of a bummer.
As my mind wandered, Jo sobbed into my shoulder. The poor girl was absolutely distraught. Had someone died? She needed something to calm her down. I gently eased my way out from under her arm and settled her into the corner of the couch. I grabbed a box of tissues from the coffee table and shoved it at her.
“Here,” I said gently. “I’m going to make us some tea. I feel like we could both use it. I’ll be right here, though, okay? I’m not leaving.”
Jo didn’t have the composure to speak, but she managed a nod before burying her face in her arms again.
I got off the couch, trying desperately not to note that it was my mother’s favorite couch. I’d somehow sunk into her spot, as if now that she was gone, someone else had to take up her mantle of matron of the house.
She’s not gone. Just missing. She might still be alive.
The supplies for tea hadn’t been touched while I’d been gone, but it was my mother’s go-to drink, and I soon had bags hanging over the lips of a pair of mugs and water well on its way to boiling so they could steep.
“You got her this one,” I said softly, looking at the mugs. “We were what, ten?”
I held up the white mug that said “World’s Best Teacher” on it. My mom hadn’t been a teacher, but she was like the mother Jo had never really had, and to a ten-year-old, anything that said “World’s Best” on it was worthy. My mom had cherished that mug.
Jo glanced up, and for a moment, a smile graced her face. I smiled back at her, trying to put as much empathy and care into that one look as I could. I was dying to ask questions and pry answers from my friend, but the words had to come from her. She had to be ready to talk about her experience.
“Have you been back here?” Jo asked suddenly. “You know…since?”
I shook my head. “No,” I told her. “Not until today. It was always too painful. Too many bad memories that I couldn’t seem to shake. The unknowns are the worst part. Not knowing the truth.”
“Yeah,” Jo said quietly. “I get that. Not knowing is…It can tear you up inside.”
There was something there. I frowned. “Are you okay, Jo?”
I couldn’t help it. She was my best friend, and I had to know.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Physically, I guess.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, pouring the water into the mugs. “Something wrong with your mind?”
“I don’t know,” Jo said flatly.
I considered her answer while I brought the mugs over and set them on a pair of coasters in front of us. “You don’t know?”
“I mean. I think I’m okay. Maybe. I don’t know. That’s a lie,” she said with a cry-hiccup. “If I were fine, I wouldn’t be a mess like this.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed, not sure what else to say. “What went wrong?”
“Ha. More like what went right?” Jo said bitterly. “The answer to which is absolutely nothing. How could it when on the night of your Soulshift, you can’t do the one thing you’re supposed to do?”
My frown deepened. I knew I should probably ease up on it lest I give myself some perma-wrinkles. Which, of course, was bullshit. But hey, media influence at its best, right? Still, I relaxed my face.
“Your Soulbond didn’t form either?” I asked gently, feeling horrified for my friend.
Jo laughed. Harshly, bitterly. I’d expected agreement. More tears. Not that, though. The sarcastic bite of her laugh cut me deeply because Jo was always such a happy person. If anyone was in need, she was the first to lend a hand. She didn’t deserve whatever had happened to her.
“Hard for that to happen,” she grated out, “when you can’t even shift.”
I blinked. “What?” I had to work my jaw several times to get that single word out. She couldn’tshift?Now that was unheard of.
“Yeah,” Jo said. “I didn’t shift, Dan. I know my wolf is there. She’s inside me. I can feel her a bit like you did leading up to your Soulshift. She’s definitely there, just weak, somehow. Nothing happened last night. I waited, standing there naked, while everyone else shifted and took off. And I waited. And waited. And nothing.”
“Oh, god, Jo,” I said, reaching out to hug her again. “I’m so sorry. I should have been there for you. I can’t imagine.”
My guilty conscience reared its ugly head again, slamming me down, painting me as unworthy of this friendship. I’dpromisedJo that I would be there for her, but as soon as the moon showed its face, I’d taken off without a care in the world, leaving my friend behind to suffer horribly.
