Page 98 of The Evening Wolves

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Tean’s words were indistinct, but the tone was clearly a refusal.

“I think you both win the bet,” Shaw announced. “Because John-Henry does look like a sex fiend who got his brains fucked out, and that was what North predicted, but Jem also predicted that they’d just go to bed because of their old and aged—” He gave the word two syllables. “—bodies, so I think you should call it a draw.”

John-Henry made a line for the fridge.

The silence in the living room only lasted a moment before North and Jem both burst out at the same time.

“They totally fucked!” North shouted.

“Give me a break,” Jem shouted at the same time, “anybody can see they fell asleep!”

“Maybe you should ask Emery,” Shaw said. “He wouldn’t even be mad if Tean was the one to do it.”

“No!” Tean said quickly. “No, no. I think Shaw was right the first time. I think you should call it a draw.”

John-Henry found a Diet Pepsi that had somehow escaped Shaw’s raids on the soda stash. He opened it and considered his options for dinner, or his midnight snack, or whatever this meal was supposed to be called.

“Auggie,” North said.

“Fuck yeah,” Jem said. “Get Auggie over here. He’ll tell you I’m right.”

“I really don’t think—” Tean tried.

But North and Jem’s arguing moved toward the front of the house, fading—fortunately—until John-Henry couldn’t hear them anymore. John-Henry tossed the newspaper on the counter and inspected a takeout container. He didn’t remember ordering fried rice, so maybe this was ancient. Or maybe it was Colt’s. Or maybe one of the other guys had ordered it. John-Henry dumped the food in a bowl, added a few drops of water, and put it in the microwave. There were probably better ways to reheat fried rice; Emery would know. He grinned, remembering the note of panic he’d heard in Tean’s voice. Maybe he’d send Tean to wake him up.

As the microwave hummed, John-Henry’s eyes fell on the newspaper. He picked it up to carry it to the recycling. Whatever Naomi was saying about him—whatever anyone was saying about him—he didn’t need to know. He’d turn off his social media notifications again. He’d avoid the paper. He’d be civil in public, and in private, he’d find some healthy ways to cope and, as importantly, to help his husband and children as they made their way through this process together.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the name until he was about to drop the paper in with the rest of the recycling. He stopped and brought the paper closer to make sure it wasn’t a trick of the eye.

A SECOND CHANCE, the headline read, BUT NO SECOND MIRACLES. It was a short story at the bottom of the front page. He hadn’t noticed it when he’d looked at the paper before because he’d been so focused on the call for his resignation.

He scanned the copy and located the name again: Marcie Fuentes. He knew that name. He’d been looking for Marcie Fuentes on and off for a couple of months. She was one of the women Dulac had saved from being trafficked.

John-Henry forced himself to read the article more slowly. It was spare on details, and it was clear that the double tragedies of Marcie’s life were what had earned her a place in the news. A hit-and-run incident Tuesday claimed Marcie Fuentes’s life. Fuentes was rescued from a human trafficking operation in May of 2020 and had been living under the assumed name of Jessica Martinez. Police identified her from an expired driver’s license she was carrying. Friends and neighbors were shocked to learn about her past, but one woman who asked not to be identified suggested Fuentes’s experience was the reason she had been so passionate about her work at Wahredua’s new GLAM Center. LGBTQ teens make up a large percentage of victims of trafficking…

There was more, but his brain was moving too fast for him to read the rest of it.

Marcie Fuentes.