Page 50 of The Evening Wolves

As they passed through the kitchen, Emery’s phone buzzed. Reflexively, he drew it out. An email from Drew Klein showed in the notifications, and the preview showed the subject line: RETURNING COLT’S EQUIPMENT.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?” John asked as he shouldered open the door and stepped out. The winter sunlight fell over him like a thin, white shawl. It bleached the gold from his cheek. It turned his hair the color of bone. Only for an instant, though, and then he was pressing outside, the hard smell of winter—a mineral iciness—met Emery as he followed him out into the afternoon.

“Drew, that piece of shit. He didn’t waste a single fucking second. You know what I should do? I should make him tell me what happened today. Fucking overcompensating dad-bod fuckbait with a fucking micropenis. How tough do you think he’s going to be when he’s not terrorizing a child? I bet I wouldn’t even have to touch him. The big fuck would probably wet himself.”

John shook his head. Somehow, the motion conveyed amusement, with a trace of annoyance.

“Are you listening to this? He’s kicking Colt off the basketball team.”

Ice crunched under John’s steps as he headed toward the trash cans against the fence. “Ok.”

“Ok? It’s not ok, John. It’s about as far from ok as it can be. Do you understand how Colt’s going to feel? Not to mention that something seriously fucked up happened today, and he won’t talk about it. He won’t even look me in the eye. And instead of helping us, like a responsible adult, Drew’s being a petty-ass bitch because he’s still got his butt hurt because you wouldn’t waive his kid’s speeding ticket.”

When John reached the trash cans, he juggled the load of clothes for a moment before getting the lid off. Then dumped everything into the can. He wiped his hands, considered the inside of the can, and replaced the lid. When he turned around, he must have seen something on Emery’s face because his own eyebrows went up. In a surprisingly smooth voice, he said, “Actually, Ree, I think it really is ok.”

“What are you doing?”

“Oh shit. Does it need to be in a bag?”

“John.” For a moment, Emery was speechless. All he could come up with was “Your jacket.”

The brilliance of the answering grin nearly blinded Emery. John’s steps clipped across the ice. “Like I said, I should have gotten rid of that stuff a long time ago.”

He tried to pass Emery, but Emery put a hand on John’s chest. The cold stung the tips of his ears. His cheeks felt hot, and under his fingers, John’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and Emery thought of a bird, the delicate, hollow bones that broke so easily. “I don’t understand what’s happening right now, but that’s yours. That’s your stuff.” What he wanted to say was It’s important. But those words seemed like a chasm, so he heard himself say again, “It’s yours.”

“Great. I don’t want it anymore. Ree, Colt’s going to be fine. In fact, I think it’s a good thing that he’s not going to be playing basketball. It’ll make it easier when he transfers to a new school.” He slid past Emery; Emery’s fingers caught on his sleeve, and then John was past him, moving into the house as he said, “God, it’s cold out here.”

In the kitchen, John was looking at his phone. It dinged, and Emery recognized the sound of a notification from one of John’s many social media apps.

“Turn those off,” he said. “Whatever they’re saying about you, it’s only going to make you feel worse.”

John didn’t raise his head.

“Do you want to repeat that last bit?” Emery asked as he shut the door. It shut out the apron of winter sunlight as well, and then the kitchen seemed too dark. “About Colt?”

“Hm?”

Emery closed the distance between them and pushed John’s phone down.

“I was reading that.”

Emery’s hand felt far away. “Go over that part again.”

“It’s pretty simple, I think. Either we let him go to school with kids who are bullying him, or we find him another school. Why? Is there something I’m missing?” The corner of his eye twitched. “I thought it was obvious.”

“You thought it was obvious,” Emery echoed.

Seconds ticked past. Tilting one shoulder in some incomprehensible attempt at body language, John lifted the phone again.

Emery pushed it back down.

“What is going on here?” John asked.

“That’s what I want to know. Send him to another school? Are you kidding me?”

For the first time since they’d gotten home, the smile flaked away, and the John who looked out at Emery had cold, hard eyes the color of a winter sky. “Why would I be kidding?”

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