Goals
Rya
Packages drop to the floor. It’s as if she can no longer hold anything but herself, and even that looks as if it’s getting too much for Kennedy.
Slowly she turns away, shoulders hunched, trying so hard to hold her composure. Not a sound coming from her mouth, her body shakes with the effort she’s putting forth to not let the sounds of her cry tumble out her mouth.
I want to be that leech that drinks this up in gluttonous waves of delight, but I can’t find any joy in this.
The Silverback Alpha watches her slow ascent up the stairs. She’s holding the banister for support, taking one slow step at a time. I notice that Luna Grace has tears in her eyes at what she’s seeing.
The door is closed to the basement, but I can hear the faint laughter, the beat of the music softly drifting up, wrapping around our bodies, but we are not laughing. We are all trying hard not to let our emotions out.
“Cash.” The vibration of sound ripples through my body as if I’m standing right beside a speaker at a concert during the drum solo. One word spoke so effectively that not too long after, the door opens to the basement.
Eyes that hold whispering shame look to his parents, such gaping sadness in them. Didn’t I hear laughter from down below? He doesn’t look like he was laughing.
Alpha Clinton puts his hands on his son’s shoulders. Cash can’t meet his father’s eyes. Luna Grace has her hand on her son’s back before they lead him to another part of the house and shut the door behind them.
I pick up Kennedy’s packages off the floor; my bad arm is able to hold the weight of a few bags filled with clothes. My good arm carries her books she bought. Walking up the steps, I set my own packages down on my bed before going to her room.
With a little knock on the door, I open it. The mural is outstanding perfection; it’s as if she is pouring her soul into this masterpiece. I think she must be thinking of doing all the walls with the way there are faint lines of ideas on everything. Even the ceiling has traces of clouds and a moon looking down.
I can see Cash’s wolf in most of the scenes. She’s depicting him as the leader wolf, stronger than any of the wolves around him. She’s created pictures of these pups’ father as the ruler in this room. No weakness can be seen in his wolf’s body, standing tall and erect, head held high, eyes that don’t look down. I don’t see a trace of her wolf in any of these pictures.
Her bed is made, and I don’t think she has slept in it for a very long time, with the way the paints and brushes are scattered over the top. Looking around, I don’t see her, but I can hear her muffled cries. The pillow she’s using to hide her grief must be saturated in her feelings.
The only other place she can be is in her closet. Do I really want to open the door?
“Please leave.” A choking sound comes out from behind the door.
The door creaks as I open it slowly. Cash’s scent is mixed in with hers. I notice the way some of his shirts are hanging up without any of her clothes in here. I’m intruding in her den. It’s dark and smells like her mate. She’s curled up on the carpeted floor, head buried into her pillow, with her back facing me. A few of his clothes are placed around her small pregnant belly.
This is the most pitiful sight I have ever seen.
What do I say?
There is no joy in my heart in seeing this; it doesn’t make me happy as I thought it would. It sickens me, because I see me on that floor, with my mouth buried in that pillow. I can’t even enjoy her pain because it’s my pain I’m seeing.
“I’m not sure what to say to you,” I tell her the truth.
She cries harder into the pillow that muffles the sound, trying to hold herself tight in her own arms; I don’t think they are strong enough anymore.
I hear an intake of breath from behind me. Cash is standing at the entrance to her room, looking at the art on the wall.
It’s as if he’s seeing this for the first time. He looks at everything.
A wave of shame his eyes can’t hide crosses his face as he looks at his wolf form so full of pride, yet he’s not holding that pride in himself right now.
His eyes dart to the floor on the carpet. He’s seeing his mate curled into herself.
A tremble on his lip, he inhales and exhales slowly.
“Please leave.” Her plea comes out ragged.
She looks hollow, as if her bones have no more marrow left in them, empty and brittle, ready to snap without hope of repair.
Cash turns around and walks out the door into his room without saying a word to her.
“Cash,” I call out to him.
“Don’t, Rya. I deserve this. Please just leave.”
“But—”
“Rya, I’m sorry for everything. I’m truly sorry for what I’ve done to you.” She keeps her back to me, the words barely whispered out.
“I was so wrong. I’m wrong, everything about me is wrong. Just go, please.” Her words are a begging plea. Closing the closet door per her request, I cast her in her own darkness.
This isn’t justice. An eye for an eye doesn’t free you from your past pains. You think that seeing another person suffer would ease the suffering you went through, but it doesn’t.
The books that she bought are just barely peeking out of the bag. Taking one, walking out of her room, I open Cash’s door. He’s lying on his bed face down, muffling his own cries into the pillow. I place the book next to his head before turning and walking out, closing the door quietly behind me.
Walking into my room, I quietly call Dallas.
He picks up on the first ring. “Rya.”
“Dallas.”
“What’s wrong?” he breathes out.
“I don’t know. I just feel bad for Kennedy.”
“What’s going on?”
“She looks the way I looked. I used to think that I wanted that look on her face, but now that it’s happening, I just can’t stomach it.”
“Rya, you have a good heart.” I hear the smile in his voice.
“Thanks, Dallas.”
A commotion has Dallas yelling at males to quiet down.
“Rya, I have to tell you something. Clayton is living with me at my house. He burned his down, and I don’t think anyone will take him in. So he’s going to be living here until he can find somewhere else to live.”
“What?”
“He’s going through some stuff at the moment. He’ll be fine. He just needs to figure it out.”
“Oh.” I can’t say anything else. I don’t want to know anything else about him.
“Rya, Clayton said he was worried about Kennedy, said she didn’t sound like herself.” My chest tightens slightly, knowing that they have been talking together on the phone. I wonder if he calls her every day like he does me? Except he leaves me messages while he talks with her.
“She’s not doing well, Dallas. Maybe you could call Cash and tell him he needs to be around her more. He doesn’t have to love her or anything. He just needs to be close to her, to provide comfort to her.”
“I’ll do that. I’ll have a talk with him.”
“Thanks, Dallas.”
“I should go. I’ll call him now. Bye, my beautiful wolf.” I smile with his praise.
“Bye, Dallas.” Hanging up the phone, I contemplate listening to more voice mails. I don’t.
As my training progresses, and the weeks start to usher one season out and welcome the new one, Cash and me walk into the house sipping on our slushies that stain our lips and teeth blue. I give a giggle out at how we look. Holding our celebration drinks filled with vodka, we laugh to ourselves. Cash has become a friend, and I haven’t had one in a very long time. We can actually talk about things, he doesn’t judge me, and I have been trying to encourage him to maybe give Kennedy another chance.
We discuss how the twins are growing inside her. Neither of us have seen her in a while; she’s sneaky the way she avoids us.
“Dad, she just beat Carson,” he calls into the house as we enter from the garage.
It took two months to do this. Once I was able to master the basic moves Cash showed me, it wasn’t long to start climbing the ranks of the juveniles until it was the little wolverine against me. He was slightly pale, thinking he might have a repeat of what happened. I like how he’s the littlest out of all the juveniles, but he acts as if he’s the biggest rooster in the hen house.
He still struts around, all puffed out with what Dallas said to him that day. It’s funny how all it takes is one person to say things to you that can affect your whole life for the better.
I noticed that a few of the juvenile females had to drop out from training because they started going through their first heats. It’s hard on the juvenile males trying to spar with them. They can’t help themselves, trying to rub up against them.
Cash had to break up the fights between the males trying to go after the same female. Instead of fists, wolves started to come out in teeth that wanted to kill. Friends became instant enemies with their basic instinct taking over to mate.
Next was the adult wolves. They proved much harder and fiercer. Most of the females had to drop out completely because they went into heat after the first month of sparring with me. I remember one of them crying and crying with happiness, disbelief on her face as she asked the other females if she could be going through her first heat. They all told her that she was starting it. They all held her close in happiness.
A celebration promised if successful.
The Luna commented on these strange findings. I just kept quiet.
Today I fought Carson and won. Next is Cash.
Usually, we are a lot later, missing dinner completely because of training, but today we’re home earlier than expected.
Turning the corner into the kitchen, we appear, blue lips, blue teeth, and bruised faces.
We see Kennedy between Alpha Clinton and the Luna at the table. The Luna has her hand on Kennedy’s back, rubbing gently, while the Alpha feeds her very small pieces of dry toast.
I can see her swallowing, but she’s gagging on it. She has tears in her eyes with the effort to hold it down. She wants to eat; you can see the anguish on her face as her body just wants to heave it up.
“Keep it down, Kennedy, that’s it.” Alpha Clinton is using firm commands in his tone. Her stomach heaves again, but she is able to keep it down.
“Are you ready for another piece?” She nods her head at him, not looking our way. Cash tenses beside me, no longer happy.
“Kennedy, how’s the mural coming?” The Luna looks at her in concern, trying to engage her in some kind of conversation to take her mind off of trying to swallow the food her body is rejecting.
Her lips are no longer soft and delicate. They’re cracked in deep grooves that look like they bleed.
“It’s going well.” Her voice holds no moisture, dry and thick on a tongue that isn’t used to talking to anyone anymore. She doesn’t even look up from the table, keeping her head down.
“Is there anything you need? Anything you want to eat or have a craving for?” Luna Grace’s voice is so soft.
“Yes, I need more paint, the same as last time, please.” Her hands and arms are splattered with speckles of the colors that she’s been using.
She’s usually like a ghost, flittering in and out, staying locked away in her room, painting as if it’s her only goal.
I’ve been looking in on her, opening her door. Always she is painting with her back to me or in her closet wrapped in his clothing that she keeps stealing with a pregnant wolf’s compulsion to be close to her mate.
I’ve asked her if she wants to talk about anything. No answer comes out her mouth; all I hear is the brush stroking against the wall.
It’s actually horrifying what I see in front of me. Her skin looks dry and drained, sunken eyes, ashen skin. Her heartbeat sounds erratic in her chest.
I watch as she tries to reach for her glass of water. The tremors that she is desperately trying to hide won’t be hidden, as the water sloshes over the side of the glass, spilling out slightly.
A whipped dog doesn’t shake so much. She must feel very vulnerable at the moment, no longer able to shift into wolf form. Her shoulders hunch forward so much she seems like a person beaten by life.
She stands on unsteady legs that now have a hard time bearing her weight.
“Thank you for dinner, Luna Grace.” Her lips now have a bead of blood on them with the way they crack with too much movement of her mouth. She’s not used to speaking so much.
She moves away from the dinner table, holding onto the wall as she makes her way upstairs. One foot up the step, then the other, she rests halfway up before she begins the rest of her climb. I can see strands of hair falling out from her once glorious mane; it’s brittle at the ends, full of knots.
She’s not even brushing her hair anymore.
Cash cannot stop staring at her back. He looks shaken by what he’s seeing—his mate is dying in front of his eyes.
She’s in crisis; she looks just the way females get when their mates die when they are pregnant. I have only seen that look one time. That female never made it, but her pup survived. Kennedy will not survive this if she continues on this path. They all will die if someone doesn’t do an intervention on her soon.
“She needs to go to the hospital now. She needs intravenous fluids, she needs medication, and she needs to eat. But what she needs the most is you, Cash, unless you’re fine with her dying, because that’s what happening now. She’s dying, and the dead can’t be brought back.”
Cash’s walking upstairs. I hear some yelling before he carries her fragile frame down the stairs. She looks so small and weak compared to him.
His body stills as he looks down at her belly, the side of it pressed against him. Can he feel the way his little ones are kicking instinctively with his presence? This would probably be the first time he has felt his young move.
“Please put me down. I have to finish.” She’s desperate to get back upstairs, putting up a fight that is laughable at how weak she is.
“No, you’re not well, Kennedy. You need to get better,” I say to her.
“It’s all I have for them. It’s the only beautiful thing I can give them.” Her words choke in her throat.
Kennedy puts her nose in his neck, inhaling his scent.
“You smell like Rya.” Her observations make her cry harder into his shoulder.
His hand rubs her back now, trying to comfort her.
“Do you mind driving us, Rya?”
He’s just holding her like she’s nothing but feathers in his arms.
At the clinic, the midwife is waiting for us, along with the doctor. I wonder if this is the same one who saved Dallas’s life?
Concern is etched on the midwife’s face as Kennedy’s brought into the examining room. A nurse is there also, starting to put the intravenous in, with the doctor giving his orders on what to do. The midwife pulls up her shirt, revealing her bare stomach. The roundness of it is beautiful, harboring two futures that are very rare.
Cash is staring at her exposed baby bump, his hands going over it. Feeling over top her bare flesh makes her gasp out uncontrollably, her eyes rolling back inside her head slightly as if she hasn’t experienced pleasure in a long time.
“Kennedy, the medicine that we’ve been giving you isn’t working.” Kennedy shakes her head no at them.
They look at each other, concern passing between midwife and doctor over a patient that might be lost.
Kennedy is in heaven with the feel of Cash’s hands on her. The way her body has stopped shaking, she seems more relaxed. I watch as her hands slowly come over his. She looks into his eyes, some kind of plea in them.
“Cash, she needs you.”
“It’s okay, I don’t deserve him. He’s better off without me. At least he can move on.” The flatness of her voice gives me chills.
“Kennedy.” Cash just gets to say one word before she speaks again.
“I want them to leave. I don’t want them in here anymore.”
“You heard her, out.” The midwife takes a protective stance over her suffering female. The doctor squares his shoulders. He can’t take Cash, I can see it clearly, but he will try.
The doctor is on the phone fast, calling in back up.
“Let’s go. She doesn’t want me here.”
Walking outside with Cash, I bump his shoulder with mine.
I watch as his parents are pulling up in their car.
“Don’t, Rya!”
“What will you do, Cash?” The Alpha and Luna look on at our exchange.
“She’s dying, Cash. She needs her mate.” I give him a slight shove with my hands that want to turn into fists. I feel this rage flowing through me. A power that I never knew I possessed.
“Put your teeth away, Rya.” Cash takes an offensive stance, squaring his shoulders, balancing on the balls of his feet.
“Make me. I don’t think you have it in you, Cash. I think you’ve given up; I think you’re the biggest quitter I have ever seen.” He runs hard at me, catching me by the waist, lifting me high in the air before slamming my body on the ground.
It knocks my breath away, but I can take a hit now and get back up quickly.
“Stay down, Rya!”
My body is vibrating. I can feel the blood filling my muscles. I roll my shoulder and crack my neck.
“Weak little wolf,” I taunt him now. I can get under his skin. This wolf I know well enough to know his weakness.
“Rya, stop it.” He’s pacing back and forth, snapping his displeasure.
I notice the way that Silverback is looking on, just watching.
“Quitter. I have never met a bigger quitter in all my life. What did you say to her? You told her that you would make her understand who you were to her. That you wouldn’t give up on making her understand that you belong together. Are you also a liar, Cash? A weak little lying wolf.” My slurs to him hurt his ears. Another running charge at me.
I’ve been taught well to deflect a charging bull. I can feel the dance we are about to engage in.
I’m going to win.
My turn to smash my elbow into his jaw, flip him with the momentum of his own body on the ground. Going down hard on his back, he recovers with graceful movement. I still believe in myself, that I can overcome him.
It’s his turn to take the defensive.
He rubs his jaw. A flash of teeth my way. His father yelling, “Fists only, Cash.”
It’s a completeness that I feel as the wolf slightly ascends, helping guide my movements. In this minute, I am the strongest. I turn to the Silverback with a challenge in my eyes. I feel as if I can take him on.
“If I win, you have to go back into that clinic room and stay with her. You have to start treating her better. I’m not asking you to love her, Cash, just stay close to her while she’s pregnant.”
“You hate her. Why would you do this for her?”
“Because no one should feel the way she does. It’s not right. You have to not give up anymore, Cash. Be the wolf that I heard about.”
This time I run at him before he can comment on anything I say.
Everything I have been taught to do, I do.
Everything that I have learned, watched, and listened to is what I use to fight him. He’s a stronger wolf, but I’m faster. He’s more solid, but I am leaner. I have been fighting these last months to get to where I am now.
Taking blow after blow, I will not quit now.
I feel as if the moon, in this minute, is with me, lending me her strength.
Hitting him hard, folding him into himself, that’s the moment that I need to get him into a submission hold. He has two choices: give up or get knocked out. I can do it.
He’s squirming and fighting the way he was with Dallas. I don’t have the fluidity behind my moves like Dallas, but I have the moon inside me providing an inner drive.
Legs wrap around his body, squeezing the breath out of him, forearm wraps around his neck, and I squeeze with everything I have, not letting go while his elbow digs into my side, hitting it over and over again, cracking my ribs.
I put more pressure on his windpipe; there is no hope of him taking a breath. He keeps fighting until I feel him starting to go limp in my arms. I hold onto him tight until I know he’s out.
Standing up, hands on my thighs, slightly bent over breathing hard, I spit blood on the now defrosting earth.
Spring is in the air.
“Little Moon, congratulations.”
“Thank you, Alpha Clinton. What’s next?” I say with curiosity.
“You go back home.”