Oma was in the kitchen, talking to herself again when I walked in through the front door hours later. It was mid-afternoon and I hadn’t so much as gotten a text or call from her on my cell phone in the entire time that I had been gone since the previous afternoon. I closed the door gently behind myself, barely making a “clicking” sound as it shut. Standing in the entryway, I was barely breathing as I listened to the sounds coming from the kitchen. I could hear Lucas’ truck slowly pulling away from the house. And Oma was talking to…herself?
Lucas and I had had sex again. Okay. We had had sex again twice.
I don’t know why I had wanted to have sex with him again. Twice. But it felt right, so I did it. And it felt so very right both times. Then we had dressed again, got in his truck, and he drove me home in silence. He had tried talking to me about what it meant for us now that we had done all of the things we had done, but I was in no mood to dissect this new development. Lucas was a nice guy. I thought so, anyway. He was certainly fun to hang out with. And I…liked him, I thought. But there was no way that I was going to delve any deeper into it than that. So, that’s what I told him. I just wanted things to be as they were for now. I needed to go home and just be alone to think. To not be inundated with anyone else’s questions and concerns.
Quietly, I slid my shoes off next to the door and stepped away from them, sneaking across the entryway, past the stairs, through the living room, and towards the kitchen entryway. What was Oma talking about? Was she actually talking to someone else? What exactly was going on? And, could I even ask her about it without bringing up what Lucas had said about her? I had made a promise as Lucas and I had laid in his bed after having sex twice more. I had told him that I wouldn’t say anything to Oma about him saying that she was a witch. So…I would do my best to keep that promise. But that didn’t mean that I couldn’t do other things to show her that I was onto her and whatever it was going on inside of her house.
“He better be home safe and in one piece soon, ya’ little shit.” I heard Oma hissing. “Every second I wait is one more check against you. I’ll have your ass if there’s one hair out of place on his fuckin’ head, ya’ hear me?”
I frowned to myself as I stood just outside of the entryway, trying to figure out who Oma was talking to—if anyone at all. Was the old bag as crazy as I felt?
“I swear he’s fine.” I heard a familiar voice. “I’m not sure where he is, but I know that I didn’t hurt him.”
It was Andrew’s voice.
My eyes closed to slits as I listened.
“You better fuckin’ hope so.” Oma snapped. “How in the whole steamy pile of hell did you think it was okay to take my fuckin’ grandson out on the full moon in your condition?”
“I usually have myself under control, Mrs. Wagner.” Andrew peeped. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“I’m pretty sure you know what the hell came over you, ya’ fuckin’ moron,” Oma growled. “Of all the fuckin’ idiot shit I’ve seen in my near seven decades. You oughta be ashamed of yourself.”
I did nothing to muffle my footsteps as I stepped into the entryway, finding Andrew seated at Oma’s kitchen table, his back to me. Oma was standing by the sink. When she saw me step into view, her eyes grew wide.
“What…exactly…came over him, Oma?” I asked, cocking my head to the side, smirking as Andrew jerked in his seat and spun to look at me. “A case of the handsy, furry douchebags?”
Andrew’s face was one big bruise. He had a cut along his lip and I was certain that, if it weren’t for the fresh clothes he had on, I’d see several bruises and abrasions smattered all over him. Getting hit by a truck will do that to a…werewolf…I supposed.
“Rob.” Andrew swallowed hard.
Before I knew what I was doing, I had crossed the space between myself and Andrew and punched him in the face. He fell out of the chair onto the linoleum floor and started scooting backwards and away from me. Oma threw her hands up in the air.
“Oh, just fuckin’ great.” Oma huffed. “Those kitchen chairs are older than any of us! Don’t you assholes break nothin’!”
“Really?!?” Andrew looked over at her as he backed into the wall, fear pouring off of him in waves.
“I care more about that kitchen set than you!” She put her hands on her hips and waggled her head. “It belonged to my grandmother.”
I turned to Oma as Andrew cowered against the wall. She twisted up her mouth in a half-frown as she examined me.
“Well…you look fine.” She said.
I stared at her for a very long time.
“Get him out of this house,” I stated firmly.
Oma gave me a look as though her first instinct was to tell me that she’d be damned if I told her what to do in her house and whom to do it with, but she finally rolled her eyes and looked over at Andrew.
“Ya’ heard him!” She shouted at Andrew. “Scat! Get the hell out of here. I’ll talk to you at the center, ya’ little shit. This isn’t over!”
Andrew scurried to his feet and dashed out of the back door, somehow managing to close it gently behind himself as he got far away from us. He must have parked near the back of the house because I hadn’t seen his car when Lucas had pulled up to the house. But I heard a car start up shortly after he ran out of the house, so I knew that he had to have his car nearby. Oma and I stared at each other as we stood in the kitchen, her with her hands on her hips and me with my hands clenched in fists at my sides.
“You. Crazy. Bitch.” I finally spoke once the sounds of Andrew’s car were in the distance.
“What did I do?” She threw her hands up.
I glared at her.
“Okay.” She rolled her eyes as her hands went back to her hips. “So, he’s a werewolf. I didn’t exactly know that now did I?”
“So…we’re just throwing that word around like it’s not crazy as shit, huh?”
“Which word?”
“Don’t play dense with me, you crazy old woman.”
“Where was you?”
“Where was you?!?” I snapped back.
“Oooooh, sassy today, are we?” Oma leaned against the sink edge. “Go on one bad date and suddenly you’re full of piss and vinegar and out to blame me for all of it?”
“Are you insane?!?” I practically shrieked. “You set me up with a goddamn werewolf. In the history of all dates set up by meddling family members, this takes the goddamn cake, Oma! And…werewolf! A fucking werewolf! Andrew is a goddamn werewolf and fucking werewolves are real! And you knew they were real!”
“Well, of course, they’re real.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get your pressures up. It’s not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. There’s all kinds of things some of us know nothing about. No reason to give yourself a goddamn stroke, though. You’re perfectly fine, ain’tcha?”
“I can think of a fucking mile-long list of people who would disagree with everything you just said.”
She shrugged.
“Lucas is gay.” I spat.
“Well, yes.” She shrugged again. “I suppose he is.”
“You didn’t think that was information you should have shared with me?” I bellowed. “I made a goddamn fool of myself acting like he was just this cool dude I was going to be friends with…and…”
“Really?” She smirked. “You almost got ate by a werewolf last night like you was wearing a red cape on your way to grandma’s house and you’re worried about making a fool of yourself in front of Lucas?”
“Fuck you, old woman!” I pointed a finger at her.
“Don’t you jab your goddamn finger at me.” She actually jumped back, putting her back against the sink.
I lowered my hand but didn’t back down. “After what happened to me last night, I should be jabbing every fucking finger at you.”
“Oh, calm down.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re fine. Well, fine-ish. Andrew’s gone, he’s learnt his lesson, and life goes on. Tra-la-la. He won’t be bothering anyone for the rest of the full moon, so just relax, damnit.”
I glared at her.
“What’s in this fucking house?” I asked firmly.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Oma.” I shook my head angrily. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I had a dream last night and…”
“Where exactly did you have that dream?” She waggled her head at me.
“On Lucas’ goddamn living room floor after we fucked!” I spat the words out like they were bullets.
Oma’s eyes grew wide as she laced her arms over her chest and stared at me from across the kitchen.
“Well…that’s…that’s something, isn’t it?”
“What does that even mean?”
“Well, Lucas…he’s not exactly promiscuous, is he?”
“How the hell would I know?”
“Because I’m telling you, ya’ shithead.” She snorted. “For a while, I suspected the little shit was a damn virgin or something. Especially after he got all pissed off when I tried to set him up down at the center. Then a week after you come to town, he’s gettin’ some strange on his living room floor from ya’. I mean, I knew he talked about you a lot whenever we watched your movies or saw you on the T.V., but who knew he was wanting to play ‘Hide the Sausage’ with you?”
“Is this real right now?” I shook my head and looked up towards the heavens. “This all has to be a fucking coma dream or something. I must have fallen and hit my head and I’m in a hospital ward somewhere.”
“Stop being so damn dramatic.” She waved me off.
“Dramatic?” I snorted. “Try apoplectic, lady.”
“I don’t even know that word.” She snorted. “There you go, being all fancy again.”
“It’s in the goddamn dictionary, Oma.” I snapped. “Look it up. Suffice it to say, you should be glad you’re not Andrew right now because I am far from happy and I’m about a day’s hike, a canoe ride down the river, and a helicopter ride over the mountains from calm.”
“Was he good at it?” Oma leaned slightly forward.
“Are you for real right now?”
“Just curious.” She stated defensively. “Not like I got a lot of people to talk about these things with.”
“I’m sure some of the ‘boys’ at the center would love to carry on with you.” I rolled my eyes. “But, yes. He was very good at it. All three times.”
“Three?!” She practically squealed. “When was the other two times?”
“Before he brought me home today!” I shouted. “I fucked him twice more trying to forget about goddamn werewolves and…”
I trailed off, stopping myself from saying what it was that I really wanted to say. Consciously, I gathered myself up and walked over to the kitchen table, picking up the chair Andrew had knocked over when I had punched him, then plopped down into it. I put my head in my hands and rubbed my bleary eyes, then ran my hands through my hair as Oma sauntered over and sat across from at the table. She folded her arms over her chest and watched me as I had my internal debate over what my next course of action should be.
“Well, I guess a good fuckin’ did ya’ good.” She said.
“Don’t start with me, Oma.”
“Well, when’s the last time you had a little strange, Robbie?” She shrugged. “Maybe that’s part of what you needed? You said you came here to find some love…and I guess you found it.”
“I don’t love Lucas.”
“Hm.” She appraised me. “We’ll see. Funny what a little tickle will do to a fella after all.”
“I’m nearly twenty-seven years old, Oma.” I sighed. “I think I’d know if I was in love, right?”
“You think he loves you?” She asked.
I looked up at Oma. Before I knew what I was doing, I slammed my fist down on the table. She didn’t so much as jump. I guess a finger jab is unsettling but a fist slamming into a table isn’t.
“Don’t,” I growled at her. “Don’t act like this is settled, Oma. You lied to me, and…”
“I didn’t lie about shit.” She spat. “I didn’t know that the little shit was a werewolf, so that’s not my fault.”
Rapidly, my conversation with Oma the previous day before Andrew had come to pick me up rushed through my head.
“But you suspected it.” I snapped back. “You were worried about me getting home after dark because you knew it was the first night of the full moon. Don’t try to lie.”
“Fine.” She relented. “Maybe I suspected that he got a little hairy ‘round the full moon. But it wasn’t like I could just ask him. The were-community is notoriously tight-lipped about their status and for good reason and…”
“The...were…community?”
I knew the disbelief and shock were painted all over my face.
“Well, yeah.” She replied. “Andrew ain’t special or nothin’. Surely you figured that out for yourself already.”
I frowned at her. I didn’t know if I was shocked, scared, dumbfounded, or resigned to the fact that things were even crazier in Point Worth than I had originally known. Growing up in the small town there on Lake Erie, I knew that the place wasn’t exactly…normal…but I thought it was just because it was full of country people. Obviously, there were other things going on in the tiny little town that I had absolutely no clue about. Or…had I just chose to ignore those things when they drew my attention?
“Oma…I don’t even know what to say right now.”
“Guess you’re gonna dash off in the middle of the night again, huh?” She sat back in her chair, a disappointed look on her face.
“Is the…can’t believe I’m saying this…is the were-community confined to Point Worth?”
“Of course not.” She snorted. “They’re all over the damn place.”
“Then where the hell am I gonna go, Oma?” I shook my head. “Where can I go that I wouldn’t have to worry about crazy stuff happening?”
Both of us sat at the kitchen table with that hanging in the air between us. If I was truly only upset about the fact that Andrew was a werewolf—and werewolves could be found everywhere, even if I hadn’t been aware of that fact—Point Worth was as good a place to be as any. I chewed at my lip and looked over at Oma, wondering if I could bring myself to ask the question that was on the tip of my tongue. Lucas had plenty to say about Andrew and Oma. Of course, Andrew had been the biggest problem in my mind because his…issue…had been a serious threat to my personal safety within the last twenty-four hours. Oma’s…issue…wasn’t really of a concern to me. Was it?
“Oma…”
Her arms still crossed over her chest, she just stared dully at me.
Well, dully wasn’t correct. Oma never had dull looks—there was always fire behind her eyes, a gleam in her eye. A little danger mixed with humor.
“What?” She urged me on.
Could I really ask my grandmother if she was a…it was so ridiculous I couldn’t even think it while looking at her. We were sitting at the kitchen table in the house I had grown up in—where I was visiting her and getting away from everything. A home where, up until Andrew turned into a werewolf, I was considering living in until I sorted myself out. Now I wasn’t so sure. There were answers to questions I hadn’t even asked looming in my mind, and questions without answers I couldn’t push out of my mind. If the question fell out of my mouth, would there be any coming back from that?
What would Oma say anyway? Who would own up to being a witch??
Maybe someone who speaks openly about werewolves and the were-community, Rob? Ya’ think that might be a person who owns up to being a witch? Sound reasonable to you, dumbass?
“Nothing.” I pushed away from the table.
“Where are you off to?” She frowned, her brow an expanse of furrows.
“I need to clean the…I need to clean up.” I sighed.
Oma grinned widely.
“Piss off, old woman,” I grumbled at her.
Stalking back out of the kitchen, through the living room, and up the stairs, I realized that I hadn’t really come up with a battle plan for what was next in my little Point Worth saga. Obviously, I’d have to address with Oma whether or not she was a…witch…or did I? Was that any of my concern? Whatever she was that she hadn’t told me about was none of my damn business. Right? It wasn’t my place to demand to know everything about my grandmother, especially since I hadn’t exactly been around in the last decade. Hell, I hadn’t even been a good enough grandson to check in as regularly as I should have, so storming back down to the kitchen and asking very personal questions was out of the question.
But what did it mean that Oma was a witch? Was she turning into a crunchy, groovy, earthy old chick who grew herbs and made homemade jewelry and worshipped nature? Did she brew special teas and tonics for herself and neighbors that she claimed would cure all that ails ya’? Or…was she a witch? Like, did she cast spells and dance naked under the moon and convene with all sorts of…things? I frowned to myself as I reached the top of the steps, thinking of things curling up beside my feet in the middle of the night. There was something going on in Oma’s house—something that had been going on for years, and her being a witch would certainly explain a lot of it.
This is all ridiculous.
I marched down the hall, entered the room I was using and closed the door a little more roughly than necessary. Lucas was probably just being dramatic and using poetic license when describing Oma. I had known the woman twenty-six years—my entire damn life. If Oma was a witch, one would think that I’d be the first to know aside from herself. Witches—real witches—weren’t a real thing anyway. Magic wasn’t real.
Neither are werewolves.
My breath was stuck in my throat as I yanked my shirt off and started to unbutton my pants. How had I been in California a little more than a week prior, skinny to an unhealthy degree, working myself into the ground, and living on caffeine and nicotine, playing at being Jacob Michaels—an extremely famous actor and singer? And now I was in Point Worth, being Robert Wagner—just a boy born in upper Ohio—living in his Oma’s house, learning that werewolves and the supernatural and…witches?...were a real thing? How had my life escalated to such a summit in ten years and come crashing down within fewer than two weeks?
Jacob Michaels was incredibly famous, incredibly rich, incredibly connected…and ignorant. He knew nothing of these things going on behind the scenes of everyday life. He just wanted to do his work and get paid and hide behind the façade of, well, being Jacob Michaels. Robert Wagner was who Jacob Michaels really and truly was—and he just wanted to move back home and leave the fast-paced and crazy lifestyle behind. Robert Wagner didn’t have the first clue about all of these things going on, either. But…maybe he should have? Shouldn’t I know things like, oh, yeah, my Oma is a witch and a guy I go on a date with might turn into a werewolf at the full moon?
Then there was everything that had happened with Lucas. Actually, the one thing that happened with Lucas, three times. How had I become this guy in the space of fewer than two weeks? I had fallen into bed (and other places) with a guy I barely knew and for whom I didn’t have feelings. Well, not romantic feelings. Actually, I didn’t know how I felt about Lucas. I stood there, shirt flapping open and my pants rolled down to my thighs, staring off at nothing. How did I feel about Lucas?
Lucas was cute.
He was kind.
He was shy and adorably so.
He had steady employment.
Lucas knew who he was.
He had saved my life.
Fuck he was sexy.
But did I think that I could love him?
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
Lucas and I were cheese and chalk. We had nothing in common. He was some boy born in the country—so was I—but that’s where it ended. He was country through and through. He liked working at his grandfather’s hardware store and performing duties as a substitute teacher. And he liked living out on the lake in seclusion. And, for fuck’s sake, being a vegetarian.
But, my God, wasn’t he sexy?
Wasn’t my body drawn to his?
Could I look at his lips without wanting to press mine against his?
Could I look at his body without wanting to feel my tongue drag along the length of it?
Didn’t I, even as I stood in the bedroom at Oma’s house, want to feel his hands grab ahold of me. Anywhere. He could grab me anywhere.
I shivered as I ripped my shirt off in frustration. Lucas was not going to become a thing. He was just a distraction in my journey to turning back into Robert Wanger—er, Rob. I just wanted to be Rob and romantic or sexual interludes were out of the question. That was not why I had come back to Point Worth. Sure, as Oma had pointed out, I had come to Point Worth hoping to get a little love and friendship back into my life. However, not that kind of love. I didn’t need a man. I had me. Regardless of what Oma thought, that was more than enough. I didn’t want some guy dictating my future. One man—Jacob Michaels—had already done that for a decade. And I was done.
I just want to be Robert Wagner.
Welling up with tears, I rolled my pants down and stepped out of them. I started to cry because I didn’t know how to be Robert Wagner. Because I had no idea who Robert Wagner was. I hadn’t been him for at least ten years. And, even when I was Robert Wagner, I had no clue who he was. I was a man with two names and no idea who I was supposed to be. Tears were leaking down my cheeks as I stripped off my underwear and carried all of my dirty clothes to the hamper.
Less than thirty minutes later, I was drying off from my bath and sliding into fresh pajamas. Then I was sliding under the crisp, clean sheets of the bed. Sleep. Sleep always helps.