Chapter Ten
I HAD two phone calls the next day that indicated things were definitely more complicated.
The first call was from David. “Bad luck,” he’d said while I was on my way to my first class. “Nothing’s popped on my searches yet. Well, not nothing. Lots of results. But nothing connected to you.” He was both quick and abrupt, giving the words a manic edge. Or an overcaffeinated one.
“How do you know that already?” He’d only agreed to help the day before.
“Ran the search overnight.”
“Overnight? Did you sleep?”
“Nah. A little coffee, a couple energy drinks, and a bag of Doritos, and I’m good. I’ll crash later today.”
And here came the guilt. “No one expects you pull an all-nighter on this.”
I heard the crisp pop of a soda can being opened. “This was the easy stuff. Didn’t figure on getting the answers through a simple internet search. Had to eliminate the possibility ASAP. Needed to do it before digging into the next layers.”
“So you’re starting the next layers?” I was mildly curious about the steps one took to do the kind of algorithm-driven searches he was doing, but I recognized my computer and internet skills could be described as “adequate” at best, so even if he told me anything more specific than he had, I probably wouldn’t have understood.
Several long swallows later, David said, “Yep. Layers.”
He hung up a few seconds later, muttering something incomprehensible about data strings and search terms.
Almost immediately my phone rang again. The second conversation was with the receptionist at the campus medical center. Dr. Weyer apparently wanted to schedule a time to meet me. Reluctantly I agreed. In part because he was Owen’s father, but also because he’d been right when he suggested it was a good idea to have a local doctor who was familiar with my history, especially one who understood the shifter aspects of my physiology.
As much as it made sense to see the doctor, he was Owen’s father, which created a whole other string of reasons to be nervous. Mostly because of Owen. I just didn’t want to come face-to-face with the father of the guy I’d fantasized about for the second night in a row. Last night, after I’d finally settled down enough to actually fall asleep, I’d woken up covered in sweat and jizz. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a wet dream. I’d cleaned up as best I could, tossed the sticky sheets into the laundry basket, and fell back onto my comforter. My brain was filled with too much static—the make-out session, the erotic dream of which I could remember every single detail, how it felt when he touched me. Even his completely platonic touches. The worst part was the knowledge that I could walk down two flights of stairs and see him. Talk to him. He’d still be working his shift at the front desk.
And no, I didn’t go see him.
I spent the entire night staring at my boring beige ceiling.
AFTER the three-hour wildlife conservation lecture, I exited the science building, having learned nothing new. Dr. Coleman gave me a concerned look after he dismissed the class, but I hustled out before he could corner me again. It wasn’t like I could confess everything to him. Just because he taught at Cody College, and his boyfriend definitely skewed other, didn’t mean it was completely safe to assume he was aware of the shifters among the population.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I could go days without a phone call, and I’d already dealt with two this morning. And since my preclass calls hadn’t exactly done anything to ease my anxiety, I was reluctant to answer this one.
The high-noon sun blazed from a clear Wyoming sky, so I had to tilt the phone to read the display when I pulled it out. Owen.
I considered—briefly—letting the call go to voicemail. Even though I was doing my best to perfect my avoidance skills, it seemed wrong somehow to practice on Owen.
“We’re still on for lunch, right?” he asked as soon as I answered the call.
I looked at the time. “Yeah. It’ll have to be a quick one, though. I’ve got an appointment with your dad at one.”
The pause on the other end of the line went on long enough that I checked the phone to make sure we were still connected.
“Oh, cool,” he finally said. “We should meet at the Union, then. It’ll be quickest, and it’s close to the medical center.”
Something in his voice made me think maybe it wasn’t cool, and I debated asking about it. But we were on the phone and would see each other in a minute. Maybe if I knew which part of his reply didn’t ring true. Was he disappointed our time would be cut short? Was he worried about my health and the need to see a doctor? Did it mess with his plans?
“Okay,” I said.
“Oh, I see you. Hanging up now.”
I squinted against the sun, looking for Owen’s form. I smelled him before I saw him. Winter snow, pine trees, and midnight. I’m not sure I would ever get used to it. A couple of seconds later, I swear I felt him approach behind me. I turned to face him.
If awkward could be a physical force, I’d have run into it. I didn’t know what to say or what to do. I wanted to touch him, to hug him. I wanted to hide, worried he’d see remnants of last night’s dream. What I ended up doing was forcing a completely fake smile on my face. “Hey, dude. How’re things?” I immediately cringed. What the hell was that? I didn’t say “dude,” and “how’re things” sounded like something one of my middle-aged doctors would have said when they wanted to sound approachable.
Owen peered at me. “That was the weirdest thing you’ve ever said around me.”
I wilted. “Yeah. It was… weird.” I didn’t offer him any explanations, though. No need to make it even more awkward.
We started walking toward the Union. Our hands brushed. I jumped a foot to my right to avoid further contact. “Sorry.”
“No biggie. I’ve always figured there was some kind of gravitational force between people. I tend to be pulled to people when I walk with them. I’ve had more than one person accuse me of wanting to hold their hands. Not that I think you think I want to hold your hand. Or not. Or that I do. I mean….”
I came to a halt at his babbling. “Wow. That’s… wow.”
He sucked in a deep breath. “You know what, ignore me. I’m totally making a fool of myself.”
I couldn’t stop the smile crossing my face. “Okay.”
A few moments later, his hand brushed mine again. This time I didn’t jump away.
Then he grabbed my hand, lacing our fingers together.
My heart sputtered in my chest. I shot him a look from the corner of my eye. I did not, however, pull my hand away.
“This is easier.”
I licked my lips. “Okay.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No.”
“Some people do. It’s not 1950 anymore, but it’s still Wyoming.”
It took a second for the words to sink in. Holy shit. I was holding another man’s hand, in public, in Wyoming. Just because I hadn’t seen any blatant signs of homophobia on campus didn’t mean everyone was going to join the Love is Love brigade. I thought about Jonah and Owen’s psych classmates and how open and accepting they’d been about Owen’s sexuality and Dr. Coleman’s scandalous affair with his TA. It had been the teacher-student part that had scandalized them, not the man-on-man part. I wasn’t naïve enough to think all of Cody, Wyoming, or even all of Cody College would be as open, but if a large portion of the population could accept that people turn into animals, they could probably accept that some dudes were into dudes.
Besides, even if I didn’t exactly know why Owen wanted to hold my hand, I enjoyed the contact too much to stop him.
I squeezed his hand. “Really. This is fine. It’s more than fine. It’s… nice.”
The rest of the walk happened in silence.
We headed straight for the sandwich place after we entered the Union. Owen released my hand, but in the process he trailed his middle finger along my palm. Nerves fired up, sending jolts up my arm, through my chest, and straight to my groin. I bit my lip to keep from groaning and melting into a puddle of goo.
Unlike the first time I’d had lunch at the Union with Owen, I didn’t second-guess my order. “Roast beef and cheddar, extra meat. Lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, black olives, and Italian vinaigrette.”
I didn’t have to look at Owen to know my order amused him. He huffed out a nearly silent laugh.
“And a bag of potato chips,” I added.
He leaned toward me, bracing a hand on my shoulder and standing on his toes to whisper in my ear. “I’m teaching you well, aren’t I?”
I shivered, trying not to think of the many things I figured he could teach me. Sandwiches were not on the list.
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I can’t deny you know your way around a sandwich. It helps I’m not constantly nauseated anymore.”
Even the thought of it dimmed my enthusiasm. No, I wasn’t feeling ill anymore, was I? And why not? Because apparently there was a lion inside me who wanted out. And the existence of the lion, outside the impossibility of shifters in general, meant my parents had been lying to me about something.
Owen squeezed my shoulder, massaging muscles that had grown tight. “It’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.”
I’d lost count over the years of how many times I’d heard some variation of that. I wished I didn’t have fifteen years of failure to show me how unlikely it was.
We settled in at a four-top table in the corner, away from the smattering of other students throughout the dining hall. I took my time unwrapping my sandwich. I took my time inserting potato chips into the middle. I took my time because I didn’t want to think about anything more complicated than my roast beef and cheddar sandwich, garnished with greasy, salty potato chips.
Owen had another Italian combo monstrosity and was equally deliberate in his potato chip placement. Maybe he was stalling too.
I couldn’t stall too long, though. I had less than twenty minutes before I had to meet Dr. Weyer. I bit into my sandwich, taking a second to enjoy the combination of flavors.
“We should probably talk.” Owen ignored his meal.
“Okay.” I paused to pop a black olive slice into my mouth.
“I think we should visit your parents over the Fourth.”
I inhaled roughly, which was stupid since I had a partially chewed olive in my mouth. Some piece of it went down the wrong way, my throat spasmed, and I choked. I coughed, so I knew I could breathe, but Owen’s eyes widened. He darted around the table and whacked my back unnecessarily. When I stopped coughing long enough to speak, I asked, “You want to go to Chicago?”
He nodded, then immediately shook his head. “No. I mean, sure, I’d love to visit Chicago, but that’s not why. I talked to David this morning, and I’ve been thinking.”
“Yeah, he called me too.”
“Right.” Owen picked up a potato chip and started crumbling little pieces off the edges. “So you know he didn’t find anything in the open adoption records.”
“Right. Which could mean I’m not adopted.” I was determined to be positive.
“Or it could mean your adoption was closed, or sealed, whatever the word is.”
I shrugged. He wasn’t wrong, but I preferred my answer.
“It’s going to take him a little longer to delve into the sealed records.”
“I’ve got time,” I said. There was no deadline, no ticking clock.
“But it’s hurting you.”
“Hurting me?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Hurting you here.” He tapped at his chest. “The stress and uncertainty aren’t good for you.”
I didn’t know if that was the sweetest thing someone had ever said to me or the most condescending. “I can handle it.”
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to.” He reached out, covered my hand with his. “You haven’t been sleeping. You’re losing weight again. It’s not good for you.”
I crossed one arm defensively over my chest. I didn’t pull away from his hold on my other hand, though. I couldn’t quite make myself sever the connection. “The thing is, I’ve been dealing with this kind of stuff my whole life. I may be battling insomnia or stress, but I’m healthier than I have been in years. Maybe ever.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to get your answers? Just because you can deal with it doesn’t mean you should have to.”
“But what if the answers are worse than not knowing? For real, Owen. I don’t know if I can handle the answers if it means my parents have been lying to me my whole life.”
His face softened, earnestness pouring off him in waves. “I’m not sure there’s an answer that doesn’t mean they’ve been lying. Either you’re adopted and they lied to you about it, or one or the both of them are shifters and they’ve been lying about that.”
“Yeah. And I don’t know which would be the better option. Both suck.”
“You avoiding the question doesn’t change the truth of the answer. I think….” He paused, biting his lip for a second before continuing. “I think part of you is hoping for another option, one in which your parents are biologically your parents and they are not shifters. I’m not sure that hope is good for you. Not if it means you’re burying your head in the sand.”
“Are you headshrinking me? Like a project for your class?”
He tightened his fingers around mine. “No, Yusuf. I just want what’s best for you.”
At that, I did pull away. “You know what? People have been smothering me, making decisions for me, my whole life, all because they wanted what’s best for me. You know what they didn’t do? They didn’t ask me what I wanted. They didn’t let me decide what’s best for me. I know my parents did it out of love, doctors did it to solve a puzzle or to fulfill a sacred calling, or whatever. I don’t get why you’re doing it.”
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut almost immediately.
I folded the paper wrap back around my sandwich. I shoved it and my half-empty bag of chips into my shoulder bag and stood. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got an appointment. One where someone with undoubtedly good intentions is going to tell me what to do for my own good.”
I turned away, took a step, stopped. I didn’t look back when I said, “You’re my friend, Owen, and I appreciate that you care enough to want to help. But I get enough pressure from everyone else in my life. I don’t need more.”