Ha, she’d just organized Ashlynn’s birthday party in Damon’s Mountains from her office hundreds of miles away. “Yep.”
“When was the last time you slept for more than four hours at a time?”
“The year was nineteen-ninety-one—”
“I’m serious, Juno!”
“Okay, Mom. I don’t require a lot of sleep like normies. I’m fine.”
“You have bags under your eyes.”
“Rude,” Juno said, looking up from the email she was writing long enough to give Remi what she hoped was a withering glare. “And besides, eyebags run in my family. It’s genetics.”
“Brighton Beck doesn’t have eyebags, and he’s like twice your age. Neither does your mom. Werebears age well.”
“I hate when you call us that. We’re bear shifters, not werebears.”
“You’re the only werebear in existence with eyebags,” Remi muttered.
“Oh my Goooood,” Juno drawled out, resting her head back and rolling her eyes at the roof of the truck. “What do you want me to say? Huh, Remi? I love my job and I love working and I’m fine. Everything is fine. You said we wouldn’t talk about work.”
“You don’t pick up my calls.”
Juno growled. It had been a while since her inner bear cared enough about anything to growl. What did Remi want from her? She was doing the best she could. Lucky Remi, she’d found a good life. A safe life. A good Crew and the perfect mate. It was good for her, but that wasn’t Juno’s story and never had been. She’d known from age eighteen that her twenty-seventh year on this earth would be her last. And she’d chased a dream with the time she’d had. A mate had never found her, but a passion for music had, probably thanks to her dad, her upbringing, and her hundreds of hours at old bars watching her dad and uncle play to the crowds who would come out to see them. Her fondest memories were of sitting in the studio with the world-famous Beck Brothers, but to her, they were just Dad and Uncle Denny. As an adult? She’d wanted to hold onto that passion and make a career for herself outside of Brighton Beck’s shadow. Living in some Crew with the perfect mate wasn’t her fate. It was Remi’s.
A wave of homesickness took her, but Juno didn’t even know for where. Her condo? So she could escape Remi’s callouts? The studio she watched all the cookie-cutter bands record the same songs over and over and over? Damon’s Mountains?
Had she wasted her life?
Juno, seriously, you’re missing it.
Had she wasted her life on this dream?
Juno bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling and kept her face carefully angled toward the window.
“When are you going to tell me what’s really wrong?” Remi asked.
Juno sniffed and forced a smile as she reached for the radio dial. “When I’m dead.”
“That’s not funny, Juno-Bug.”
“Oh my gosh, I haven’t heard that nickname in ages.”
Remi turned up a gravel mountain road right by a mailbox and pushed the truck higher and higher. “Remember that Halloween your dad actually dressed you like a June bug?”
“I looked like a dung beetle.”
“And remember me and Ashlynn begged to match, so our moms had to make the same costumes?”
Juno giggled and set her phone in her lap. “Yeah, and we all looked like a trio of little cockroaches.”
Remi was cracking up now. “We thought we were so cute, but our parents took us to that costume contest at Moosey’s, and we all tied for Most Disturbing Costume award. We even got those little blue ribbons and everything.”
“I still have those somewhere.”
“You have mine, too?”
“Yeah, and Ashlynn’s. You two always threw everything away so I kept them with my stuff. I had these big plans to make this big scrapbook of our memories.”
“Why didn’t you ever do that?” Remi asked.
Juno wiped tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes and shrugged. She looked back out the window. At the snow, towering pines, boulders, and uneven terrain. She rolled the window down and inhaled deeply the pine scent, frost, and fresh air. God, it smelled so good here. It really was like Damon’s Mountains.
“I don’t know,” she answered as Remi pulled to a stop in a clearing near an old truck and a navy Bronco. “I guess I just ran out of time.”
Chapter Four
He should rip Grim’s roses out of his dumb landscaping just to teach him a lesson. That lesson being “Don’t tell me what to fucking do.” This happened every time. Rhett had his one day off a week, and every single time, Grim ordered him to work it. He was tired, worn to the bone, grumpy, hadn’t been sleeping at nights, and all he wanted to do was go into town and see Sara. It was tradition to see her on his days off, and Grim had been ruining that.
“Rhett, I’m not playing. Get your ass on the processor.”
“Fuck. Off. Grim! I’m not taking over Kamp’s machine just because he doesn’t feel like working today.”
Grim’s eyes flashed gold in the shadows of his porch. His voice came out a snarl when he said, “It’s his day off.”
“Welcome to the club. It’s my day off, too! Who does the schedule? Because this happens every time.”
Grim let off a single, echoing laugh. “Remi makes the schedule. You know, the female you brought to our mountains because you thought it would be fun? Maybe you shouldn’t have slashed her tires, left mouse traps in their trailer, put chocolate jelly beans in her coffee grinder, and bought their kid a motherfucking naked mole rat whose sole purpose in life is to bite everyone. Maybe then she would care about your days off.”
“Aaaah!” Rhett yelled. He hated everyone on this mountain. Okay, that wasn’t true. He actually secretly really liked them, but they were all getting on his damn nerves today. He needed to Change. And kill something. Or start a bar fight. Or drink all of Kamp’s new batch of Pen15 Juice, aka the best beer in Oregon.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he snarled at it. All he wanted to do was flip this row of brats and eat a big-ass, greasy lunch, but everyone seemed to need shit from him. He checked the glowing screen.
Fucking Drew with his fucking stalking, perseverance, and can-do-attitude. Rhett had made the biggest mistake in the world the day he’d signed with that money-hungry agent slash manager slash asshole. This is a new number, he texted Drew. Who is this?
Nice try, Rhett. Where the fuck are you? You were due in the studio three days ago! We have to pay for every day you don’t show up. You are in breach of your contract. We are going to sue your ass if you don’t deliver. Hear that part clearly! I will ruin you! Cut the shit and call me. Now.
Rhett stared at the fire in the grill and considered throwing his phone in there and cooking it right along with the bratwurst. Thinking of going back to his old life made him want to puke.
Rhett!!!!!
He powered off the phone and shoved it into his back pocket, knowing when he turned it on again, there would be thirty more messages from Drew and the entire staff at the label. And any stalkers who’d discovered his phone number. And possibly members of the Saga Pride. And probably even Benny Ford who he still owed three dollars and seventy five cents to from third grade, because it was his effing luck that everyone in his entire life would need something from him right now.
He just wanted to go see Sara.
Everything would feel manageable if he could just get Grim off his case long enough so he could sneak away. That was one bad thing about being part of a small Crew. When he’d been with the Saga Pride, no one gave a shit if he disappeared for a little while. But here, he always had someone watching him.
He tracked Grim’s progress as the Alpha meandered off his front porch, sliding his yellow hard hat over his black mohawk, his gold, suspicious eyes on Rhett. So Rhett graced him with his favorite finger and told him, “Have a good shift!”
When Grim muttered a string of curses and disappeared into the woods, Rhett huffed a little sigh of relief. He burned the tips of his fingers when he pulled the brats off the grill and onto a paper plate. He took a bite of hellfire and did that blow-dragon’s-fire out of his mouth while singeing every taste bud, just like all bratwursts should be eaten.