The Wilde Expedition

43. you're lost too

Copyright © 2015. All Rights Reserved.

〮CHAPTER FORTY THREE 〮

Alister spent a few days under house arrest confined to his bed. According to his dad, he'd already been under house arrest when he started panicking and wolfed out in their yard despite the fact that his dad was restraining him. It was odd for anyone to shift during the day—that was just plain weird. All the trouble between Alister and I had him thinking his son was mad, but really, he was just acting on his Beta senses.

Our county doctor who looked after our pack members stitched him up to speed up the healing process. Alister had ice packs strapped to his hands for days—they were pretty bruised up from clawing apart the exterior of the Wilde Child. His broken rib was supposed to heal within a week, which irked Gavin quite a bit.

As for Gavin's Wilde Child, it was lugged out of the lake and scrapped—after Beron's body was removed from it, of course. I attended the funeral alongside Gavin, and was unfortunate enough to suffer the sight of Gavin's tears as he held the remainder of the contents of his van that survived the soaking. His taser was scrapped as well, along with all his medical records he kept in the glovebox, the bumper stickers and magnets, as well as the moleskin journal he was prepared to give me as Christmas gift.

"You didn't need to get me anything, anyway," I murmured quietly, the floppy cover in my hand. All the papers were wrinkly and partially disintegrated.

"I think everyone should have a journal, though," he said, and he sounded awful. I could tell he was trying not to sound choked up, but it was still painful to hear it there as an undertone.

We were at a junk yard on the other side of town, which Uncle Bennet and Rick drove us to with Gavin's van towed behind us on a massive trailer he kept for "special events". I wasn't sure what that entailed, but it worked perfectly well in transporting an unusable vehicle to the junk yard. Rick knew the guy in charge of the entire yard, and paid him well—Gavin's van would be no more in a matter of minutes.

Rick was home, pissed and irritated, but happy to see me alive and well. I expected he'd pummel Gavin's face in for encouraging my persistence in staying on my own, but he didn't. He gave Gavin one of those bro hugs once they were confronted with each other. Gavin was a bit intimidated by his appearance—I mean, Rick was one tatted-up guy and not to mention buff with hands that could crush a skull—but they got on pretty well. No one could stay angry at Gavin for long.

For now, Rick stood at my right with his arms folded over his chest, watching from afar as the workers arranged Gavin's vehicle into the contraption that would flatten it for good. Uncle Bennet was out and about talking to the workers, mostly to their boss, and left us be for the moment.

"We have to get going soon," Rick reminded us. "We still have to pick up ingredients from the grocery store."

"Rick," I groaned, annoyed that he was rushing Gavin. "We're staying until the job's done, all right?"

He seemed to pick up my hint and took a brief look at Gavin, all distressed and long-faced. With a deep sigh, Rick agreed to wait in the car, and gave me a tough pat on the back. "Come when you're ready then."

After he left, it was only a few minutes before the machine started up and the Wilde Child started creaking and crumbling. I plugged my ears against the intense, shrill shriek of metal against metal, and the rumbling of the machine. I saw Uncle Bennet standing on the sidelines with the other workers, wearing protection goggles to match. He looked fascinated. Classic Uncle Bennet.

"I just wish," Gavin shouted over the machine, "that I'd been able to circumnavigate the U.S. with her."

I frowned and scooted over to toss an arm around his torso. "I wish you could've too," I confessed, but I figured I was too quiet for him to even hear. I barely even heard it myself.