Chapter 241
The awkward silence filling the car is only made worse by Andrew’s blasé demeanor as he drives to a small cemetery used only by the original Blue Mountain Pack bloodline, closed over a hundred years ago to new burials.
He doesn’t ask me anything. Doesn’t even give me the old side-eye as his arm rests casually over the steering wheel. Just drives to where I told him to go, content to keep his silence and let me do whatever I want without explanation.
Predictably, in the face of such loyalty from someone I once considered an enemy, it makes me squirm in my seat.
I mean, should I thank him for playing along, or pretend nothing’s happening? It isn’t like I’ve had the opportunity to be well-versed on the proper routine for best friend-level reliability.
In my lap, my fingers twist around each other, over and over, until I finally blurt out, “Thanks for going along with me p>
“No problem p>
And that’s the end of the conversation.
I’m starting to see some similarities between Andrew and Caine… okay, it’s just the one similarity. Being a shifter doesn’t count; that’s like saying humans are all similar because they’re, you know, humans.
Gnawing at the inside of my cheek and watching the scenery go by—which isn’t much, honestly, because we’re going through the main business district, with yet another laundromat, a shady-looking diner with some bomb pies, and (strangest of all) a Mexican restaurant. There’s an entire family in the Blue Mountain Pack who came from Texas and introduced the area to their authentic salsas, tacos, and a bunch of food I’m not entirely certain how to pronounce.
Of all the families in the Blue Mountain Pack, they probably spend the most time with humans. They’ve also never treated me poorly, though it doesn’t mean they’ve been friendly, either. Indifferent at best.
Their salsa’s pretty good, though…
“Hungry?” Andrew asks out of nowhere, and I jerk my eyes away from the yellow-and-lime-green sign announcing Ernesto’s Tequila Corner has the best burritos in town.
Also the only burritos in town, so if anyone’s really nitpicking, it isn’t saying much… but they are pretty good. At least to my unrefined palate.
“No,” I mumble, knowing it’s one of Rafe and Andrew’s favorite haunts. Or used to be, I guess.
My hands ditch twisting and turning for cuticle-picking, a newfound habit about ten seconds old.
“You sure? You always liked the chips and salsa there p>
I always ate chips and salsa because I didn’t want Rafe to spend money on me. There were always rumors about how I used my position as the Alpha’s adopted daughter to force him into dating me, and while Rafe would tell me to ignore them on one hand, he would always encourage me to be money-mindful. He said it was for our future and because it was the duty of every pack member to be able to manage their finances appropriately, but… yeah, thinking back, it was probably because of the rumors.
Which is silly, because there were always rumors. Most of them were so stupid it was honestly shocking to think anyone would believe them, but hey, there’s always someone out there willing to believe you’re the daughter of a super secret assassination organization who blackmailed the Alpha into an adoption because of something super secret-y and dangerous.
Yeah. I know. Stupid.
But reason and logic will never beat the juicy drama of made-up rumors, and bullies don’t need much to rationalize what they want to do to their prey.
I sigh, only to sit upright as Andrew brakes out of nowhere to take a hard right into the familiar parking lot.
“Wait—why are you stopping? I said I wasn’t hungry p>
He gives me a strange look as he parks the car. “You were drooling over the sign like you haven’t eaten in a year. I can afford some chips and salsa, Grace. If you don’t want to eat inside, we can just take it to go p>
Oh, dear Goddess. “I’m really not hungry, though p>
“You don’t have to be so polite. It’s not a big deal to get you some food p>
A muscle twitches in my eyelid. “No. Really, Andrew. I’m not hungry. I ate breakfast, and I’m pretty sure Ernesto’s doesn’t even open until eleven or so p>
“Ah.” He leans over the steering wheel to peer in the direction of the front door. “You’re right. Says it opens at eleven. Huh. Since when p>
“Since always…?” Ernesto’s isn’t exactly known for their breakfast menu. Heartburn-level salsa and burritos ready to guide you to Heaven’s door, sure.
But now that I think about it…
Trying to be sneaky, I pull out my phone and scroll through the list of locations Caeriel sent me earlier.
Ernesto’s… is not on it.
But every building around it is.
Fascinating. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but my Sherlockian radar is pinging. Something’s hinky. Why is only Ernesto’s not on the list?
A hand abruptly cuts off my thought process as it covers my screen, and I look at Andrew with a frown. “What p>
He looks exasperated. “I called your name at least five times. You didn’t hear me p>
“Oh…” Feeling a little guilty, I sneak the phone back into my pocket. “No. Sorry. I was thinking p>
He shakes his head a little. “I always knew you liked the place, but I didn’t realize you were that obsessed with their food. You only ever ordered the chips and salsa and you would always share it with both of us p>
Duh. It’s the appetizer. It’s free. And they liked it, too.
It isn’t like I ordered it. It just came with the food.
Funny; Rafe always espoused financial mindfulness, but thinking back, he was always ready to spend on his own food…
I frown, the cheerful sign of Ernesto’s suddenly becoming dull and rather annoying to my eyes. It used to be a place filled with happy memories and time spent together in puppy love, but now it’s just a glaring neon sign announcing how much of an idiot I was one month ago.
Glancing at Andrew, who’s only guilty of trying to be sweet, I state flatly, “I’m not. I don’t like Ernesto’s very much; it was Rafe’s favorite place. Not mine p>