Aurora Lockheart was once the sunshine girl-bright, kind, and full of life. But one night changed everything, leaving her a shadow of who she used to be.
A year later, just as she's beginning to think she'll never find her way back, her ex-best fr...
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"You know, when you asked me for an old pallet from the farm, I should have known it was for one of your harebrained schemes," Feely declared, arms crossed, as he took in the scene around us. We were in my back garden after school, surrounded by a chaotic jumble of power tools, saws, and pieces of timber. The remnants of what had once been a perfectly good pallet lay strewn across the ground like evidence of some bizarre construction project. "This is strange, Gibs. Even for you."
"No, it's not strange," I argued, balancing a nail between my teeth while I hammered another one into the wooden house I had spent most of the evening crafting. The rhythmic clinks of metal on wood filled the air, my focus unwavering. "This is the height of levelheadedness."
"Care to explain the method to this particular brand of madness?" Feely leaned against the closed patio door, skepticism written all over his face.
"It's getting cold, and Reggie is going to need someplace warm to hibernate," I replied, gesturing toward the makeshift hibernaculum taking shape before us.
"You know, if you freed the poor creature, he'd do it for himself," Feely pointed out, his tone laced with disbelief.
"Not according to our vet, he won't," I shot back, glancing at Reggie, who was currently curled up like a content little ball of spikes in the fabric of my gray sweatpants. "Reggie doesn't know how to survive out there. He was only a baby when we rescued him. He doesn't even know he's a hedgehog."
"You know wild hedgehogs carry diseases, don't you?" he reminded me, leaning further against the door. "You really shouldn't keep him on your lap like that, lad."
"For the last time, Reginald isn't diseased!" I snapped, feeling my patience wear thin. "He's as clean as a whistle. Same as me."
"Same as you?" he laughed, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Is that supposed to reassure me?"
"Don't mind him, son," I grumbled, returning my attention to the task at hand while Reggie burrowed deeper into the fabric of my sweatpants. "Daddy's going to build you a better hibernaculum than any of the other hedgehogs."
"At least use gloves when you handle him," Feely urged.
"What's with the judgment, Patrick?" I snapped, feeling irritation bubble up inside me. "I asked you to help me because you're the best of us at woodwork and you've always been the least judgmental of the lads. Or so I thought."
"I'm not judging you, Gibs," he chuckled, finally sitting down on the patio beside me. "Here."
He took the hammer out of my hand, retrieved a nail, and set to work on the felt roof. "Let's make sure your son's hibernaculum is waterproof."
I grinned, appreciating the gesture. "Thanks, lad."
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After a while, once the felt roof had been neatly tacked into place, Feely looked up from his work, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Question," he said, breaking the silence. "Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary with Liz?"
