A werewolf's life is dangerous enough for an adult with a pack, but Sammy's family was murdered when he was only ten years old. Terrified, he ran away from foster care and spent several years homeless, only for his worst fear to become reality: he...
Hands in his hoodie pockets, Sammy walked along the shoulder of the highway. It was almost 3 A.M., and he was exhausted. Eventually he heard a familiar growling, and slowed to a halt as the highbeams of his own truck hit his back. It pulled to a stop, and he got in on the passenger side.
"I certainly didn't miss driving this old rustbucket," Odysseus commented, his hand on the stick shift. The ancient machine had been his before he bought a new truck and gifted this one to Sammy on his eighteenth birthday. "You know, if you ever wanted to trade it in for a newer model, now would be the time to do it before it breaks down again."
Sammy's jaw dropped. As much sentimental value as this truck possessed, he had considered the idea of trading it in for something that didn't need constant repair, but had forgone that option for fear of appearing ungrateful. All this time...!
"Roy filled me in on how you handled the situation," Odysseus went on. "You did well. Tell me something, though. Why didn't you just kill Brett?"
Sammy turned his head sharply to look at his alpha. "Because I didn't have to," he answered.
"But did you want to?"
Sammy edged back against the door. How was it that Odysseus could see so easily into his soul? "Y- No. Maybe. When I saw the way he treated his son, there was a moment when the thought crossed my mind." He hung his head low.
"Then I commend you on your self control. Other members of the pack would have simply dispatched him. Cernunnos. Obviously Hatchet. Probably Patience, if she had seen what you saw. But you reigned yourself in."
"But I've killed before," Sammy croaked.
"There are times when it can't be avoided, I'm afraid. Trouble just seemed unavoidable for our kind. We're compelled to help others, and that sometimes leads to conflict.
"But after everything you've been through, Phoenix, the losses you've suffered, the people who have betrayed you, you still respect the inherent value of life." Odysseus turned his head from the road to look right into Sammy's eyes. "I think you will make a fine alpha some day."
Sammy's jaw dropped again, even lower this time. Him?
An alpha?
Naaah.
***
Sammy slept until noon. His phone finally woke him up. It was someone from the newspaper, wanting to interview him as the "hero" who rescued the kidnapped boy. Perturbed, Sammy declined making a statement. While the townsfolk of Cedar City had a long memory for these things and he wouldn't have minded being known as someone other than the kid who had a meltdown during a football game, he didn't want anyone to think he was milking this for attention either. It wasn't about him, any way.
He remembered something Hatchet had said once, when a visiting werewolf had asked him to share his war stories. "I did what was necessary, I'm proud to have served [or in Sammy's case, 'helped out'], but I'm not about to glorify my actions by boasting about them." That had always made an impression on Sammy.
He showered, shaved, ate, and went about his chores. At least the rest of the pack gave him little more than a few pats on the back for rescuing the boy. To them, he had simply done what any good werewolf was expected to do.
Around mid-afternoon, he drove back into town, heading for Sarah's house. He saw her car in the driveway and no one else's, so he pulled up.
When she answered the door, she looked ten years older despite the smile that burst forth from her face when she saw him. Sammy forced himself to return the smile. She hugged him. Sammy wrapped his arms around her and returned the gesture of affection, more for her sake than his own.
"Thank you so much for bringing my son back to me," she said.
"Please don't thank me," he said on reflex. Realizing how that might sound, he added, "I only did what any decent person would do."
"I'm beginning to feel that there are hardly any decent people left," she said. "If it weren't for you and the sheriff, I wouldn't believe in them at all. I hate Ron so much right now. And I'm angry at myself for not expecting this-"
"Don't," Sammy interrupted her. "Don't beat yourself up because you couldn't anticipate crazy."
She slumped with relief in his arms, as if his words had given her absolution some how. Which would just make what he had to say next even harder.
She withdrew and looked up at him. "Can I get you some coffee?" she offered.
He shook his head. "No, no coffee. I can't stay."
"Oh, okay, so what do you want to talk about then?" her voice was light and patient. She was so grateful to him. Too grateful.
He took a deep breath and sighed. "I can't do this again. I'm sorry. My last 'relationship'... it was built on protection. It... wasn't healthy. I'm happy I was able to bring Todd home, and if, God forbid, I had to do it all over again I would. But this kind of... what I mean is... gratitude is not a healthy foundation for a relationship. There will always be an imbalance between the two people.
"A princess shouldn't feel obligated to marry the guy who slays the dragon for her." He was rambling now, so he stopped. Perhaps he should have rehearsed this before coming, or written it out. The ideas were there, but they were not coming out in any kind of coherent order.
He forced himself to reestablish eye contact, just as she began to look down. Gently, he slipped a curled finger under her chin and brought her head back up to face his. "Listen. This isn't because of your ex-husband. But this just ain't the right kinda timing for either of us. I don't trust myself right now. We're both hurting too much and needing too much and I don't think we can help each other if we don't help ourselves first."
This time, epiphany fueled his words. Sammy did trust himself to objectively determine Clara's motivations for dating him, but he could look back at himself. He had been too needy, too desperate. He had thought indebting her to himself would eventually make her love him. How wrong he had been.
Sarah gently pulled herself away, and sighed. "I understand. You're right. You're very right. We... can't do this."
Sammy allowed himself a smile, more genuine this time. "You're a strong woman. You'll find someone who deserves you. Don't ever forget that."
Without Sammy to prop her up, she had no choice but to rely on her own inner strength again. All her weariness vanished. She still looked tired, and sad, but it was buried under a veneer of iron will. "And don't forget that you're a sweet, wonderful guy," she said, stroking his cheek.
"I'll try," he promised. "Goodbye, Sarah Parker."
"Goodbye, Samson Phoenix."
As Sammy drove home, a somber mood settled over him, and yet he smiled. In a roundabout way, mission accomplished. The sting of losing Clara was gone. Maybe he would find a mate some day, maybe he wouldn't. But at least the next time he took a stab at romance, he'd have a better idea of how to go about it.
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