Howling At The Same Moon Ch 04

The rest of the week passed in a haze, each day blurring into the next. My coworkers were wonderful, keeping me surrounded by lighthearted conversation and lending a hand wherever they could. It was a distraction I was endlessly grateful for. Still, grief lingered in the back of my mind like a shadow.

Robert checked in every day, whether it was a quick text or a phone call. Just hearing his voice made things feel a little less overwhelming, and he always managed to make me laugh, even when I didn't think I could. He'd told me earlier this afternoon that he had to go out of town this weekend.

"Where are you headed?" I asked, leaning against the counter at work, the phone pressed to my ear.

"Work thing in Denver" he replied vaguely, and I didn't push for details. I knew he could only tell me so much about work, but it sometimes bothered me a little he was so vague. "I'll be back Monday, and I'll do my best to check in while I'm gone. If you need me don't worry about bothering me. I'll answer."

"You're sweet, Robert," I said, the corners of my mouth twitching into a faint smile despite my unease. "Be safe. I'll see you when you get back."

"Likewise," he said warmly. "Take care of yourself while I'm gone, okay?"

But now, sitting alone in my quiet apartment, the words felt hollow. The silence pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating, and I found myself picking up my phone and scrolling through my contacts, my thumb hovering over Victor's name.

I hesitated for a moment before sending a quick message:

Are you free tonight?

His reply came quickly.

I've got time for you.

I grabbed my jacket and keys and headed out the door.

He met me at The Hound's Hideaway. The bar was quieter than usual, given that it was only 5 o'clock and live music started a little later, and the hum of conversation was low and the music softer, the band obviously just arriving for setup. Victor was already seated at the bar when I walked in, his long frame draped casually over a stool near the far end. He glanced up as I approached, his sharp green eyes shining slightly when he saw me. His usual easy grin appeared.

"Hey," he said, gesturing to the empty stool beside him. "Haven't heard from you much this week."

I almost felt bad for only sending him a few texts throughout the week, but I gave him a small smile and shrugged out of my jacket, draping it over the back of the stool before sliding into the seat.

"What are you drinking?"

"Maybe something light, like a seltzer?" I said. "I don't feel like staying out late tonight."

He nodded toward the bartender, who moved quickly to grab my drink. As soon as the can was in front of me, I took a small sip, the cool liquid soothing my mood.

Victor leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar and turning slightly toward me. "Rough week?"

I let out a small, humorless laugh. "You could say that."

His expression shifted, his grin fading as he studied me with quiet intensity. "Want to talk about it?"

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the can. For some reason, it was easier to talk to Victor than it was to anyone else. Maybe it was because he didn't know me as well as Robert or the people I worked with. Maybe it was because he never seemed to judge, no matter what I said.

"My dog, Jerry... he died on Monday," I said softly, my voice catching on the words. I kept my eyes closed for a moment to stop the tears from forming.

Victor didn't respond right away, and when I glanced at him, I saw something flicker in his eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice low and steady.

I nodded, staring into my drink. "He was old," I justified, though the words felt hollow. "I knew it was coming at some point, but... it doesn't make it any easier."

"No," he agreed, his gaze fixed on his drink. "It doesn't."

There was a weight to his tone that made me look up, and for a moment, I saw something raw and unguarded in his expression.

"Loss like that... it sticks with you," he said, his voice quieter now. "You're never ready for it and it knocks the wind out of you."

My heart clenched at his words, and I nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's exactly how it feels."

Victor glanced at me, a small, almost sad smile tugging at his lips. "I'm sorry you're going through this, Carina."

I nodded, not knowing what to say. The weight of his words settled between us. It felt like a shared commiserating, like we had been through our own storms and was willing to sit quietly together through this one.

For a while, we didn't talk. The hum of the bar around us became background noise as I sipped my drink, feeling the sharp edges of my grief soften just a little. Eventually, though, the silence shifted into something warmer, and we fell into easy small talk.

I told him about my uneventful week at work, how my coworkers had been so kind and supportive, going out of their way to keep me busy. I told him I would be going to spend the day with my mom tomorrow at home, hopefully seeing my sisters for a bit.

"How many sisters do you have?" he asked.

"Two. I'm not very close with my older sister, she's about 7 years older than me. But my best friend is Jessie, she's my adopted sister. Her mom died when we were in elementary school together and we were all so close, so my mom jumped in at the change to keep us together. What about you?" I smiled at the thought of my sisters. We were all so different, but we really grew closer as we aged. I couldn't possibly imagine a life without them.

"I've got two little sisters too, and twin baby brothers." he replied, a smile on his face. I realized I'd never asked much about his personal life. I could see it mattered to him.

"Your parents were busy people," I laughed, "tell me about them."

He did, for more than 30 minutes. I finished my drink and asked for a water, listening carefully. He was the oldest of five kids with his parents having been married for more than 30 years. He'd lived in the same town his whole life, a bigger town about 20 minutes down the highway from here. His father's health was not great, and he had retired early, passing the responsibility of their family business over to him full time 5 years ago.

"What do you even do for a living? I don't think it's ever come up."

Victor raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into that trademark smirk of his. "You mean to tell me you've been hanging out with me all this time and never bothered to ask?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm asking now, aren't I?"

He chuckled, leaning back slightly in his seat. "Fair enough. I'm an entrepreneur," he said, his voice casual. "I own a variety of businesses around the state and a handful across the country."

"Entrepreneur? That's vague... What kind of businesses?" I asked, tilting my head.

"Real estate, a few commercial properties, a couple of restaurants, that kind of thing," he said, waving a hand as if it were no big deal. "Keeps me pretty busy. Helps take care of the family."

I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious of his overly vague answer. "Uh-huh. So, what brings you here so often? Since you have, like, an empire to run or something?"

Victor's smirk widened, and for a moment, he looked almost sheepish. "Well, technically, this bar is part of that empire."

I blinked at him, my drink halfway to my lips. "Wait... what?"

"I own the place," he said, gesturing to the bar around us. "Have for years."

It took a second for his words to sink in, and when they did, I couldn't help the laugh that burst out of me. "Are you serious? That's why you're here all the time? I thought you were just some guy who really, really liked their margaritas."

Victor laughed too, the sound warm and easy. "Well, I do like the margaritas," he admitted, "but yeah, I'm usually here to keep an eye on things. It's closer to home than some of the other businesses."

I shook my head, still grinning. "I can't believe I didn't figure that out sooner. That's... kind of hilarious."

He shrugged, clearly amused by my reaction.

The conversation lightened after that, the heaviness of the evening lifting bit by bit. Victor's dry humor and easy charm were a welcome distraction, and by the time I finished my drinks, I felt a little more like myself again.

"Thanks for this," I said as I stood to leave. "I needed the distraction. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some ashes to toss."

"Anytime," he said, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. "Take care of yourself, Carina. I'm here if you need me."

As I walked out into the cool night air, I realized that for the first time all week, I genuinely felt just a little bit better.

I gripped the steering wheel tightly as I navigated the winding road up the mountain. The headlights of my car cut through the thick darkness, illuminating the narrow path ahead. The world outside was silent, save for the occasional rustling of trees in the cool night breeze. I had made this drive countless times before, and just like always, every turn felt heavy, as though the mountain itself could sense my grief.

When I finally pulled into the large gravel lot at the trailhead, I turned off the engine and sat still for a moment. The weight of the small cardboard box resting in the passenger seat was almost unbearable. Taking a deep breath, I picked it up and stepped out into the crisp night air.

The trail was familiar. I'd come here many times before, day and night. The nearly full moon hung high above, casting a pale glow over the dirt path. I moved forward, my footsteps crunching softly against the ground as my flashlight illuminated my way. The only sounds accompanying me were the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance and the chirping of insects.

The mile or so trek felt longer than usual, each step heavy with memories. Finally, the trees thinned, revealing the overlook. The wooden deck stretched out over the edge, offering an unobstructed view of Silverpine below. The town twinkled beneath me, golden lights flickering like stars against the dark earth. It was beautiful, almost unreal in its stillness.

I walked to the railing, placing the small box on the wooden surface. Running my fingers over its rough edges, my heart ached in my chest. The last time I had stood here with ashes in hand, they had been Luke's. I had scattered part of him here, off this very overlook, letting the wind carry him into the endless night.

Now, it was Jerry's turn.

Tears welled in my eyes as I opened the lid, my breath hitching. The grief felt insurmountable, pressing down on me with an intensity I hadn't felt in months. I had barely begun to heal from losing Luke, and now I was here again, saying goodbye to another piece of my heart.

With trembling hands, I tipped the box, letting Jerry's ashes slip from my grasp and into the wind. The fine, gray dust swirled and danced before disappearing into the vast expanse beyond the mountain's edge.

I swallowed hard, dropping the empty box down beside me. The silence of the night was deafening. My chest tightened as the emotions overwhelmed me, threatening to consume me whole. I gripped the railing tightly as I felt the emotions overcome me.

And then I screamed.

The sound tore from my throat, raw and unfiltered, slicing through the stillness like a blade. It wasn't just grief--it was rage, frustration, loneliness. It was the weight of every moment I had held inside, every loss, every wound that hadn't quite healed.

I screamed again and again until my voice cracked, and my body trembled, doubling over. I clutched the railing, gasping for air, the tears no longer streaming down my face but dried against my chilled skin.

My screams had echoed out into the night, but now there was only silence. A silence that no longer felt so suffocating.

Slowly, I turned and sank to the deck. Tilting my head back, I gazed up at the sky. The stars shimmered against the deep black expanse, the moon casting its silvery glow over everything. I thought back to all the times I had come here before to do the very same thing--scream and cry and beg to go back and change everything.

I closed my eyes, imagining Luke beside me, his arm draped casually over my shoulder. I imagined Jerry lying at my feet, his big brown eyes gazing up at me with unwavering loyalty.

For a moment, I let myself believe they were there. That I wasn't alone.

The wind picked up slightly, rustling through the trees, carrying with it the faintest whisper of something I couldn't quite name.

I stayed like that for a long time, breathing, remembering, healing--just a little.

---

-Victor-

The whiskey burned as it slid down my throat, but I welcomed the heat. The bar was buzzing, the low hum of conversation blending with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. I leaned back in my seat, eyes flicking toward the door, half-expecting to see Carina walk back in.

But she wouldn't.

She'd left with purpose, grief shadowing her every step. And I hadn't stopped her.

I swirled the remaining amber liquid in my glass, lost in thought, when the air around me shifted. A presence--cold, sharp, and deliberate--moved through the crowd. Even before I turned, I knew who it was.

Darren Holt.

He didn't hesitate, didn't so much as glance around as he strode up to the bar. Without a word, he pulled out the stool next to me and sat down. His movements were precise, calculated, like a blade being unsheathed.

The conversation around us didn't stop, but I felt the weight of his presence like a storm rolling in.

A second later, Sam was there.

He stepped up beside me, arms crossed over his chest, posture casual but with a tension thrumming beneath his skin. He wasn't smiling now. His usual easygoing nature was gone, replaced by something sharp as well, something threatening.

I didn't blame him. He knew exactly who Darren was. And he had a damn good idea why he was here.

Darren exhaled slowly, drumming his fingers once against the bar before turning his head just slightly toward me.

"Walk away." His voice was low, steady. A quiet warning wrapped in steel.

I smirked, rolling the whiskey glass between my fingers. "From what, exactly?"

His expression didn't change. "You know what."

Sam shifted beside me. "You should be careful, coming in here and throwing orders around," he said. His tone was light, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable.

Darren ignored him, his gaze locked onto mine. "I'm only going to say this once, Amarok. Leave her alone. If you know what's good for you."

The band struck up a song in the corner, a heavy, pulsing beat that rattled through the bar. The sudden shift in noise made the air between us even heavier. Around us, people laughed, drank, lived their lives. Oblivious. But here, in this moment, a battle line was being drawn.

I took a slow breath, measuring his words, feeling the weight of them settle.

"Is that a threat?" I asked, my voice quiet but firm.

Darren didn't blink. "It's a warning."

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. "I don't take orders from Robert. And I sure as hell don't take them from you."

Darren leaned in just slightly, his voice a whisper against the rising music. "I'm just here to give you a head's up. There's something going on here that's bigger than you. If you try to fight this, you're a fool."

Sam tensed beside me, fists curling at his sides. I could feel his urge to step in, to escalate. But I didn't need him to fight my battles. Not this one.

I leaned in as well, my smirk fading, my voice just as quiet. "Then you're underestimating me."

The music swelled, drowning out the tension between us. Darren studied me for a long moment, then exhaled sharply through his nose, like he'd already known how this would go. Like he was tired of the game before it had even begun.

He stood, straightened his jacket, and glanced at Sam. "Don't shoot the messenger. Enjoy your liquor."

Then he turned and walked out, disappearing into the crowd as easily as he had come.

Sam let out a breath, shaking his head. "Well, that was fun."

I didn't answer.

I knew this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

---

The weather was clear, a perfect Spring day with just the right balance of warmth and crispness in the air. I spent the day with my mom at her home, the house where I grew up. Being there always brought a sense of comfort I couldn't quite replicate anywhere else. The smell of her home-cooked meals, the way the light streamed through the kitchen window, the faint creak of the floorboards--everything felt familiar and safe.

We cooked together, laughing at old family stories and reminiscing about times when life felt simpler. My big sister Sabrina even stopped by for a bit, her energetic presence adding a little extra spark to the day. By the time dinner was over, and I said my goodbyes, I felt like a whole person again.

When I got back to my apartment, the sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in gradual hues of silver and gold. There was probably an hour of daylight left, and the thought of sitting in my quiet apartment again didn't appeal to me. I changed into my favorite pair of leggings and a lightweight long-sleeve shirt, laced up my running shoes, and packed my small hiking pack.

After a quick drive, I arrived at the park and made my way along the familiar path. Willowpond Park was peaceful, the soft hum of insects in the background and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze setting the perfect tone for an evening escape. The backside of the park bordered Wildvale State Park, a place I'd discovered almost by accident nearly a year ago.

It had been Jerry's doing, of course. He'd bolted after a squirrel one day, and I'd found myself chasing him well beyond the park's boundaries. That was when I first stumbled upon the quiet beauty of the forest that extended into the state park.

Since then, it had become a personal sanctuary, a place where I could walk for hours and feel the weight of the world slowly dissolve with every step. I knew the area well now, having mentally mapped out most of the trails and off-path nooks. My favorite spot was one I'd come across on a whim--a peaceful clearing about fifty yards from a creek.

The creek's gentle gurgle was like nature's lullaby, and the clearing itself felt untouched, as if it had been waiting there for me all along. The space was perfect: soft grass, sunlight filtering through the trees, and just enough distance from the world to feel like I was alone but not entirely lost.

I reached the clearing, stepping carefully across the shallow creek by way of partially submerged rocks, then spread out my blanket and sat down with a satisfied sigh. The book I'd brought sat in my lap, but I didn't open it right away. Instead, I leaned back, letting the sounds of the forest envelop me. The sun was just dipping below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the water.

This was the kind of peace I'd been chasing all week, the kind that only nature seemed to offer. I took a sip of my water, then picked up my book, letting myself sink into its pages. Time seemed to blur in moments like these, the rush of the world replaced by the rhythm of the forest.

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared and the stars began to peek through the deepening blue sky, I felt a small, bittersweet ache in my chest. Being here, alone, reminded me of Jerry's absence. But it also reminded me of how he'd led me to this place, to this small corner of the world where I could find solace.

I stayed until the first hints of nightfall, when the chill in the air began to settle into my bones.

I closed my book with a quiet sigh, unable to make out the words anymore as twilight gave way to night. I leaned back on my blanket, stretching my legs out and looking up at the sky. There were stars by the pocketful overhead. The full moon hung above like a glowing beacon; its light so bright that it painted the clearing in silvery hues. Everything looked so clear--the leaves, the shadows. I let myself linger, comforted by the peaceful sounds of the forest and the babbling creek.