. 32-34

Author's note:

If you're seeing Lupine Dreams for the first time, welcome! It's a romance through and through, aimed at your heart, not necessarily other parts (; If complicated, imperfect characters you wanna root for are your thing, check out the

series page

to read a full description and give it a shot! If the characters click with you, you'll be caught up in no time (: But you will need to have read it all to understand what's going on.

Enjoy (:

~~~

Chapter 32

The full moon above them reflected perfectly -- maybe a little

too

perfectly -- how Henry was feeling: like a bloated celestial body.

"Wow I ate

waayyyyyy

too much," he said to Paul without an ounce of real regret.

Despite the temperature, they were sitting in a couple of patio chairs on Paul's back deck, looking purposelessly into his backyard as they sipped on after-dinner beers. It was cold enough that they'd each put on jackets, and Henry really was starting to wish he'd worn gloves, too. But with a couple of kids in the house, this was the best place to be able to just talk -- "to speak as men do," as Paul had put it.

"Good, gotta get a little more meat on those bones!" Paul responded, jabbing Henry lightly in the ribs.

"

Okayyy

, Mom."

Paul cleared his throat. "You're skin and bones, my boy!" he said in what Henry assumed was supposed to be an attempt at sounding like a pushy Italian mother. It was definitely only an

attempt

, though, and the fact it was a horrible one probably just made it better.

The sliding door opened behind them and they both turned. Paul's son, Brandon, was wearing a slick, black, untucked dress shirt with the collar popped and had a fedora cocked on his head. Everything was a little bit big for him -- except where it was a little too small for him. The eternal curse bestowed upon middle schoolers since time immemorial.

Brandon did his best to make an entrance, but apparently the wooden deck wasn't cooperative, so whatever

Risky-Business

-esque slide he'd attempted ended up in more of a stumble -- although Henry gave him credit for a decently smooth recovery as he landed on his feet next to his dad.

"Mom says I'm supposed to show both of you this

with

the hat--" he said, then took off the fedora, "--and without."

Paul and Henry looked at each other in instant agreement.

"With the hat," they said in unison.

Brandon's face broke into a victorious grin. "I told her!" And he stomped back inside, sliding the door closed again.

The two adults broke into good-natured laughter and went back to their beers.

"So he's real into jazz band, huh?" Henry said. At least, he assumed that's why Brandon had been dressed like that. He knew he was

in

the middle school's jazz band, anyway.

Paul nodded and gave Henry a look that said he couldn't believe the answer was yes.

"I have no idea where he got it, but that boy can play any instrument you put in front of him. Me and LeAnn, neither of us ever played more than a recorder in elementary school. But him?" Paul shook his head with a marveling grin. "Piano, guitar, trumpet, I think I saw him playing a saxophone once -- doesn't matter. Picks it right up."

"He's a good kid," Henry said, which is what he figured you say about somebody's kid when you don't really have anything to say.

Paul nodded. "Oh yeah, he absolutely is. Not sure where he got that either," he said with a smirk. "But, you know, it seems to work for him. You know he even has a girlfriend?" Paul shook his head again for good measure. "Which...messes with my brain."

Henry looked at his friend slyly. "Must be the fedora."

They both laughed and took another couple of sips, soaking in the night. Muffled sounds from inside said that the crisp evening air was probably worth the tradeoff.

"Really,

everything

about him messes with my brain," Paul began again, then turned to Henry. "He's got this piano solo he's been working on for that concert he's got coming up."

"The one he's getting outfit feedback on?"

Paul nodded with another amused smile. "But, when he's practicing -- and, I mean, I don't pay

that

close attention -- but I noticed I never hear him play the same thing twice. So finally, I ask him, 'Brandon, what are you doing, my man? Can you not read music??'"

Henry snorted. "I'm sure that went over real well with your teenage son."

Paul took another drink and nodded emphatically. "Of course!" They laughed, then Paul continued. "So he rolls his eyes -- which, to be fair, is about 75 percent of his communication -- and he's like, 'noooo,

dad

,' you know, like he got stuck with the dumbest idiot in the dad lottery -- hey don't make that face!"

They laughed again.

"Anyway he says, 'no, you improv it. It's

jazz

.'" Henry could hear the implied eyeroll. "Well, okay then, sorrr

rrry

! So I can't help myself, I ask him, 'so, how do you know if you're doing it right? Like, if you're playing the right notes?'

"And he looks at me like he's amazed I could ask a question that might not actually be

completely

stupid -- which, not gonna lie, made me feel pretty good!"

Henry laughed along. "So, what did he say?"

"He says, 'you

can't

play the wrong note. It's the

next

note that makes it good or bad.'"

Paul sat back, tipping his beer bottle at Henry meaningfully, as if he'd given out some sage wisdom. Henry wasn't sure he knew how to apply it to a real-life situation, but he was willing to play along.

"That's pretty good," he said, taking a drink from his own bottle. "So...what did you get out of that?"

Paul seemed to take the question more seriously than Henry had expected -- or even probably intended. "I think it means you just gotta keep trying and trying things 'til you find some notes that sound like they fit together," he said with a shrug, then waited a beat. "So they've got this concert scheduled for a few days, just in case."

They laughed again, harder this time, and let the laughter fall into another comfortable silence.

The moon was lighting things brighter in Paul's backyard than it seemed like it had any right to. The silence stretched on for a minute, maybe two.

"Hey man, I'm sorry about the ambush we sprung on you," Paul said, a little quieter, and looked over to Henry.

Has that been on his mind all night?

Henry waved it off. "Nah, I get it. I mean...you guys definitely made me think about some things. I know where you were coming from."

He wasn't entirely sure how much of that he meant. He

did

understand where they were coming from, but...they didn't even

know

Cameron. They'd come on a little strong. Or, maybe they'd just made too much sense at the time. Either way, he still felt some lingering resentment toward Paul and Heather because of what they'd said to him.

Definitely not because of how quickly I was ready to give up on this thing with Cameron after one conversation with them, right?

"Good," Paul said, although the tone in his voice said he didn't really expect Henry was telling the truth, either. But he knew that meant they'd get past it. "You know, I thought we were doing the right thing. We just don't wanna see you get hurt, man." Then he shrugged. "But as either of my kids will be happy to tell you, I really don't know shit."

"Well, now you can't say 'I told you so' if it

does

blow up in my face," Henry said, joking. Paul smirked back.

"No, no, you aren't seeing it, my man. Now I can say 'I told you so' no matter

what

happens!" They laughed again, but the topic -- predictably -- lingered in Henry's mind now that it had been brought up. Apparently it was lingering in Paul's, too.

"So...I heard she got to meet Brooke, huh?" Paul said.

Henry nodded. Brooke and Paul had some kind of backdoor Henry gossip network or something that he found equal parts annoying and helpful, depending on his mood. "Yeah," was all he really wanted to say about that, though.

Paul looked over to him, more serious now. "Hey, I hope you won't try to have her avoid us, okay? We're with you, man. Really. Heather, too. Even if she clearly has...a few more reservations about Cameron than I probably do. Or maybe I should just say she feels more strongly about them, I guess."

Henry sipped his beer again, working that over in his head to try and figure out if that was Paul's way of telling him he really thought dating Cameron was crazy.

"Yeah...what's Heather got against Cameron, anyway?" Henry asked, genuinely curious. Really, he was curious what they

both

had against Cameron, but figured this was a little more diplomatic, at least.

Paul shrugged, treading carefully. "I mean...I don't think either of us has anything against Cameron in particular. We don't know her. But...well, we kinda said all we had to say already. We don't have to rehash that." He gestured with his beer bottle toward Henry. "That doesn't mean Heather won't be there rooting for you, though. Really. Just like me."

Henry felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. He knew that was true, but he still appreciated that Paul said it out loud.

"Well," Henry said with an anticipatory grimace, "Heather's gonna get her chance to prove it, I guess, because I'm bringing Cameron to the staff social on Friday." He braced for Paul's reaction -- which was to burst out laughing. Henry laughed a little too, but he wasn't sure what was funny.

Paul put up a hand. "No, no, I'm just laughing because, I mean, that's in a few days! Heather's gonna have to put her money where her mouth is pretty damn quick!"

Henry wasn't sure that made it funny, but he laughed a little more anyway as a courtesy.

They drank a little more, letting the silence linger longer this time until they'd both finished off their bottles.

After a while, Paul let out a sigh. It wasn't quite cold enough for his breath to show, even in the chilly night air.

"You know," he said, "I try to teach those two little shits I'm responsible for how they're supposed to act, how they're supposed to, like,

do stuff

. You know, without killing themselves. But..." he looked at Henry now, "it never, ever goes how you hope. You tell 'em, 'oh, no, you can't do that, or it's gonna end up bad.' And of course it doesn't. Or I tell 'em, 'no, no, you gotta do it

this

way, because if you don't, it's gonna come back to bite you later.' And then they just find some other way to do it that I never even thought of.

"Like I said. Little shits." Paul rolled eyes, but was smiling. Then he sighed again, deeper.

"Or, even worse, you give 'em some advice and -- God forbid -- they actually

take

it...and of course it all blows up in their face." He shook his head, his smile wryer now. "I tell you what, if we have a third kid--"

A muffled

HA!

floated in through the closed door behind them, presumably from Paul's wife. They both shot down in the chairs, as if trying to hide, staring at each other in shock.

"No way she heard that, right?" Henry whispered.

Paul shivered dramatically and gave him a look that said he could underestimate LeAnn's hearing at his own peril. They both broke up into giggles.

"Anyway," Paul said, eventually picking up his train of thought, "I think all I'm getting out of all that is it's an absolute myth of life that you can ever learn how to live it -- much less teach it."

Henry narrowed his eyes at his friend and gave him a coy smile, then pointed to the empty beer bottle. "How many of those have you had without me looking?" They both laughed again, but Paul protested through his chuckles.

"Hey, I thought that was pretty good! That was some wise shit, man!"

Henry could feel the air getting a little colder, even as the moon seemed to shine brighter. A few dogs barked at each other in the far off distance, and muffled footfalls betrayed some frenzied activity back inside the house.

"Hey can I ask you something?" Paul said, producing another two beer bottles from someplace and opening them.

Henry hadn't seen a cooler. How many more did he have stashed? But he nodded his head anyway, figuring that was the price of the fresh bottle.

"Are you gonna start going by Henry now?"

Henry stopped before taking a drink, taken aback by the question. He hadn't been expecting it, although, he really should have. Heather had clearly told Paul about Cameron calling him Henry, they'd just never had a chance to follow up.

Really, though, he wasn't sure about his answer. He looked to the moon for guidance, but found it was still up to him.

"You know, I'm...not really sure," he said, taking a swig. He shrugged and turned to Paul,

still

unsure. "I think...I think I might, though. I really do think of myself that way now. I'm not sure when it happened. It wasn't all at once, but...yeah. Maybe." He shrugged again. Not only was it a question of the hassle, but there was a larger question that loomed in his mind that he was equally uncertain he really wanted to address. Not quite yet.

If Cameron and I break up -- whether that's next week or next year or whatever -- will I still wanna be Henry? And if not....

Well, that wasn't something he really wanted to spend time thinking about. The answers weren't anything he was interested in hearing.

Paul was looking at him, trying to gauge what that all meant. "That's not super helpful to me," he said, deadpan, then they laughed. "I'll just stick with 'champ' I guess."

Henry nodded. "That's probably safest."

After a pause, Paul leaned back, seeming more at ease than he had. "So, things are going good then?" he said. "With Cameron, I mean."

Henry looked at the full moon and sipped his beer again, nodding slowly, then turned to his friend with a half-smile. "Yeah. I think they are, anyway."

Paul smiled back. "Good, man. Good." Then he offered his bottle to clink to a toast. "To the universe of pussy."

Henry tapped the bottle with his, letting his own contentment show on his face.

"To the universe of pussy."

~~~

Chapter 33

[vibe track: disparate youth - santigold]

Cameron ran a fingertip lightly over her newest tattoo, a small wolf howling from the inside of her wrist at her left palm, pointed to her pinkie side. Kendra's was on her right wrist, so if they held them up together, the wolves would be baying to each other.

Calling

to each other.

They were only a few days old. The skin underneath was still a little reddish and she had to fight the urge to scratch it. It might not have been the most painful tattoo she'd ever gotten, but it was definitely close.

She wasn't really sure why Kendra had suggested it -- paid for it, even. Kendra wasn't into getting inked. In fact, Cameron was pretty sure this was her only tattoo.

But Kendra had insisted, even when Cameron warned her it was definitely gonna hurt. It had, and Cameron had tried to keep from smiling a little while she'd held Kendra's other hand during the whole process. Still, Kendra had gritted her teeth and gotten through it.

The gesture was deeply flattering, if Cameron was being honest.

Tattoos aren't something you can just put on and take off on a whim. Not like a wedding ring...Mal. They mean something more. A lifetime commitment -- or at least a reminder of a promise

meant

to last a lifetime.

Every tattoo on Cameron's body was like that. At this point, most of them were reminders of

broken

promises, though not all. Some wolves were already Kendra, whether her friend knew it or not. But all of them were about remembering -- the story of

her

that was so deeply a part of Cameron that it was inked into her body forever, bleeding through to the skin from her soul.

The newest tattoo, though, was a promise for the future.

That made Cameron smile. She was alone in her room, music pulsing from her phone while she did nothing in particular. She never

had

gotten replacement blackout curtains. In the unimpeded sunshine, her body moved to the tinny beat coming out of the outmatched phone speakers.

As she completed a slow, 360-degree turn, she opened her eyes -- and there was Kendra, leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed and watching with a smile. It wasn't her usual grin, but...something more restrained. Maybe even wistful. Cameron didn't stop, but motioned for Kendra to come and join her little impromptu dance party.

Kendra smirked a little, holding up a small container of ointment instead. It was to keep their wrists moisturized while the skin healed, and Kendra was pretty anal about it.

Like she is about most things, really,

Cameron thought with a little laugh to herself.

"I just wanna make sure I'm doin' this right," Kendra said. Cameron put down her arms and stopped slowly gyrating. She tried on her best comforting look, although it wasn't a shape her face often made -- so she wasn't sure how successful she was.

Kendra came in closer and put a dollop of the ointment on her other hand.

How can you even do that wrong? Why's she keep asking me about this every day?

"Yeah, I mean, that looks fine," Cameron said with a shrug. Kendra carefully spread the pasty balm and started to rub it in a little bit at a very deliberate pace.

"You remember when we were gonna start a nightclub?" Kendra said, making conversation and looking up at her friend while she carefully worked in the ointment.

Cameron snorted. "Yeah. Actually I was just telling Henry about that the other day."

Kendra smiled more warmly. "I'm glad you have Henry."

"Uh...yeah, okay, me too...." Cameron felt her brows scrunch together.

Is she dying? Is she super fucking high? Nah, she's gotta go to work soon, that wouldn't be like her.

Kendra took Cameron's hand gently, holding on even after the initial flinch, and Cameron let her put the ointment on her wrist. Kendra applied it just as carefully, looking down at her handiwork the whole time.

Until finally, she sighed, turning up to Cameron. She looked like she was very reluctant to do whatever it was she was about to do. Cameron felt her heart start to beat faster, even if she wasn't sure what was about to happen.

"So...you know I've been checking out that school in Sacramento?" Kendra said in a voice as cautious as her touch.

Cameron nodded slowly. "Yeah -- hey, so, is that what you, like, wanna do?" She was trying to actively show an interest, something she hadn't done enough of throughout their entire friendship.

"Well...yeah, Cam, it is. And...I...I'm gonna go there starting in November."

Cameron's heart started thudding now, her mouth suddenly dry. She blinked. That's all she

could

do.

No. Nonononono. Please. No. Don't do this to me.

"What?" she said, trying to buy more time to process.

Kendra was holding her hand now, the mirrored wolves staring back at them both.

"I'm gonna move to Sacramento in November, Cam," she said, her voice still quiet and gentle. Her eyes were full of an apology Cameron knew her friend shouldn't have to make.

The rest of Cameron's vision seemed to dissolve, a blurry blackness closing in around the wolf on her wrist, all the sounds in the room reduced to a droning buzz in her ears. She fought the overwhelming sensation that she was about to fall, but her hand told her she was steady -- held by Kendra's.

"You're...moving...?" she heard herself say. Her voice sounded like it was underwater.

How did I not see this coming. She was talking about this for weeks. You don't even fucking think about her, not even enough to figure out that going to a fucking school in Sacramento means GOING TO A FUCKING SCHOOL IN FUCKING SACRAMENTO. No wonder she's fucking leaving you.