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Then she raises a hand to me. My breathing slows down, I don’t move a muscle and keep my eyes in hers. She grazes my cheek with her index finger.
“Who are you?”
So she doesn’t remember our conversation. Post-traumatic stress disorder? Did she experience something that made her retreat into the darkness?
“I’m Iris Foster,” I introduce myself again, as if for the first time.
She comes a little closer. Her breath hits my face.
“I’m one of Tucker’s friends,” I add to fill the silence.
Her breath cuts off, her eyes look into mine, and her expression changes dramatically. Her eyes cloud over as a small cry comes from her mouth.
“That murderer! He took my Debbie!” she screams.
I step back hastily when her right hand grips my shoulder hard and squeezes it, then I push her away calmly, knowing that it would be useless to be violent.
“Let go of me,” I command.
“He killed her!” she exclaims again.
Her nails dig into my skin. I curse and push her away again, but she tightens her grip.
“Mom!”
I recognize Tucker’s husky tone and the anger in his voice. I can’t see him, but I can hear his footsteps coming toward us quickly. The woman screams, then tears begin to flood her face. I stand still, almost motionless, as Tucker steps behind her and wraps his arms tightly around her.
He locks her in his embrace, trying to calm her agitation. She finally lets go of me.
Staring, I let out a sigh of relief as I take a step back. Tucker ignores my presence. He continues to hold on tightly to his mother, who is still struggling. I can’t take my eyes off the scene. Tucker’s muscles tense up at the strength of this woman…his mother.
A mother who has just accused him of killing someone.
“Let go of me!” he mother shouts again.
Tucker ignores her. He tightens his grip, leans in, and talks in her ear. I can’t hear his words but he talks without stopping. This goes on for a good minute, and then finally calm returns. His mother relaxes little by little. I look down at his hands and discover her nails digging into Tucker’s skin, making him bleed. Yet he doesn’t let go for a second.
Not for a second.
It’s only then that I notice he’s shirtless, dressed only in old gray sweats. My eyes land on the wolf’s head tattooed on his pectoral.
The least we can say is that he takes this Pack story seriously.
His hair, as black as ink, is disheveled, his eyes veiled. So he was really sleeping…his beard is a bit longer now. He still doesn’t look at me, keeping his attention entirely on his mother.
I suddenly realize that my stupid hands are shaking. I clench my fists and unclench them to get the blood flowing. No sound interrupts the heavy silence in this huge room except the crackling of the fireplace and the soft sobs of the woman. She closes her eyes, totally helpless.
It is at this moment that Tucker raises his head. His gaze plunges into mine, burying itself so deeply in me that I can only do one thing, let him analyze me without flinching.
I know that my concern is easily spotted, and the questions that torment me can surely be read on my features.
But he’s sending me a message, too. His eyes reflect so much hatred, so much resentment. Are they directed against me? I swallow with difficulty as we face each other with our eyes. Neither he nor I make a move.
Suddenly, I notice another expression behind the anger. A feeling of embarrassment and awkwardness after all this. And I understand perfectly why. He’s always seemed confident to me since we met, and now I just saw him in a moment of weakness. At school, he is seen by many as a kind of king, and here he is portraying a completely different image, one that he would surely prefer to keep to himself.
Then everything disappears, an impenetrable mask falls on his face, blocking out the rest of the world. He becomes a simple stranger with an imperturbable gaze.
I take another step back in front of this unbearable coldness which has just fallen on me. I am lost. I don’t know what I have just lived, and a surge of panic swells in me. I try to repress it as best I can.
