Page 61 of Howl Will I Know

“So are you.”

“Yes, and I have the Sight, but neither of us knows whether this baby is going to be born furry and howling at the moon.”

Reid closes his eyes.

Nora loses it.

I laugh too, and the sound surprises me enough that I stop.

Reid looks at me, and for a second neither of us says anything. Then his mouth curves, and he slaps my shoulder as he chuckles. Just like that, I can see the brother I remember.

Later, Nora and Scarlett disappear into the living room to look at some baby thing Nora found online, leaving Reid and me with the dishes.

We fall into a rhythm. He washes. I dry. For a while, there’s only the sound of water running and plates knocking lightly against the sink.

Then Reid says, “She’s good for you. You look happy.”

I pause in the middle of drying a plate because no one has said it to me in years. I glance toward the living room, where Nora’s laugh drifts through the doorway. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Reid hands me another plate. “I’m glad.”

I look at him. His expression holds no accusation, no demand for everything we lost. This is just my brother standing in my kitchen telling me he’s glad I’m happy.

Maybe this is how we find our way back. Nothing dramatic. No grand apology capable of repairing those missed years in one conversation. Just time. Meals. Coffee. Reid showing up, and me letting him.

Even the wolf has stopped bristling when Reid is near. For years, his scent and voice have been tangled up with too much—the pain of that first change, the fear, the memory of that night when every instinct sharpened until I could barely separate one feeling from another.

But tonight, watching him laugh with Nora and Scarlett at my kitchen table, I finally remember what it’s like to have a brother. A family.

Two days later, I’m halfway across town replacing a rotten section of fence when irritation hits me hard enough to make me stop with the drill in my hand.

The irritation isn’t mine—I know that before I understand how I know it. One second, I’m thinking about whether the replacement board needs another screw. The next, I’m furious about something I can’t see, can’t hear, and have no reason to give a shit about.

Then, as quickly as it comes, the feeling changes to frustration and embarrassment. A flash of pain.

Nora.

I drop the drill into the grass and pull out my phone. Before I can call her, the screen lights up with her name.

I answer before the first ring finishes. “Nora? You okay? What happened?”

There’s a pause. “That was the quickest pickup ever.”

“Nora?”

“I burned my hand.”

Every muscle in my body tightens. “How bad?”

“Not bad. I caught the edge of the pan and swore loudly enough to frighten the neighbors.”

I close my eyes, blowing out a relieved breath.

“Hewit?”

My eyes open. “Yeah?”

“That’s not why I rang. I called because I suddenly knew you were scared.”