“I guess calling in my honey badger family was unreasonable of me . . . then again, maybe I just can’t get it out of my head that if you’d found Whitlan when you’d first locked on to him, my father would be alive rather than a stuffed carcass in some rich bitch’s living room. So you’ll have to forgive me if you’re not the first people I came running to in my time of need.”

“Wow,” Cella muttered. “Honey badgers are mean.”

Livy slowly nodded. “Yes . . . we really are.”

Vic had taken Livy to the Sports Center after their breakfast, with every intention of going back to the rental house to work with Shen. But then Vic remembered he’d have to deal with Kyle again . . .

Look, Vic would admit it. He didn’t have the brains to keep up with that kid. The twelve-year-old managed to overwhelm a full-grown adult with his arrogance and awkward requests.

Deciding to wait a while—at least until he was sure that Shen was up and functioning, so he could deal with that kid—Vic went into the Sports Center. He worked his way through all the full-humans who utilized the top levels for exercise and sports training, and followed the scent of shifters to a hidden stairwell that then led him to the floors below.

Although it was the middle of a workday, it was still pretty packed. Shifters of all breeds and species were there to work out, train, or get a glimpse of their favorite shifter sports star.

Vic didn’t have a favorite sports star. He hated sports. He worked out to keep himself in shape and to work off excess energy that could lead to his shifting into his animal form and rampaging the streets of New York, but other than that . . .

He did tolerate football, though. Could sit with friends and watch it without complaining if he had to. He enjoyed the rigidity of it. The definite lines and rules. He loathed basketball and baseball, however, and seeing really big guys on skates did nothing but weird him out. Of course, he’d felt the same way when he’d seen full-blood grizzlies on skates in Russia.

Stopping by the Starbucks located in the Sports Center—because there really always was one everywhere, even among shifters—and getting himself a large coffee and a few honey buns, Vic went and sat down on an empty bench to eat and people watch.

He thought about stopping by Livy’s office, but he didn’t want to crowd her. She hated that, and Vic didn’t want to become someone she actively avoided—like the pretty woman skating by him . . . once . . . twice . . . three times before she finally rolled herself over and stopped in front of Vic.

“Hi, Blayne.”

“Hi, Vic.”

“Honey bun,” he offered out of the Russian politeness his parents had drilled into him for years while he was growing up. But he was really hoping she’d turn him down.

She did.

“So, what’s up?” he asked around another honey bun.

She rolled closer. Blayne really was a beautiful woman. And there were few women who could wear shorts that tiny and still look good. She had long, athletic, muscular legs that said she worked out a lot. Maybe she lived on those skates. Did she wear them all the time? To family events? To bed? Did that meathead hockey player make her wear those skates?

“I heard about Livy’s father,” she whispered. “You know . . . about what really happened to him.”

That snapped Vic back to the moment and away from Blayne’s skate-wearing schedule.

“How did you hear?”

“I heard it from Ronnie Lee who heard it from Sissy Mae who heard it from—”

“Okay,” Vic cut in, quickly regretting asking her the simple question.

“You know, my mom was hunted, too,” she whispered.

“Oh Blayne. I’m sorry.”

She waved off his words. “It was a long time ago, and after a considerable amount of therapy, I’ve compartmentalized it quite nicely.”

“Okay.”

Blayne moved in a little closer, looked around, leaned down, and added, “Maybe I should cancel my wedding.”

“Well, if you don’t want to marry the guy, of course you should cancel your wedding. Don’t let family or peer pressure push you into a marriage you don’t want.”

Blayne snapped up straight, her hands resting on her hips. “Of course I want to marry Bo. Why wouldn’t I want to marry Bo? I love him!”

“Then why would you cancel your wedding?”

“Because of what happened to Livy’s father.”

Vic stared at Blayne, but she didn’t say anything else.

“I understand you feeling empathy toward Livy, considering what happened to your mother, but I guess I’m unclear on what Damon Kowalski has to do with your wedding.”

“Who?”

Vic took another sip of coffee. Maybe he wasn’t alert enough for this conversation.

“Livy’s father? Damon Kowalski is Livy’s father.”

“Oh! Yeah, I didn’t know his name.”

“Uh-huh. So you want to cancel your giant, double wedding because of a man whose name you didn’t even know . . . because of your mom?”

“No. And I don’t want to cancel my wedding, but I’m wondering if I should.”

“Why would you be wondering that?”

“Because Livy’s my friend.”

“She is?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, okay. No need to get upset.” Although he wanted to use hysterical instead of upset. “I guess the way to look at this is . . . how would Livy react if you canceled the wedding for her? Do you think she’d be okay with it? Or do you think she’d throw another locker at you?”