To Be More (Slate/Gray Book #2)

The week before Christmas, they decide to have Thanksgiving dinner at the big family house. All three Holt children are invited, of course. Gray loves that it’s a matter of “of course” and not an “Oh yeah, they should come too.” They belong here, on this land with this pack and in this family.

Normally it would be the Alpha, Slate, and Asher in the kitchen all day, the others either too incompetent or too young, but today it’s the Alpha, Asher, and Jason, who is to operate strictly on thorough instructions. The rest of them–Sara, Slate, Gray, Forrest, Alexander, Aria, Sage, and Raven–are sprawled in the family room in front of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. Slate sits carefully slumped on the couch with Raven curled up in his lap. Sage sits next to them, under Slate’s outstretched arm, legs tucked under him. Gray sits next to Sage with Slate’s hand reaching around the thirteen-year-old to rest on her shoulder, stroking her skin absentmindedly. It seems that none of the three of them can get enough of him.

Gray watches Slate carefully to see if he’s overwhelmed or in too much pain, but he seems fine. Which doesn’t mean much, of course, but she’s at least confident that he’s not in agony or suffocating with his space being invaded. Sensing her watching him, Slate turns to look at her questioningly. Gray just smiles and shakes her head.

She thinks he’s going to let it go and go back to the movie, but instead he tilts his head and asks quietly, “What did your family do for Thanksgiving?”

Gray blinks, not having expected the question. She glances over the two youngest Atwoods, but they seem engrossed in the movie, so she feels comfortable sharing in an equally low voice, “We had a big dinner, but Dad often invited some colleagues or high ranking wolves in our pack to eat with us, so it was a very…proper affair.”

“Proper?”

“In that kind of setting, my parents were of the opinion that children should be seen and not heard. But,” she adds, “it wasn’t all bad. Mom was a great cook when she wanted to be and Alexander, Aria, and I had the whole morning to ourselves while she cooked and Dad entertained.”

“You didn’t often get time with each other?”

Gray tilts her head back and forth in a so-so motion. “Sort of. We spent a lot of time with each other, but we rarely just got to be kids together. It was a lot of work and little play, and the playtime we did get was always very quiet.” She smiles. “I remember one Thanksgiving morning we had a dance party upstairs and played all the songs that we were never allowed to listen to at top volume.”

“Your parents didn’t hear you?”

Gray shrugs. “Probably. But Dad liked to hold court outside in the backyard–he’d set up a fire in the pit when it was cold–and Mom was probably just happy we were occupying ourselves and not getting in the way.”

“So you were a quiet kid,” Slate muses, not quite a question and not quite a statement.

“I had to be, for the most part.”

The right side of his mouth tilts. “Ever tried being loud?”

Gray laughs at the mere thought. “Could you imagine? I don’t think I’ve ever raised my voice once in my entire life. I’m sure you can relate.”

Slate grins with the scarred side of his face. “We should try.”

“What, yelling?” She asks incredulously.

He shrugs. “Not at people.”

“At the world then?”

He shakes his head minutely. “Into the world. Let yourself take up space, be known, be seen and heard, even if it’s just the trees that hear you.”

“Huh.” Gray mulls this over for a moment, then smirks at him playfully. “Trying new things all over the place, are we?”

He rewards her with a devilish smile. “I learn fast.”

“What if I learn faster?” She shoots back.

He wraps a lock of her hair around his finger, wicked smirk still in place “We’ve done slow and steady. I’m ready to run. Side by side, with you. Together.”

“Well in that case,” She says slyly, “keep up, Speed Racer. I’m slowing down for no one.”

“Try me.”

The spell of quiet intimacy is broken when the Alpha hollers from the kitchen, “Kids, come set the table, it’s almost time to eat!”

“Let me help you up, Raven,” Jason jumps up and scoops Raven into his arms hurriedly so his little brother-in-law won’t leap carelessly off his still injured older brother-in-law.

Slate gives Jason a reluctantly grateful nod as Sage removes himself from the suction-like attachment he’d made to Slate. Things between the two men had been a bit icy since that day at the Kelley household, but it’s warming slowly as both men let go of their pride little bits at a time. Gray, for her part, lifts herself gracefully off the couch and offers a hand to Slate.

He takes it, flashing her a smile that resides in his eyes more than anywhere else. When Slate looks behind her and says, “Coming, Zander?” Gray whirls around, feeling caught, and sees Alexander closely examining the two of them, particularly the way their hands are still clasped and the little amount of space in between them.

“Yeah,” Alexander says slowly, eyes tracking them as he passes by, “I’m coming.”

Finally he disappears around the corner and Gray releases the breath she’d been holding. “I’ve got to do something about that,” she mutters to herself.

“We.”

Gray looks up at Slate. “We?”

“We. If you want it to be,” he says simply.

Gray feels a smile creep onto her face. In the end, though, what she decides on is, “I’ll have to think about it. But I have to tell them soon, before the week is over.”

Slate nods and squeezes her hand, leading them both into the dining room where everything is just about ready. Improbably, the Atwoods have a table massive enough to fit all eleven of them, five on either side with Alpha Atwood at the head and the other end empty. Something tells Gray that spot of honor would be empty no matter the number of people in attendance.

“Everyone, sit,” Alpha Atwood says with a sweeping motion. “Anywhere you like. We’ll say a quick prayer and then dish up.” He watches a moment while everyone settles and then bows his head and says a simple, heartfelt prayer of gratitude.

And then Sara leads the procession to the kitchen, having been excited for this meal since the actual day of Thanksgiving passed as a day of formality more than celebration and gratitude. Supposedly she’s been craving Asher’s mashed potatoes since the beginning of November. She’s moving slowly these days, now thirty-one weeks pregnant, but even Raven knows not to comment.

Once everyone is sat back down, there’s silence for a while, save for the pleased groans and moans with mouths full of good, home cooked food. After a bit, Raven pipes up from right next to Slate. The boy seems physically incapable of leaving his side. “Why aren’t you eating any turkey?”

Slate looks over and says simply, “It would hurt my stomach.”

“But…’ Raven says, brow furrowed and fork paused in between his mouth and plate. “You love turkey. You eat so much of it every year. And,” he goes on, speaking aloud as he notices, “why are you eating plain rice? And so many fruits and vegetables? Ick. You’re not eating any Thanksgiving food! That’s practically against the law!”

Smiling fondly at Raven’s utterly offended and disgusted face, Slate ruffles his little brother’s hair. “I’m eating mashed potatoes,” he offers.

Raven gives him a sarcastic look he must have learned from Sara. “That’s not Thanksgiving food. That’s good food you eat during the year that you also happen to eat on Thanksgiving.”

“Raven,” Alpha Atwood says with fond exasperation. “Leave your brother alone. We eat everything on this table at other times in the year too.”

“But…” Sage chimes in, looking worried, “why aren’t you eating very much? You already got so skinny…”

Gray has to admit, she had noticed the very same things the youngest Atwoods were pointing out and been equally concerned, only she had been able to draw the right conclusions. Slate sighs and sets down his cutlery. “I’m perfectly fine, boys. I didn’t eat very much while I was gone and now my stomach gets upset at certain foods and if I eat too much. I’m still getting better.”

“For this long?” Sage asks quietly in confusion. Gray can’t help but wonder if this would be a comment made if the Atwood mother was still in her children’s lives.

Slate just nods. “This is how long it takes sometimes. I’ll be okay.” Then he peers over at Raven’s plate. “If you don’t eat that broccoli, I’m going to turn you into broccoli.”

Heavy tone dissipated and concern and confusion forgotten, Raven shrieks in horror. “Noooo, no broccoli man!”

And just like that, the scene dissolves into giggles and peace is restored. For the most part. Gray sees Slate catch Sara’s eye, who is now twirling her fork listlessly, looking guilty. Slate gives her a stern look and nods to her plate. Sara offers a sheepish, if weak, smile and goes back to her food.

Gray marvels again at the influence Slate has on his family. They listen without question, are reassured easily, and trust implicitly, even if all he has to offer is a word or a look. She has noticed that even Alpha Atwood defers to him often. Not about everything and not without challenge on occasion, but Slate has a finger on the pulse of this family. Maybe he is the heart of the family.

After some lighter conversation and only a few morsels are left on the serving dishes, Alpha Atwood clears his throat to gather attention. “Alright, children. This Thanksgiving has been an unusual one for sure, but I’d like to think there’s even more to be grateful for this year than ever before and I’d like to multiply that by sharing and listening. So,” he says, “I’ll start by saying I am and will always be the most grateful for my family–that means all of you,” he makes a point to smile at all three Holt children. “And I expect you all to be back next year, too, no buts.”

Gray smiles and nods back when he makes eye contact with her, getting a sparkling wink in return. “And as always,” he continues, eyes getting misty, “I can’t express gratitude for my family without recognizing the one who built it with me. I miss your mother every day, but I wouldn’t give anything to have the pain taken away. She’s always in my heart, she is my heart, just as all of you are. I am grateful beyond words for your mother, and grateful I get to see her in all of you, every day,” he says, choking up as he gazes across the room of children he’d helped create or bring into the fold.

Gray can see the agony in the Alpha’s eyes as he talks about his late wife. Her loss is something he has never and probably will never recover from, it seems. Gray realizes suddenly that she almost was Alpha Atwood, that she almost lost her own True Mate too early. The situations are surely different–Gray and Slate don’t share over twenty years of marriage and six children–but the bond between True Mates is otherworldly. She glances over at Slate and sees him looking back with soft eyes. He takes her hand under the table and strokes the back of it three times before releasing her and looking back at Sara, who is now expressing gratitude.

Sara says she’s thankful for her growing family, rubbing her belly and winking at the Holts simultaneously, and her brother Slate. Jason says something similar about family and his job, also including Slate. Forrest is grateful for his friends and Slate. Asher is grateful for his moon gift and Slate. And on and on. It seems that while the mood lifted, the reminder of Slate’s captivity and the reason they’re having a delayed Thanksgiving isn’t far from their minds.

When it’s Slate’s turn, he says, “I’m grateful for my niece, for all my brothers and brother-in-law, for my sister, for Aria and Zander, for Gray,” he squeezes her hand again, “and for home.” After a moment’s thought, he adds, “And my mom, who I learned my strength and stubbornness from.” At the last, he gives a nod to his father, who sheds a few more tears, but smiles back through them.

Once all is said and done, everyone is full, happy, and grateful. Late and untraditional, but a successful holiday indeed.