That brought a deep sigh. “This is so not how I wanted this evening to end.”
Yet it did, with him walking the woods, in the dark, the baggie of weed in his pocket. Just how potent could it be? Marijuana usually gave a mellow buzz. It calmed him, which was why he used to smoke it. But it took only one bad batch for him to quit. Could it be that Tyson got hit by the same kind of crap?
He pulled the bag free and sniffed it.
Something tickled his nose. Barely enough to notice.
He unsealed the bag, and the nicest aroma rose from it. He stuck his nose right in for a deeper whiff.
Smiled.
It didn’t smell like weed, more like the most delicious thing in the world. He could have rolled in the stuff. It made him feel so good.
Rawr.
He shook his head as a noise burst from him. Startling, but not enough to distract from all the scents around him.
How had he not noticed the various aroma trails before? He turned his head left and right, tracing smells to their origin. Tree. Bush. Leaf. Poop.
Tyson.
More poop.
Wait, Tyson?
He pivoted to where he smelled it, something that reminded him of his brother. He followed, weaving through the trees, each deep breath diminishing the scent. Removing his warm glow.
The rumbling discontent within returned full force.
Without questioning if it was a good idea, he stuck his head in the dope bag for another sniff.
Instant feel-good and a languorous, loose-limbed sensation. His deciphering of smells sharpened, and he loped after Tyson’s scent until it stopped at the base of a tree.
He glanced upward.
Way up.
Amidst the branches, he saw eyes glinting at him.
“Tyson?”
The reply was a growl, more animal than teenage boy.
“Stop fucking around and come down.”
“Raw-rr.” Another rumble of sound, and he began to wonder if perhaps it wasn’t his brother.
Or could it be that Tyson tripped so hard he couldn’t remember how to speak? He’d known guys in the military who’d gone on some wild hallucinogenic rides. Just look at Dominick, who remembered nothing of the last two times he’d smoked dope.
“Are you my brother or not?” He eyed the tree and then the branches. Sighed. He hated climbing. For a second, he considered taking another whiff but thought better of it.
He leapt for the lowest branch and grabbed hold, swinging his legs up to then flip and straddle it.
It wasn’t until he stood, close to the trunk to grab another higher limb, that the thing above growled.
Low and rumbly. It didn’t resemble his brother one bit, and yet the scent didn’t lie. Faint, but unmistakable. Dominick always had a thing about pegging people by their smell.
Mom was a mixture of raspberry and honey. Stefan, pine trees in winter. Tyson had a hint of cinnamon with vanilla.
He moved up another branch then another. It sent the thing above scrambling, moving higher.
But just when he thought he had it cornered, it leapt to a different tree.
“Fucker.”
It took him a while to climb back down. By the time he did, whatever he’d chased was gone.
He eyed the bag of dope and thought about seeing if he could find it again. Better not, because if that was Tyson, the green shit had obviously severely messed him up.
Rather than chase, he retraced his steps to the creek and the clothes. He kept his pace slow. Took plenty of breaks. Sensed he wasn’t alone but never turned to look behind him.
He one-hand-texted his brother. Stay away from the fork. Think he’s following me. He thumbed off the sound lest he startle the follower.
At the creek with the ruined clothes, he sat down, his back against a tree, and waited.
Heard the wind lightly whistling through the branches. The soft burble of the creek. The barely heard crack of a step on loose debris.
It took a long while before it got close enough for him to hear breathing. Short huffs.
He kept his eyes closed, hands on his thighs, sitting lotus-style—a relaxation technique taught by one of his shrinks.
It didn’t relax him, but it helped him focus when he needed to have patience.
Like now. A body settled over his lap, smelling of Tyson but…something about it felt wrong.
He placed his hand on fur.
What the fuck?
11
As he jumped, the furry body leapt from his lap. Dominick reached for his knife, wishing he’d brought a gun. The beast hit the ground and rolled. The area grew dark as a cloud crossed over the moon, meaning he couldn’t see, but Dominick could hear.
A yowl and then a yell.
“Ow. Fuck. What the hell?” Despite the gloom, his brother’s shape became suddenly distinct, on his hands and knees, head hanging, naked as the day he was born.
Dominick must have been sleeping and imagined the fur because that was most definitely Tyson.
His about-to-be-severely-grounded brother.
“You!” Dominick pointed. “You worried Mom by disappearing.”
His brother turned a wan face in his direction. “What happened?”
“Don’t play dumb. I know you went into my room and stole those drugs you had mailed to the house in my name.”
“What?” Tyson rocked back on his heels and noticed his nudity. “Where are my clothes?”
Dominick pointed. “On the ground. Where you left them. When you got high!”
With each punctuated statement, Tyson winced. “I thought it was weed.”
“What do you mean thought? You ordered it.”
Tyson shook his head. “Nah. That shit isn’t mine. I usually get it from a guy at school.”
“How did you know I had it then?” Because he’d hidden it under his pillow.
“Found it when I stripped your bed for Mom.”
“And stole it!”
“Borrowed,” Tyson corrected. “I meant to put it back before you got home from work, but…” Tyson looked down. “Guess I smoked a little too much and lost track of time.”
“You think?” Fuck going soft on him. The boy needed to learn a lesson.
“I’m sorry,” was his choked whisper.
“You will be. Because you do know you made Mom cry.”
Tyson cried, too, when he was reunited with her. She rushed from the house the minute Dominick brought his brother across the field.
Rather than follow them inside, he paused and waited for Stefan to join him.
“Where did you find him?” his brother asked.
“I didn’t. He found me.”
“Did he say what happened?”
“This.” Dominick dangled the bag, and the overwhelming urge to sniff it almost snapped his control. “But he claims he wasn’t the one to buy it.”
Stefan lifted his hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m a drinker and a cigarette smoker. I don’t do drugs.”
“Whatever it is, it’s not pot.” Dominick had no idea what it was other than delicious-smelling and potent. How else to explain his sensation in the woods that he was a mighty hunter able to discern scent like a dog.
“Maybe it’s oregano,” Stefan joked.
Could oregano make him imagine a huge cat in his lap instead of his brother?
“I doubt oregano made Tyson strip.”
“You should give it to Raymond. He knows people who can analyze it. Maybe it’s some new street drug.”