“I guess that’s true.” But he didn’t matter—at least not to most people. Those who knew his past considered him to be no good, not worth their concern. It was Atticus they’d all be worried about, except for Maddox, of course. Maddox would probably advise him not to do it.

“But you’re still willing to try?”

“Sure, I’m down,” Tobias said. What else could he say? Atticus was so excited about the possibility.

Jada’s brother took a drink of his own beer. “How will you train for this?”

“I’ve always lifted. Been doing it in the weight room at the school since I left prison. But I’ll bulk up to improve my strength, and I’ll run to improve my stamina. I’ll hike more, too, of course.”

Atticus lifted his beer toward the bar window. “In this weather?”

“It doesn’t get too bad, not around here.”

A rush of cool wind whipped into the Blue Suede Shoe as the door opened and Maddox and Jada walked in. Tobias had called and invited them to come as soon as Atticus had set up this little meeting. He always felt more comfortable when they were around, felt as though fewer people were staring at him and Atticus. It made more sense that Atticus would be in a group that included his sister than alone with the man who’d cost him the use of his legs.

“Should we do some test hikes together?” Atticus asked as Tobias waved them over.

“That’d be a good idea.”

“When?”

“In the spring, when the rainy season’s over and I’ve had a chance to prepare. After the weather warms we’ll have a couple of months before your birthday. That should be enough time.”

“Are you thinking we should go out once a week or…”

“Yeah. Once a week would be enough—every Saturday or Sunday—so you’ll have a chance to get accustomed to riding in the pack. You might not like it. I’m guessing it’ll feel pretty damn unstable, since you won’t have any control. You’ll have to decide whether you feel comfortable relying on me.”

“I trust you,” he said without hesitation.

His trust actually made Tobias more nervous. He didn’t want to disappoint him. “What about your mother? Have you told her what we’re planning to do? Will she let you go?”

“I haven’t told her, and I don’t care if she likes it. We both know she’ll try to stop me, but I’m going to do it, anyway. I’m not ten years old.”

“True, but…what if she shows up on my doorstep with a few choice words about this idea?” He distinctly remembered the last time she’d paid him a visit. She’d screamed and struck and clawed at him—vented all her rage and hate.