Excerpt: Unleashed

Embry felt the cracks on the side of his thumb snag against Seth's milky coffee skin. He could name the color: coffee with three creams, the number he took out of the pocket of his apron three days a week when Seth nested in the diner, waiting for him. Tuesdays and Thursdays, Seth would go straight there after school, snagging a booth if he could, a spot at the counter if he couldn't, drinking coffee and doing his homework while Embry bussed tables. Seth left for dinner with Charlie a little before seven and came back in his busted blue truck fifteen minutes before Embry clocked out, always leaving the truck running while he listened to music. Saturdays, Embry worked a twelve hour shift; but Seth would drive him in the morning and come back for pie after dinner and wait out the rest of Embry's shift with him. It was their routine after only three weeks. Mikey, Embry's boss, voiced a concern, even though Seth was a paying customer and wasn't one of the high-school boys they needed to keep an eye on.

"Maybe you don't know," Embry said, trying to dodge the awkwardness of Mikey's questioning. "But Seth lost both his parents and his sister's run off. Charlie and I are all he's got." He had him until he added himself to Seth's list of possessions, which did nothing to assuage Mikey's fear about the boys. "See, Seth's got a lot of anxiety, and he doesn't like being home alone," which was true; however, Embry went on to say, "Dad really worries about him, so, if it's okay, I'd really appreciate being able to keep an eye on him. He's really no trouble. Just your average regular."

Mikey didn't know enough Quileute gossip to be familiar with the many possible origins of Embry Call. What he knew was that Charlie called in a favor for him, let him move into his house, and occasionally Embry let the 'D' word slip. That was enough for Mikey to write off the looks Seth and Embry shot across the diner and the low fives under the table whenever Embry passed. But Embry's favorite stolen moment was taking the coffee pot around the dining room, refilling the cup Seth would empty as he saw Embry approaching. Embry always suspended his hand above the table a second too long so their fingers could brush as he dropped three creamers into Seth's hand instead of onto the Formica. He'd watch as Seth pulled back the tops on all three, grabbing them, two in one hand, one in the other, pouring them all in unison before Embry left the table. That was the perfect shade of his skin, coffee with three creamers.