Page 4 of Cuckoo
And me? Well, as a kid, I’d been confused. Heron and I had a similar experience in that we didn’t have parents to help guide us through the process of growing up with and bonding with our crows. It sucked.
Heron floundered, growing angry, distrustful, and bitter when his adoptive parents died, and he was left to find his birth parents with little more than a thin connection to the past. He finally did after meeting his mate, Rebel. It was a hard road for him, but the club helped.
My experience was vastly different. I didn’t give a fuck about my biological parents or why they chose not to keep me. I was placed in foster care the same day I was born. No one came looking, and no one gave a fuck.
Not until I met a little girl with big brown eyes, long braided hair, and glasses. Katrina, my foster sister. Just thinking of her sent a fresh wave of pain through my heart. She was ripped from my life, and when she left, she took my humanity and joy with her.
I became a heartbroken, angry, withdrawn teen in her absence. Her smile had been the only light in the darkness. If I thought shit was bad when she was around, it was ten times fucking worse without my angel.
Twelve years. That was how long it had been since I last saw her. I missed her every fucking day.
Unable to resist, I reached into my cut and pulled my wallet free. Inside, faded and creased, was a single photograph. A glimpse of a Halloween night that would forever live in my memory. It was the last sunset I ever saw with Katrina.
Staring into her warm brown eyes, I smiled. She was only thirteen but already beautiful. It took her forever to decide on a costume that year, but she finally settled on a pirate.
I stood beside her with the setting sun behind us, both of us dressed for Beggar’s Night. We always went trick-or-treating together. After eight years of sticking together like glue, we never missed a chance to get all that candy.
My arm was slung around her shoulders as she laughed. I wore a combination of costumes since she thought it washilarious. To this day, I still switch things up because it reminds me of her and those times when we could be kids, laugh, and not be afraid of what the night would bring. I wore a zombie and Superman combo. Epic.
My thumb brushed over the image of the two of us, wishing I knew what happened to her. Was she adopted? Did she leave the state? Where was Katrina now? Was she happily married with kids?
Fuck. I didn’t want to think of her with anyone else. It was stupid and strange, but I always felt like Katrina was mine. The idea of her living with another man, wearing his ring, or having his children pissed me off.
I shoved the photo back into my wallet and stuffed it inside the inner pocket of my cut. Reaching for a cold beer, I popped the top and took a long pull, hoping to dull the pain that always surfaced when I thought of Katrina.
“Hey, Cuckoo.” Eagle Eye took the empty seat across from me and leaned his elbows on the table.
“Eagle Eye,” I greeted him, not bothering to remove the grit from my tone.
“Your crow is fucking agitated.”
Huh? I blinked, feeling the link between us. Sure enough, my crow was squawking outside, belting out caws, and hopping from the ground to the roof and back again. He didn’t like me retreating into my head and tuning him or my club out.
It wasn’t intentional, but sometimes, I had to block everything in my head so I didn’t lose my shit. It didn’t matter if that meant my crow or the club or the whole fucking world. That was why I often used humor to deflect; I didn’t like anyone looking too closely or trying to figure me out. I had dark, evil shit in my past. It needed to stay there.
“I’ve got him under control.”
Once I tapped into our connection again, my crow calmed—a little.
Eagle Eye snorted. “Sure.” He sat back, staring at me like he was waiting for something.
“Don’t start prying,” I warned.
He shrugged. “I wasn’t. Just thought I would offer my services in case you needed anything.”
“What do you mean?” I growled, shoving my empty beer bottle aside.
“I’ve seen you look at that old photo a lot, brother. If there’s someone you want or need to locate, I can do it.”
“And if I don’t want anyone to know about it?”
“I won’t say a fucking word, Cuckoo.”
“Even to Crow?” I pressed.
“Hell, if Pres asks, it’s his right to know.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Just Crow. No one else.”
