After classes ended, Mike gave Tyler a ride home like he'd promised. The drive through Forks was calm, the gray skies hanging low. Tyler chatted lazily about the teachers he'd missed and how half the school still treated him like a local celebrity.
When they pulled up to the Crowley house, Beth was already waiting at the door. She smiled warmly, waving as the car stopped. "Mike! You really don't have to drive him every day," she said, her tone a mix of gratitude and motherly insistence.
Mike shrugged with a grin. "Hey, it's no big deal. It's on the way so it doesn't cost me anything."
Beth chuckled. "Well, at least come in for dinner, then. I won't take no for an answer."
He tried to refuse half-heartedly. "Oh no, I couldn't possibly…"
But one glance at the hopeful look in her eyes and the smell of something delicious wafting from inside sealed the deal. "...Alright, you twisted my arm."
Inside, the house felt cozy, warm light glowing against the rainy gloom outside. The table was already set, roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and something that smelled suspiciously like homemade pie cooling by the window.
"This looks amazing," Mike said, eyes widening. He sat down across from Beth and next to Tyler, who was still in his arm sling. "You sure you didn't hire a chef or something?"
Beth laughed, clearly pleased. "Flattery will get you seconds."
"Oh, it's not flattery if it's true, Beth," Mike said with mock seriousness. "If I'd known dinner was like this, I'd have crashed here a long time ago."
Beth tilted her head, smiling slyly. "Careful, Mike. I might start taking you up on that."
Tyler glanced between them, eyebrows furrowing. "Wait, since when are you two on a first-name basis?"
Mike and Beth exchanged a glance, the kind that said let's mess with him.
Mike leaned back casually and said, "Well, your mom and I have gotten pretty close lately." He looked at Beth with a grin. "Right, Beth?"
"Very close," Beth replied smoothly, resting her chin on her hand. "He's been such a gentleman. Always so helpful, polite…"
Tyler blinked. "Okay, that's weird. Please stop it."
Mike smirked. "Come on, son, don't be like that. You have to get used to it sooner or later. Go ahead, call me dad."
"Alright, man, stop it," Tyler said, throwing up his good hand, his voice edging toward panic. "That's seriously creepy."
Beth gave a long, thoughtful hum. "I don't know, Tyler," she said slowly, pretending to ponder. "You know I've been alone for years... it does get lonely sometimes. And I certainly wouldn't mind dating a handsome young stud like Mike here."
"Mom! What the hell!" Tyler's voice cracked halfway through, his face going pale with horror. "You're not serious, please tell me you're not serious!"
That did it, Mike burst out laughing, trying and failing to keep a straight face. Beth's laughter followed, warm and bright.
"Oh, you two are the worst," Tyler groaned, sinking into his chair and covering his face. "I'm never inviting anyone to dinner again."
When Mike finally stood to leave, he clapped Tyler lightly on the shoulder. "Alright, son, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning. Don't make me come up to your room to get you up."
"Get out," Tyler muttered, but Mike could see the reluctant grin tugging at his lips.
Beth, still smiling, walked him to the door. "Drive safe, Mike. And thank you, for everything."
"Anytime, Beth," Mike said, giving her a mock salute before heading to his car. "You and the kid take care now."
As he drove away, he couldn't help but laugh again, imagining Tyler's horrified face. For the first time in a while, the week's tension felt lighter, even if he had the sneaking suspicion he'd pay for that little joke tomorrow morning.
…
Saturday that same week.
Steam still hung in the air when Mike wiped the fog off the mirror. For a long moment, he just stared at his reflection.
The guy looking back at him didn't feel like the same person from a few weeks ago. His face looked sharper now, the soft edges gone, his jaw more defined, cheekbones slightly more prominent. There was even a hint of stubble along his chin where he'd never been able to grow so much as a shadow before.
His shoulders had broadened, and his chest and arms looked like they'd been carved in secret overnight. Every muscle line was visible, like someone had quietly rewritten his body while he slept. He stood straighter too, much taller.
He stepped back and looked down at his feet. Even his sneakers had started to feel small lately.
"Six-five," he muttered to himself. "What the hell."
At least the family business made it easy to replace things, perks of the Newtons owning Forks' only sporting goods store. But even as he tugged on a new T-shirt, the unease sat heavy in his gut.
This wasn't just a growth spurt.
He'd watched enough Twilight movies in his old life to know what this felt like, the rapid changes, the sudden strength, the heat that sometimes buzzed under his skin like static electricity.
Shapeshifters, he thought grimly. The Quileute wolves.
But it didn't add up. They were supposed to struggle with anger, their tempers snapping like dry twigs during the change. Mike had never felt that. Sure, he got frustrated, but he wasn't blowing up or trembling with rage. And besides, he wasn't Quileute. He was pretty damn sure of that.
Still, something inside whispered that he couldn't keep ignoring it. If this was connected to them somehow, he needed to know.
He'd ask at dinner.
That evening, the Newton family sat around the small oak table in the kitchen. The smell of roasted beef filled the air, his mom's weekend specialty. Bradley Newton, as usual, was glued to the newspaper while Karen hummed along to a song on the radio, ladling potatoes onto her plate.
Mike cleared his throat. "Hey, uh, can I ask you guys something? It's for a school project."
Bradley glanced up from the paper, eyebrow raised. "Sure, shoot."
"Do we have any... I don't know, any connection to the Quileute tribe? Like, ancestry or something?"
Bradley chuckled. "Me? Not unless New York started a branch out west. I moved here after college, city boy through and through."
Karen, though, froze mid-bite. "That's... a strange question, honey. What made you ask?"
"Just... history stuff," Mike said quickly. "Local cultures, heritage, that kind of thing."
Karen leaned back, thoughtful. "Huh. I never told you, did I?"
Mike frowned. "Told me what?"
She exchanged a brief glance with her husband, who lowered the paper now, curious. "My grandmother," she said slowly, "your great-grandmother, her name was Dorothy Black. She was Quileute."
Mike blinked. "Wait, seriously?"
Karen nodded, a faint, wistful smile touching her lips. "She left the tribe when she fell in love with your great-grandfather. The elders didn't approve, called him a 'pale face.'" She said the words with air quotes, her tone tinged with sarcasm and an old hint of annoyance. "Grandma didn't care. So they kicked her out, but she said it was worth it."
Bradley gave a small, amused whistle. "I wish I had met her. She sounds pretty badass."
Karen smiled faintly. "Funny thing, though. Years later, her younger brother Ephraim became the tribal chief, and he reinstated her into the tribe. But she never went back. She said she was happy right where she was, here in Forks, with her family."
Mike sat there, the words sinking in like stones dropping into deep water.
Dorothy Black.
Ephraim.
That name rang through his memory, Ephraim Black, the original chief who'd made the pact with the Cullens.
Mike swallowed hard. "...Huh," he said, forcing a casual tone. "That's... actually kind of cool."
But inside, his thoughts raced.
'Oh, crap.'
If his great-grandmother was that Dorothy Black, then the blood of the wolves did run in his veins.
'Should I pay a visit to the reservation? Is there any use to it?'
…
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