Sawman Werebear (Saw Bears #4) by T. S. Joyce

used to squeeze fresh juice this morning into the wastebasket. She didn’t have an amazing voice like his brother had when she’d heard them play at Sammy’s Bar, but she could hold a tune. She used to sing lullabies to Momma when she was drunk as a skunk and begging for them. It struck her as backward, the child having to sing to the adult, but that was just how it had been growing up.
    Everly frowned into the sink as she rinsed their plates off. She’d been weighed down with Momma’s disappointment before she’d met Brighton, but she felt differently about that relationship now. She was more confident in herself and suspected Momma only said heinous things to make herself feel better. Brighton didn’t like her, though he’d never met Momma. Everly could tell. His eyes would go dead every time she mentioned her, and yesterday he’d told her that Momma was wrong about her. That she wasn’t a failure or a disappointment. She wasn’t a whore. She was just someone who got the short end of the stick as far as parental units were concerned.
    Everly had thought about it all day yesterday when she’d been waiting for Brighton to come home from a long Change. Perhaps he was right. The insults she’d absorbed from Momma for all these years had altered the way she saw herself. Everly had grown up feeling useless, but she wasn’t. Brighton had showed her she was worthwhile. And his unending compliments rang much truer than Momma’s veiled insults ever had. With her shifter instincts, she could tell the difference now.
    Someday she was going to call Momma back, but when she did, that relationship would be different, or it wouldn’t be anything at all. Brighton made her feel strong enough to lay down boundaries, and never again would she endure insults or let anyone step on her just to make their shitty day better. Nice people didn’t act like that, and from here on, Everly was bound and determined that she would only allow nice people to play a part in her life. Her near death experience had taught her a lot, and one of those lessons was that life was too damned short to be a leaf in someone else’s storm.
    Happy with the revelation, she sang a few words and soaped up a sponge, then scrubbed a bowl. When she looked up from the drying rack of dishes to ask Brighton if he wanted to go for a walk with her later, he had the most peculiar look in his eyes. He sat frozen except for his fingers, which moved gracefully across the frets of his guitar. His head canted and a curious smile ghosted his lips.
    You have a beautiful voice , he mouthed. His voice had gone after a long conversation over breakfast.
    She beamed as heat flooded her cheeks. Dropping her gaze, she wrung the sponge out into the sink, rinsed the suds from her hands, then leaned her back against the counter. “Flatterer.”
    Would you sing that song if Denison and I played it at Sammy’s Bar one night?
    “Me? Oh, no. I can sing in front of you, but in front of a crowd is…well…I can’t imagine myself doing that.”
    Even if I was right there with you?
    Everly shrugged, flattered that he thought she was good enough. Just the idea of preforming in front of people made her veins run cold. It sure was nice that he’d asked, but it wouldn’t ever be something that would come to fruition.
    Brighton jerked his chin, beckoning her, and settled the guitar against the wall beside him. He held out his hands, and she sank into his lap.
    Do you know how special your bear is?
    She shook her head. “She’s albino. I’ve never seen pictures of an albino bear. I’ve seen blond ones, but not pure white, like me. Makes me weird, huh?”
    Brighton pulled over the scribbled up notepad that sat waiting on the table, then wrote, Not weird, no. But you’re special in other ways. You’re submissive. That shyness you feel around other people? That personality trait manifested in your animal as well. I think that, coupled with the trauma of how you were Turned, is what made