After Garret and Kimberly got dressed, they went their separate ways. As he made his way to his father's office- well his office- he tried to make sense of what his father had said. About their being rogue on his territory for months and how he never caught it. His father was always paranoid, parts of what made him a good alpha for so long. Usually, with his paranoia, he ended up being right majority of the time.

He knocks and waits for his father's approval to enter. Not too long after he heard his frustrated and tired voice respond to him. Hadn't even been back from vacation for an hour and he was already becoming stressed. Garret couldn't lie, he felt guilty about the fact that his father who deserved a vacation had to come back and handle this supposed rogue.

Walking inside, he sees his father at his desk, going through files.

"I'll give you this," Darryl began, "You stayed on top of your paperwork."

"I knew I'd never heard the end of it if I didn't," Garret responds. "Now this supposed rogue-"

"Don't make it off like I'm being a paranoid father or alpha. There is a rogue on this territory."

"How do you know?"

"I've run this pack on this land for over thirty years. I know."

"So what do we do?"

"We scope them out. They've made themselves comfortable here and we need to find them- whoever it is."

It was moments after the lunch rush that I was physically exhausted. I had about an hour left of my shift of just straightening up the diner before I got to go home. Rhoda was cooped up in the office for a majority of the day, having only come out when the lunch rush came out. She was stressed about the financials because she wasn't a pro at it, her husband usually dealt with them. With him being out sick, she had to battle with them.

Math wasn't much of my strong suit either so the only thing I could do to help was cooking here and there and manning the front of the diner. Something I knew I was good at.

When the diner became pretty vacant, I headed to the back to fix her something to eat, knowing she possibly wouldn't do it for herself. Grabbing a chicken breast and cutting it in half to lessen the amount of meat on the sandwich I was about to make, I grab a small bowl and mix garlic powder, cumin, coriander, and a dash of smoked paprika into olive oil. After mixing it together, I brush the mixture onto the two split chicken breast, coating both sides of each. Having already turned on the stove and had the skillet hot, I place the chicken breast in the pan and begin to cook our lunch.

As I waited for the chicken to cook, I grab two artisan buns and put butter on the bottom and top of them before placing them in the remaining space on the skillet. Chopping lettuce and tomatoes for Rhoda and a small number of onions for myself.

After cooking the chicken, I took the toasted buns and place the lettuce on the bottom before I put the chicken breast on top. Adding Rhoda's tomatoes on the top of her chicken and the onions on top of mine, I place the top of the bun on top and begin my way to her office. Not really having the hands to knock on her door, I use my elbow to open her door and see her exactly where I thought she'd be. Behind her desk looking beyond frustrated with the paperwork before her.

She looks up at me from behind her glasses and smiles tiredly at me when she saw I was baring food.

"Thought you'd be hungry," I say.

"You thought right," she responded tiredly. Placing down her pencil, I place the plate in front of her and sit across from her in the chair in front of the desk. Almost admittedly after putting the plate in front of her, she began to dig in. Within the first bite, she opened her eyes shocked. With every dish I've made her, this was her reaction. "What is this?"

"Grilled chicken," I answer simply.

"But what's the seasoning... is that..."

"Cumin," I answer, it being something that usually wouldn't be found in grilled chicken like this.

"This is spectacular," she says impressed. "Where did you learn to cook again?"

I struggled for a minute but it either went unnoticed to Rhoda because of the sandwich or I didn't make it that obvious. Either way, I came up with a quick answer. "Taught myself," I say vaguely.

"Well, you're good. You should go to culinary school and work alongside someone in France."

I chuckle to myself. "Maybe one day," I say. "So how's everything going?" I quickly change the subject.

She sighs tiredly. "It's going. I just finished paying this month's rent but the rest of the numbers are a burden. Payment for food shipment, payroll, etc., etc., etc."

"What can I do?"

"Cure cancer," she says defeatedly.

I cock my head to the side. "Brian has cancer?" I question. She had never revealed what he had suddenly come down with, just said that he was sick.

She sighs, probably realizing what it was she said. "I wasn't supposed to say that."

"But you did and I would like to help."

"There's nothing anyone can do," she says. "It's spread to both of his lungs, over the span of a year. Rare but hard to treat. He's in chemo, not looking like it's working. He's losing hope. I'm losing hope."

I was silent. I couldn't believe this. Granted, I became aware of sickness and how some could kill you not too long ago. A sickness like cancer was one that I could never wrap my head around because it had no respect of persons. Didn't matter if it ran in your family or not, it would get you in one way or another.

"Don't worry about it, honey. There's nothing we can do." Maybe not you. But maybe me. "Go on home, I'll clean up."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You've been here since opening, it's almost four, go home."

I didn't fight her because I suddenly felt how tired my body was becoming. I placed my plate on her desk and got up. Going back to the kitchen where they held the lockers, I placed my apron on one of the hooks and get my purse from my assigned locker. Swinging it over my shoulder, I head out of the diner and on my way home.