Chapter One
Seattle Sentinel: Ford ‘The Wolfman’ Kendrick: A Legend is Born
Portland Herald: Ford ‘The Wolfman’ Kendrick Lives Up to his Genealogy!
Vancouver Times: Is Ford ‘The Wolfman’ on his Way to the Vancouver Kingpins?
“We have a hot one tonight, ladies and gentlemen. With the score tied two to two and less than two minutes on the clock in the third period, it’s now or never for the Seattle Wild.”
Battling through a crosscheck in the corner, I swept the puck away from the boards. I had no intention of hesitating. The weight of the moment was intense, the crowd already on their feet in breathless anticipation. I sliced through the defenders, dangling the puck. The only sound were blades skimming across the ice along with the brutal hammering of my heart against my ribcage.
While my legs were burning, the urgency kept me focused. On point.
I scanned the goalie’s eyes, the rush of the high thrilling.
This was what I lived for. There was nothing as important as winning the game.
And I was damn good at doing so.
Ticktock. Ticktock.
As I controlled the pace, the puck settled onto my blade while a grin slid ever so silently across my face. The goalie wouldn’t know what hit him.
A flash on my left hit my peripheral vision a split second before my entire world was thrown off kilter. The sound of the crowd that had been a dull roar shifted, skates digging hard into the ice.
I didn’t expect a hit, let alone a ride into the boards.
The crack of plexiglass was followed by a brutal thud of my shoulder pads a split second before the air was ripped from my lungs. All I could smell was the acrid stench of ice shavings mixed with the metallic taste of blood.
Everything drifted into both slow motion and utter chaos.
Unable to feel my legs, I slid to the ice, concentrating on the explosive sound as a fight broke out. The referee’s whistle was a scream drowned out by the thunderous roar of a furious crowd.
In those seconds, even as I tried to stand, the lights in the arena began to dim.
“Ford. Look at me. Shit. We need a medic!”
“Huh?” I managed while gasping for air.
“Somebody call 9-1-1!”
Shouts faded.
Screams echoed.
My mind was shutting down, my vision murky.
The forest.
Trees.
Darkness.
Animals.
Food.
[divider]
“Mom. I’m not a child,” I said while half laughing. My words had fallen on deaf ears. “I can take care of myself.”
Margaret Kendrick might as well be called Mama Bear. Even after enduring the pain of birthing four huge babies, three of whom had turned into brutal savages as men, she hovered over each one of us whenever she believed we were incapable of caring for ourselves.
From my point of view, that was way too often.
At twenty-eight years old, I’d been around the block a few times. If I couldn’t take care of myself now, then I might as well hang it up.
“Maybe I’d feel better if you didn’t act like a child.” She was a spitfire and a powerhouse at five foot nothing, acting as if she oversaw all of us. That’s the way it had been since we were all kids.
My father? Right now, he was doing exactly the same thing as he’d always done.
He was looking the other way with a smile on his face. Then again, Patrick Kendrick knew his place in the pecking order of the pack.
Behind his woman.
Something he’d shared with his sons in our formative years. Never argue with a woman.
“Mama, seriously,” my sister Samantha chided. “Ford has lived on his own since he was eighteen. That’s ten years.”
My mother, choosing to ignore all of us, plumped the pillows on my couch, positioned a comfy throw within reach, and turned on ambient lighting before glaring at my father.
“Pat. Make a fire. We need to keep him warm.” After that, she grabbed my sister’s hand, forcing her to take the bag of goodies as she called them. The same phrase she’d used when I was eight and cried when I was going to the dentist and she’d been bribing me. “Make him some tea. Chamomile. He needs to get a good night’s sleep.”
Tea wasn’t going to cut it.
My mother intended on changing my bad habits.
When I chuckled, I winced while my sister rolled her eyes. She had finals to study for, her college graduation only a few weeks away. The last thing she needed was to babysit her big brother.
“Yes, Mom,” Samantha said instead. There were other battles to pick.
“Don’t you ‘yes, Mom’ me. Our son was almost killed.” Mom fisted her hand, acting as if she was taking a swing at the jerk who’d caused my injuries. She was being nice. The thoughts I had were vicious through and through.
I adored my mother. She was the family rock, the woman who’d birthed and had dealt with my savage childish shifter ways. She’d been there when my hormones had me streaking in fur for four weeks until my father could get me under control.
And she’d been there to remind me not all women were horrible when my pseudo girlfriend had left me for a two-bit actor. What my mother hadn’t understood was that I hadn’t cared about Shanna’s betrayal. Relationships were the last thing on my mind.
When my mother grabbed my arms as if I was incapable of walking, I allowed her to guide me to the couch.
“Here you go, baby boy. Get off your feet. You’ve been through such an ordeal.”
The ordeal had been a nightmare, but not because of medical reasons. Yeah, my ribs still felt bruised every time I took a deep breath and according to my orthopedic doctor, my shoulder wasn’t healing properly, but I was alive and kicking.
And planning on returning to the game.
After I secured the team a place in the playoffs, maybe I’d hunt down the motherfucker who’d put me in this position. Maybe I’d allow my beast out of his cage for a night. The thought had kept me from falling into bouts of rage over the last few days.
“Mom, seriously. I’ll be just fine,” I reassured her.
“You can’t stay alone. I’ll stay with you.”
“Mags,” my father finally chimed in. “I’m with our son on this one. He is fine. As long as he takes it easy and stays off the damn ice, he’ll heal.” With the last few words, he glared at me. He knew how I was. Refusing to take a day off under the worst of circumstances.
At least I’d convinced them that I didn’t need to stay sequestered inside their house where I’d been since being released from the hospital. I still couldn’t believe the doctors remained baffled when faced with the bloodstream of a shifter. We’d been ‘out’ to mainstream society for over four years. You’d think by now every hospital in the country would have at least one doctor dedicated to our bodily specifics.
“Don’t worry. Coach Stryker has no intention of allowing me back on the ice until I’m given the all clear.” Unless I sweet-talked him, which I intended on doing. At this point, given the muscle structure I’d been born with, I should soon be good as new.
Maybe my parents’ concern was more about why I hadn’t healed almost immediately. Sure, shifters weren’t immune to disease or injury, but we healed at a much faster rate.
Normally.
Mom insisted on placing the blanket over my legs and my father was performing his required duties by building a fire.
I sat back. Fighting her was of no use.
In the next several minutes, my house was made wolf proof, as I liked to call it, ensuring I wouldn’t hurt myself as I recuperated.
When Samantha brought the mug of tea, I lifted my eyebrow. She winked before nodding toward the steaming hot liquid. Thank God, my sister knew me so well. She’d added a couple of ounces of bourbon for me so I could at least tolerate the horrible concoction.
At least now that I was in my own space, I could enjoy fuming over the motherfucker who’d put me here. While the defenseman had been expelled, the act had pushed the game into overtime, which the Arizona Bluedevils had won.
I closed my eyes as the frustration tore through me and hadn’t realized I was growling until my mother sighed.
“See? My baby boy is still hurting.”
“Mags. He’s frustrated. We all are. But he’s fine. Let’s let the boy get some rest.” Pops grinned as he physically pulled my mother away from the couch.
“Are you sure? I can stay here,” she insisted.
“Mother. Come on. I need to get back to studying,” Samantha insisted.
“At this hour?” My mother wasn’t one to give in easily.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Mom. Promise.” Right after I headed to practice. While the coach might not let me back onto the ice, he couldn’t stop me from entering the building.
Mom kissed me on the forehead while grasping both sides of my face, hers pinched as if she was the one in pain.
When all the goodbyes were finished and the door closed behind them, I finally took a deep, long, and agonizing breath.
“Shit.” The pain was annoying as hell and unnecessary. I couldn’t remember the last time any injury had bothered me for longer than half a day. Maybe the tea would soothe the rising tension.
One sip and I knew otherwise, making a face from how disgusting the brew was.
I needed the real thing at this point. My mother had forbidden me from indulging while spending time in their house. Tossing the blanket, I headed to the kitchen, pouring a tall glass of tea-free bourbon. After that, I grabbed my iPad, moving a little more slowly than before as I returned to the living room.
Time to find out how the other teams were doing, especially since the Wild had lost the last game because of my absence. At this rate, we’d be shut out of the playoffs. That couldn’t happen. I needed the team to have a Calder Cup placed in our trophy case and a championship ring placed on my finger if I wanted to finally make the NHL this year.
Time was running out, as the tabloids liked to remind me. Golden boy, my ass.
Granted, with wolf blood running through my veins, my body didn’t age the same as full humans, but insisting shifters had superior attributes to humans would only fuel the fires of hatred. Our kind had enough of that shit to deal with.
So I had to play by the regular rules, which meant I was washed up at thirty-three.
The bourbon was smooth, the liquor exactly what I needed to calm my nerves.
I flicked through the normal news sources and with ten seconds, wished I hadn’t. Also, there wasn’t enough liquor left in the bottle to cool down the fire sweeping through every vein.
Seattle Sentinel: Ford ‘The Wolfman’ Kendrick: Is He Washed Up Before Thirty?
Portland Herald: Ford ‘The Wolfman’ Kendrick. Not Even His Wolf Could Save Him
Vancouver Times: Is Ford ‘The Wolfman’s’ Career Finished?
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Saying the words out loud didn’t make me feel any better. I tossed the iPad before I went any further. Sure, the injury couldn’t have come at a worse time, but I wasn’t crippled, for fuck’s sake.
I took another swig.
Then another.
While I fumed, I hadn’t realized I’d finished the glass in less than five minutes. Normally, I wouldn’t feel the effects of alcohol, but given the painkillers I’d been on, my head was already fuzzy. Before I did something I knew at some point I’d regret, maybe what I needed was a good night’s sleep.
Then I’d tackle the bullshit news sources in the morning.
I forced myself off the couch, chuckling as I passed by a perfectly good fire. At least the house was warm.
Not that a wolf needed the extra heat. Tonight, my blood was boiling.
[divider]
As I stood in the darkness, allowing my eyes to adjust to the shadows forming all around me, I took a deep, long whiff of the night air. The delicious scent of prey caused the ravenous hunger to expand.
Rain had blanketed the forest, the ground wet, slickened by mud. The moisture intensified every smell, my stomach growling because of it.
The sound of stretching skin brought a smile, my heartrate increasing with every passing second. Every bone in my body screamed in agony, bending in ways they were never meant to. I dropped onto all fours, shaking violently as the transformation continued.
My jaw extended into a snarling muzzle, tearing through my own human flesh. As my canines elongated, the stench of blood filled my nostrils. As my beast emerged, drowning out every last chrysalis of humanity, a deep eagerness pooled in my cavernous stomach.
I’d never felt so famished in my life.
In only seconds, the last vestige of my humanity was stripped away, replaced by a savage joy and freedom being human had never offered.
The scents of the forest, while overwhelming, provided fuel for the hunt.
Tonight I would feast on flesh and bone.
I threw my head back, offering the forest one last cry of warning in my howl.
There was no fun if there wasn’t a decent chase.
With my head heavy, I scanned the trees, my keen eyesight catching a vision of a perfect appetizer. After pawing the ground, I crept forward, racing through the dense underbrush, nothing but a shadow. A ghost.
Invisible to most, the prince of predators.
Every few seconds, I tipped my head, breathing in the sweet stench of fear. The creature knew I was coming for him. He could run and he could hide.
But I would find him.
Miles I traveled, following my prey until the beast thought he was safe.
Then I waited, taking my time to enjoy the moment.
With a single, low-slung growl, I advanced.
The startled cry was short lived as I tossed him to the ground, standing over him with my canines bared.
Sheer ecstasy rolled through me as I drove the sharp bone into the creature’s soft flesh.
“Fuck.” I jerked up, shocked by shards of pain like broken glass ripping through every muscle. While the room was completely black, my vision of everything around me came into focus.
With my chest rising and falling, I controlled my breathing as I concentrated on grounding myself even as my thoughts remained buried in the forest.
I was on the floor, completely naked. What the hell had I done with my sweatpants? Even as the images began to fade, every muscle in my body remained tense. Very slowly I struggled to stand, my breathing still labored.
The dream had seemed so real, so… very real. With my hand shaking, I turned on the lamp by the bed, stretching while I lifted my head, staring at the ceiling. A fucking nightmare. How long had it been since I’d experienced a dream that was so real?
Or euphoric?
While shifters enjoyed the hunt, we rarely fed on small creatures any longer. Our experts warned us that our natural instincts were being bred from us, a gift stolen by modern technology and pretending to be completely human. Our appetites had changed, hunting used for stress relief more than anything else. Hunts had lost their sense of presence in my life ten years before. So why now?
My skin was on fire, my stomach rumbling differently than I was used to experiencing.
I rubbed my jaw as a strangled laugh pushed up from my throat. Wow. So much for lacing leftover painkillers with alcohol. As I thumped onto my bed, hanging my head, the light caught a silhouette of my feet.
A cold chill replaced the earlier fire as I lifted one foot.
My toes were covered with mud.
[divider]Chapter Two
Gigi
Somewhere off the coast of Grand Bahama Island
“I have something for you, baby.”
Even with Hoffman’s seductive tone, I’d come to understand the backside to his moments of generosity. I twisted the ring on my finger as I studied him from across the deck. There was no denying how handsome he was. Tall with broad shoulders and a well-toned body from spending hours at the gym. Just thinking about how fit he was reminded me that I wasn’t.
At least according to him.
While I doubted he’d ever gotten dirt under his fingernails, he made certain his body fat percentages were low, his testosterone high.
“You do?” My voice was saccharine sweet even though my nerves were already raw from anxiety. I was alone with him in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. What could go wrong?
Everything.
“Come here, baby.” His tone dipped dangerously low, a husky hum cascading several yards away and straight into my nervous system.
Using the wineglass as a prop, I took another sip before advancing. I was trying very hard to pretend everything was fine when nothing would ever be the same as before. Not one damn thing in my life. All because of a few bad choices during perhaps the worst possible time in my life. Even now, the agony of loss was a constant reminder of how precious life should be for everyone.
In his hand was an elegant black velvet box, a matching representation of the ring box from a month ago when he’d asked me to marry him. Of course I’d said yes because doing anything else would have meant disguising bruises. Which I’d become an expert at doing over the last year.
I’d gone along with the plan while finally finding the courage to make one of my own.
He noticed my trepidation, becoming impatient as always. “You know, Gigi, you could be a little more grateful about all the things I do for you. I provide you with everything in your life. All your clothes. All your jewelry. Even your car. The least you could do is seem grateful.”
My clothes, which I hated and preferred my own. My jewelry, which was lavish and flaunted his money, something that disgusted me. And a car that reeked of his bank account and not practicality. I longed for my little Toyota, which he’d sold out from under me, saying it was beneath the Carrington name.
The same name I was supposed to carry after a lavish wedding that he was planning without my involvement.
A match made in heaven.
“Mmm… I am grateful. Very much. I can’t wait to show you later.” At least I’d learned about his tics and every nuance and voice pattern. I could avoid a solid percentage of his outbursts, but I was fidgeting, more on edge than normal, which prevented me from paying close attention to his mood swings.
I rolled my hands up his chest, tilting my head as if I gave a damn his pecs were perfect, marveled over by every woman he worked with, every man envious of who he was and what he owned. When I darted my tongue across my bottom lip, I could see the effects of my obedience with the bulge between his legs swelling.
“That’s more like it. My beautiful girl. You’ve been so good lately that I wanted to reward you.”
He was the same way with his nurses and other employees of his practice, keeping them under his thumb like his powerful father had taught him. With wealth did come corruption. That’s something I’d wished I’d learned before moving in with the man.
Correction, being coerced on the day of my mother’s funeral.
I took the box, placing my Academy Award-winning smile with the twinkle in my eyes front and center before opening the box. “Oh, my gosh. What a gorgeous bracelet.”
A tennis bracelet.
Not that there was anything wrong with being given a huge diamond bracelet that I knew easily cost well over one hundred thousand dollars. That was how the man rolled.
How he eased his guilty conscience.
I rubbed my cheek involuntarily, immediately pulling my hand free. The worst thing I could do was acknowledge the fight from two nights before. Or the aftereffects my foundation had difficulty hiding.
“Do you like it?” As with every gift he provided, his voice became that of a child praying his parents would offer a pittance of crumbs in acknowledgment of his accomplishments. All I’d needed was to meet his father to know what Hoffman had likely endured as a child.
What I’d realized was that whatever atrocities or hardships he’d faced as a kid didn’t mean I should tolerate spending my life around an abusive man. I was worth more than failing myself in some endeavor to pretend I wasn’t suffering. That I didn’t deserve better. The girl I’d once been, the one full of life with a mouth on her that had always gotten me into trouble had vanished. When I looked into the mirror, I only saw a girl with haunted eyes staring back at me. Even the anger had almost been beaten into a dark abyss.
“Absolutely. Just gorgeous. Do you think it would be okay if I wore it on the cruise? I mean I know we’re on the ocean and…” I purposely allowed my words to trail off, pretending that I needed his advice.
“I was hoping you’d want to wear it, baby. Of course. Let me put it on for you.”
For a few minutes, he wasn’t the horrible monster who’d taken control of every aspect of my life. He wasn’t the man who picked out my clothes or told me what to eat, admonishing me if I ever wanted something sweet. And he wasn’t the man who expected me to perform my duties no matter how I felt at the end of a long day.
This man was the one I’d fallen in love with, the one who’d doted on me for weeks, acting as if the sun rose and set on me. He was the man who brought me roses, who’d taken me to my favorite restaurants, and who’d watched all the chick flicks I knew he’d hated. The one who’d been there when I’d curled into a ball, asking God why he’d taken my mother away. My rock. My best friend. I’d thought him a prince.
Not a monster.
The transition was slow and almost as if I hadn’t been paying attention.
As I stared at the sparkly designer piece, seeing dollar signs at least brought some sense of my own personal peace.
Even if my world was about to collapse.
“Beautiful. Just like you.” He backed away, returning to his lounge chair, sliding on his sunglasses and ignoring the dark clouds overhead. He was the kind of man who believed he could control the weather like everything else.
I fingered the bracelet, returning to my wine as I practiced my breathing.
There was nothing about the ocean I liked and I never had. Hoffman knew that. Not that he cared. With the breeze kicking up, the ocean waters were already turbulent, tossing me back and forth as I tried to walk across the deck to the galley. My nerves were close to becoming frazzled, which couldn’t happen.
“What a beautiful day, huh?” he asked as I passed. He was leaning back in his lounge chair, soaking in the sun even though the clouds were thickening. With his dark sunglasses on, he couldn’t tell the sky was growing angry.
“Yes,” I said, which was the only reply I could muster. My stomach churned, more nauseated than the last time I’d been forced onto the boat. Only this time, the sail had been days, not hours, and instead of becoming more used to the movement and getting my sea legs, I’d been fighting with keeping any food down.
Not only from the condition of the sailing trip but also from nerves.
At least he seemed to be in a good mood for a change. During the last few months, his grueling schedule had taken a significant toll. Even more than usual.
“Hey,” he said and I stopped dead in my tracks, hissing as quietly as possible. The last thing I needed to do was to make him angry.
I was tired of everything I’d worked for being challenged and put on the backburner. I was stronger than the woman I portrayed. Damn the man. Damn the situation and the horrible nightmare I was living.
I took a deep breath, holding my shoulders back as I tipped my head to the side. I’d learned a long time ago how to fake happiness. That’s what he expected and in doing so, I’d learned how to disarm him. At least I could remind myself this was the last goddamn boat ride I’d tolerate.
“Yes? Do you need something?”
“Bring me another beer,” he said while lifting his sunglasses. “And before you return, change that damn bathing suit. I hate that one.”
“Not a problem. Honey.”
My joints were stiff as I moved into the bedroom, hating that my body was shaking as usual. But this time more from adrenaline than anything else. I grabbed my one piece, jerking the bikini off. I hated the damn thing anyway. It was too small and too tight.
Just the way he preferred.
Only I wasn’t that girl and never had been. For all the attempts at molding me into something I wasn’t, he’d failed. Like he was doing with his business. A sly smile crossed my face. He didn’t like me to know about the issues he was facing, but the writing was on the wall.
I slipped into a coverup, taking my little backpack and attaching it to my waist, easing it underneath the shirt. As I looked into the mirror, my reflection highlighted sheer determination instead of fear.
By the time I headed to the galley, I noticed dark clouds in the sky. The storm was coming way too fast. Hoffman hadn’t listened when I’d told him the weather report. He’d acted like he was invincible, which was the same way he acted about everything else.
The boat swayed hard, a splash of water coming over the bow. I was tossed against the side, slipping and fighting to keep standing. By the time I made it to the galley, I was panting because of the trickling of fear.
Once inside, I gripped the edges of the counter on either side, rocking with the boat as I’d learned to do until the heavy waves seemed to pass. His damn beer. I cursed mentally since Hoffman didn’t like me doing it in front of his colleagues. Or anyone else. Now, I was wondering whether saltwater fish would mind hearing me swearing like a sailor.
Shit. Fuck. Son of a bitch. Asshole. Motherfucker.
Just thinking the words isn’t going to help.
My inner voice was correct.
After taking a few deep breaths, I pulled a beer from the fridge, a surge hitting the boat at the exact time I twisted the top. The bottle slipped from my hand, crashing onto the floor.
My yelp was from surprise even as laughter bubbled to the surface while watching the golden brew sloshing everywhere. I grabbed a towel, ready to clean it up when I felt a presence standing only a few feet away.
He never asked any questions and he certainly never laughed with me when an accident like this happened. His chest heaved, his eyes darkening and I had no time to brace for his usual reaction.
The backhand was quick, enough force used I was tossed against the wall like a ragdoll. Agony burst into my head, my entire face on fire as I slid down the wall and into the cold beer. I cupped my face, tears springing to my eyes, but goddamn the man. I wasn’t going to cry because of him any longer.
He could threaten me all he wanted. He could tell me over and over again what he would do if I didn’t obey him. He could tell everyone in the world a lie about why I could never practice medicine. Fuck him.
The bastard could spew every detail of how he’d hurt my father if I ever dared try to leave him.
Fuck. Him.
His massive hand grabbed the bottle, holding it into the light while he snarled and glared at me. “You stupid cunt. Why can’t you learn to be careful? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
As he pitched the heavy bottle against the wall, I cringed, but I was finished with cowering. I would have left him months ago if it weren’t for my family. His threats had been detailed, explaining in vivid, gory detail what he’d do to them, my friends as well.
He had the power to make every threat turn into a promise.
As the bottle shattered, I remained where I was, pulling my hand away so he could see the mark he’d left. The blood on my lip. I’d wear the bruise like a badge of honor.
“Clean up this fucking mess.” He didn’t stick around to ensure I obeyed him, grabbing another beer and stomping from the room.
My breaths were long and deep once again, controlling the level of emotions that would feed on my despair. I’d allow myself a good cry later.
But not now.
Now I needed to play my cards right, buy time and try to avoid his wrath. Maybe the storm had been a godsend.
The thought fueled me as I struggled not to cut myself while cleaning up the glass. I’d go through the motions, finding the right moment.
[divider]
That came only a couple of hours later after a quiet peace had settled over me. The storm had mostly passed, although the water was still turbulent. I’d paid attention to how far out we were, trying to relax and enjoy the moment. The skies were darkening, adding another layer of gloominess to the horizon.
As I stared at the waves across the turquoise water, I could feel him behind me once again. I fought to keep from bristling, even controlling my breathing while he eased my hair from my shoulder, wrapping his fingers around my long strands. The feel of his hot, wet lips on my neck normally caused a shiver.
Not this time.
I felt nothing.
But anger.
And hatred.
And a self-loathing that would stop tonight.
“You are so beautiful, Gigi. I don’t tell you that enough.” His voice was soft, as alluring as the night I’d met him and the weeks afterwards.
Before everything had changed.
Before everything had turned sour.
I resisted telling him that I hated when he called me that. Gigi wasn’t my name. Something I’d thought adorable in the beginning had been used as a weapon against me whenever he so chose.
“You know I don’t like to do those things to you. You just need to start learning. And listening. Can you do that for me?”
“Of course,” I managed, even smiling in case he was paying attention.
“That’s my good girl. Let me get you some wine. You deserve it.”
“That sounds great. Maybe that will calm my stomach.”
He chuckled as if I was making a joke. The bastard. I remained where I was, folding my arms and doing nothing but staring at the ocean.
Maybe one day I’d learn to love the water again.
Maybe I’d even learn to scuba dive.
I could be a little fish.
As he walked away, my smile returned, only this time smug and full of eagerness. I slowly shifted my head over my shoulder, waiting until he’d disappeared from view.
This was the right thing to do.
No, this was the only thing I could do.
No more fear. No more violence.
No more threats.
I couldn’t take it any longer.
No more tears.
No more of anything.
But peace.
As the fear began to fade, I took another deep breath.
And I slipped into the ocean.
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