What the fuck am I doing here? Derrick hadn't set foot-or wheel-in a bar since his accident. Bars served alcohol, which he tolerated better than a human, but drink enough of it and his inhibitions lowered just as much as the next guy's. Lowered inhibitions, though, meant his wolf, the wolf who wouldn't stop pacing, pushing to take over. His wolf loomed within, so much stronger now, strong enough that Derrick worried.
Oddly enough, getting drunk and going loup on a room full of people wasn't his biggest concern. He could handle his wolf. What Derrick didn't want was to be stared at by able-bodied guys. He didn't want to see the pity in their eyes, the disdain for the cripple.
Am I truly condemning them without giving them a chance?