Page 109 of Pack Me Up

I stare at the folder.

Fox’s hand finds my knee under the table. He doesn’t squeeze, just rests there, a line of warmth.

Robert stands, the movement slow, every joint protesting. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says, pushing back the chair until it groans. “You don’t owe me anything. You don’t even have to open the folder if you don’t want to. But if you ever need—” He stops, like the word is too much. “If you ever want to talk, I’ll be around.”

He heads for the door, and Colton shifts to block him, but Robert just gives him a nod, respectful, not cowed, and leaves without looking back.

The room is silent, except for the hiss of the vent and the tiny, sharp sound of my nails digging into the fake wood tabletop.

Saint is the first to move. He comes around, kneels next to my chair, and waits for me to look at him. When I do, his eyes are steady, but there’s a storm behind them.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says. “You’re safe. You’re ours.”

I nod, but the word gets stuck.

Fox leans in, voice soft. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” I say, honestly.

Hunter leaves the window and sits on the table, facing me. “Want to open it together?” he asks.

I look at the folder, then at my mates, then at the empty space where Robert stood. “Not yet,” I say. “I need a minute.”

Colton and Cody trade glances, then move to block the door from the inside, a wall of muscle and attitude against the world. Saint doesn’t leave my side, and Fox just stays with his hand on my knee, thumb brushing in slow circles.

I stare at the folder until the room blurs. Then, slowly, I reach out and I just run my thumb along the edge, over and over, until the skin there feels numb.

When I open the folder, I see four death certificates. Three for my alpha fathers and one more for my omega mother. There’s also an address for their graves.

The ache inside me is sharp, then dull, then sharp again. I flip through the stack and accept the truth. They’re really gone.

My mates watch me, every twitch and breath cataloged and evaluated for threat. They want to help, but they don’t know how. I want to tell them it’s not their job to fix me, but I know they’d never believe it.

After a while, I find my voice. “When the tour gets to Texas,” I say, “I want to visit their graves.”

Saint’s jaw flexes, molars grinding. Cody makes a noise, almost a whimper, but meaner, like he’s been stabbed in the ribs. Hunter, perched on the table behind me, shakes his head, curls bobbing. “It’s a bad idea,” he says.

“It’s not safe,” Saint adds, still looking up at me. “We don’t know who’s watching, or what’s waiting there.”

Fox glances at him, then at me, then back at the folder. “It’s dangerous, but… she needs closure,” he says. His voice is barely audible, but it hits harder than any shout.

Colton and Cody slide a step closer, a twin movement that screams protection but also nervousness. “We can all go,” Colton says. “And keep her safe.”

Cody’s face is blank, but his hand is on the back of my chair, squeezing until his knuckles go pale. “You don’t have to do this, Brittney,” he says. “It won’t change anything.”

I look at my pack, really look. The five of them, a wall of muscle and drive.

I stand, suddenly enough that the chair tips and wobbles. I’m not tall, especially compared to them, but in this moment, I make myself as big as I can.

“I’m going,” I say. “You can keep me safe, but I need this.” I pick up the folder, holding it like a shield. “They’re my parents. I have to see them dead and fully gone.”

Hunter runs a hand through his hair, smearing the curl into a new, more chaotic configuration. “Damn it,” he mutters. “You’re not supposed to make sense.”

Saint stands too, and he’s so close I can feel the heat off his skin. He wants to argue. I can see it in the way his hands curl into fists, the way his scent spikes, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls me in, wraps me in his arms, and just holds on.

“We’ll make it happen,” he says, voice rough. “But you stick close. No wandering off.”

“No wandering off,” I repeat, burying my face in the black cotton of his shirt.