Page 75 of Pack Me Up

“Do you want me to talk to Saint for you?” I ask.

I catch Tommy’s gaze, and he’s fighting a smile. “It’s not so bad, really. I like the attention, and it’s weirdly comforting.”

I twirl the sleeve of my hoodie around my finger, staring at the swirl of foam in my cup. “I thought it would be weird, having them around. But it’s kind of…safe? Like, I know nothing bad’s gonna happen while they’re with me.”

“Especially since you’re their omega,” Tommy adds.

I watch as the tattooed security guy tells a story to Fox, using his forearms to illustrate some point. Fox is listening with real focus, and every few seconds, they both laugh and pound the table. Saint, still a statue, breaks every minute or so to scan the street or the door, then returns to his phone. Man-bun stands guard by the exit, arms crossed, eyes like a security camera.

I let the moment sink in. The old me would have obsessed over the risk, the way every person in this place might be here for me, or against me. Now, the anxiety is there, but it’s a low-level hum beneath the comfort, belonging, and sense that, even if the world turns ugly, I won’t have to face it alone.

Tommy catches me watching the security show and bumps my foot under the table. “You ever think we’d be here, two omegas in a room with four bodyguards about to go on tour with another omega?”

I shake my head. “I barely thought I’d make it out of last year, Tommy. This is…” I search for the right word. “Weird, but also kind of perfect.”

He raises his cup. “A toast to weird, kind of perfect, and survival.”

I clink my cup against his.

“And to best friends,” I say.

He squeezes my hand, and for a moment, I see the Tommy who had to hide his omega status, but pulled me out of my depression despite his own struggles.

Saint stands, stretches to his full six-seven, and signals it’s time to move. Fox ruffles my hair as we leave, his hand warm and gentle.

The day is bright and cold, the sun a little too harsh on the sidewalk. I’m surprised to realize I don’t feel exposed.

I just feel… ready.

We head toward the rehearsal space, security in tow, and I can hear Tommy humming under his breath. He’s already plotting our tour in his head.

When we arrive, Oli and her pack are just leaving. Her eyes narrow in on my mating marks immediately.

“Are we happy about this?” she asks, like she will beat them up herself if I’m not, and I love how protective she is.

“Very,” I tell her.

She opens her mouth to say more, but Jack pulls on her. “We have to rush to that meeting, I’m sorry, baby girl.”

Oli rolls her eyes before pointing at me. “I will call you to talk about this, but for now, congrats!”

The rest of her pack congratulated Saint, Fox, and me as they left.

Fox holds the door for me, his hand hovering at my lower back, and Tommy trails behind.

Tommy’s security duo takes up station near the door, matching Saint and Fox glare for glare.

Tommy claps his hands, voice echoing in the empty space. “All right, let’s get to work, superstar.”

I plug in my guitar, fingers already tingling with nerves. Tommy hops on the microphone and launches into the opening chords of our first single.

The music fills the room, and I almost forget the security teams and my new bonds. All that matters is the sound Tommy and I are making together.

After a quick run-through of the opener, I unplug and switch to drums.

We take turns, swapping instruments every few songs. I love the challenge of it, the way it keeps my brain just a little off-balance.

After an hour, we run the full setlist, start to finish. The songs bleed into each other, transitions getting tighter, the harmoniessnapping into place. I’m sweating, out of breath, but alive and happy. The marks on my wrists throb with every chord, a constant reminder that I’m not just playing for myself anymore.