Page 28 of Pack Me Up
The house feels big enough to eat me alive, but it’s not empty. It’s humming. It’s dense with movement and sound and, most of all, scent.
The air is layered thick with it. At first, it’s overwhelming. I start to pick out the undertones, the way the notes overlap and swirl: Saint’s leather and pepper, Colton and Cody’s mocha, Fox’s whisper of apple pie, and Hunter’s peppermint with a bite of frost. I stand just inside the open door with my hand clenched in the pocket of my hoodie, and I try to steady myself while I watch the pack move.
Saint is in charge of logistics. He doesn’t bark orders, and he doesn’t have to. His eyes track every box, every duffel, every step of the operation, and the others fall in line. Colton and Cody area one-man moving company split into two bodies, lugging boxes as if they weigh nothing, carrying them up the stairs with an ease that makes me ache. Fox is quieter, gentler, managing the fragile things like the guitar Oli gave me, the sunlight in his red hair as he flits between rooms. Hunter is the chaos element, darting in and out, carrying awkward loads on his back, spinning boxes on one hand, narrating the whole process. I barely lift a finger.
My body vibrates with nerves, energy coiled and shuddering. I want to help, but I don’t know where to fit. The urge to run is strong, but I force my feet to stay glued to the floor.
Saint doesn’t look winded, or even mildly inconvenienced. He stands, eyes ice-blue and unreadable, surveying the operation. When he glances at me, the weight of the stare nearly pins me to the spot.
“Any special instructions?” he asks.
I open my mouth, then close it. I’m not sure what I want. I’m not even sure which room is mine. My vision blurs for a second from too much stimulus, and I shrug, helpless.
“Whatever’s easiest,” I say, and I hate how small the words sound.
Saint doesn’t smile, but something in his face eases, a microscopic shift. “You’re the boss of your own stuff. If you want it arranged a certain way, just say so. Otherwise, I’ll handle it to make things easier on you.”
The omega in me preens, and I relax at his words.
Fox sets my battered box of sheet music on the bottom step, dusts off his hands, and looks at me with a softness I can’t quite meet. “You okay?” he says, low so only I can hear.
I nod, but my hands won’t unclench. I realize I’m holding my breath, greedy for every layer of scent in the air. There’s no fear in it, just a dizzying, liquid heat that curls behind my ribs and makes my head feel light. I breathe it in, again and again, until Fox cocks his head and steps closer.
He stands just inside my personal space, not close enough to crowd, but close enough to fill the air between us with his sweet, apple pie scent. “You look like you’re about to pass out,” he says. “Want to sit?”
“No,” I say, then laugh, embarrassed. “I just…I love the way it smells in here. It’s… a lot. But it’s good.”
The rest of the room drops away for a second. It’s just Fox, the sunlight in his hair, the blue of his eyes washed with genuine concern. He smiles, soft and a little self-deprecating. “I’m sure their alpha scents cover this place.”
“They do,” I say, and I see something flicker behind his smile. “So does yours. It’s apples mixed with cinnamon, and it’s just as delicious to me.”
I know I’ve said the right thing when his smile turns more genuine.
He lingers a beat, then moves off, trailing his scent behind him. I watch the others through the haze, the way they move through the house, each orbiting the center but never colliding.
Saint clears his throat and gestures up the stairs. “Do you want to see your room?”
I nod, suddenly desperate to know where I belong.
He leads, Colton and Cody on either side of me, Fox and Hunter in the rear. The stairs creak under our combined weight, but the house holds. Upstairs, the hallway is wide and lined with framed photos. There are snapshots of the brothers as kids, grinning and bruised and covered in mud, then older, dressed in suits for graduations, then older still, arms slung around each other in bars and backyards and on top of mountains. There’s a pulse to it, a history you can taste. I can’t help but notice the lack of parents in the later pictures.
At the end of the hall, Saint pushes open a door. The room is enormous, and the sun is spilling in through double windows. The walls are painted a soft gray, and the massive bed is coveredin thick white comforters. My belongings are already stacked neatly on the far side, with the bins lined up.
All five of them stay back while I walk in, slowly, touching every surface like I’m not sure it’s real. The scent is stronger here, the signature of every pack member embedded in the sheets, the curtains, the very wood of the floor.
“You can come in,” I tell them, and they act immediately. Colton and Cody jump on the bed, leaving a spot between them in the middle. Hunter leans against the dresser while Saint and Fox stay by the door.
I collapse onto the mattress, body boneless with relief. I feel the heat of the twins, the steadiness, and it’s like being plugged in to a source of power I never knew I needed.
Hunter perches on the edge, elbows on his knees. “You want help unpacking?”
“No,” I say, but there’s no bite in it. “Maybe later. I just want to… exist for a minute.”
Saint’s voice is a rumble. “Whatever you need.”
The others make themselves at home, but it’s not invasive. It’s just presence, a constant, quiet reassurance. I watch them, letting the sensory overload settle into a hum, and I realize my heart isn’t racing anymore.
After a while, Fox sits on the floor in front of me, legs crossed, and looks up with a shy half-smile. “You’re really here,” he says, like he can’t believe it.
