Page 117 of Pack Me Up
I take a breath. “Okay,” I say, the word shocking even me. “Lunch. Noon. In town.”
Robert nods, relief flickering through the mask. “I’ll be there.” He looks at each of my mates, makes sure they see the promise in his face.
He turns and walks away, steps heavy but steady. At the corner, he glances back once, not at the grave, but at me.
The air lightens. I feel every mate exhale at the same time, the tension is gone.
Saint looks at me, questioning. “You sure?”
I nod. “I want to know if he’s a different kind of family than I’ve known.”
Hunter grins. “Maybe he’s not a monster.”
“Maybe not,” I say, and for the first time, I hope it’s true.
We pile into the car, the six of us, soaked and more alive than I can ever remember.
As we drive off, I don’t look back at the cemetery.
The only future that matters is the one we make.
Colton
PHOENIX PACK SECURITY BRIEF #139
GRAVEYARD STOP BREAKDOWN
May 26th
Saint’s got both hands on the wheel as we drive away from Brittney’s parents’ graves. I can feel her relief through the bond.
I’m in the passenger seat, slouched with my shoes on the dashboard, pretending to be asleep behind sunglasses. Fox and Cody ride in the second row with Brittney between them, and Hunter is in the very back while Saint drives.
Brittney is curled up in the back seat with her head balanced on Cody’s shoulder.
We hit a pothole, and Brittney jumps, her thigh slamming into the console. Cody gives her a side-eye, subtle, then tucks her hair behind her ear and asks, “Are you okay, wild girl?”
She shrugs. “I’m great.”
Saint’s jaw flexes. He hasn’t spoken in twenty miles, and when he does, it’s only to curse at another driver on the road.
We take a curve, and I catch Brittney watching me in the mirror. I blow her a kiss and wink when she blushes pink.
It’s almost peaceful.
We’re coming up on an intersection when I see it—headlights in the side mirror, bright and close, way too close for the speedthey’re doing. My gut goes cold. The driver behind us is riding the line, not slowing, not drifting. Just a big, lifted truck, grill guard like a battering ram, barreling straight at our side.
I don’t have time to say anything.
The truck hits us dead-on, a punch to the passenger side that throws the SUV up and over, the whole world tilting into a roar of sound and pain.
Glass explodes. Metal screams. The airbag hits me in the chest like a cinder block, knocking the wind out of my lungs. My head snaps back, and for a second I see nothing but red. Time fractures into still frames: Brittney’s scream, Cody’s arm flung out to shield her, Fox’s face turning to shock.
Then we’re rolling. One, two, three times, each bounce worse than the last. The seatbelt digs into my collarbone, skin tearing, blood warm and sticky on my neck. My left knee slams into the glove box, then the ceiling, then nothing.
The car stops moving, just like that.
There’s silence before the world comes back in a flood of noise. There’s groans, the pop of twisted metal, the ticking of the engine, and the sharp, stinging stink of burnt rubber.
