Page 128 of Pack Choice
“But …”
My gaze dashes back to his. I knew there was a but. There always is.
He hesitates, fingering the dog tags resting against his chest absentmindedly.
“Most of all you deserve better than me.”
The old ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line. I thought Ford had more class.
“And why is that?” I lean on my elbow, resting my chin in my hand. “Because if you hadn’t noticed I’m hardly the model of perfection, Ford. I am one pretty hopeless omega.”
He holds my gaze. “No, you’re not, Molly. You’re perfect.”
I laugh. “I smell funky. I talk too much. I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. And I tend to mess everything up.” Including this conversation.
“Your scent does things to me that no scent has ever done before.”
“You mean vomit.”
“Omega,” he says so terse, the teenagers turn around and stare at us. “Did you see me vomiting during your heat?”
The teenagers titter and whisper to each other.
“So tell me Ford, why am Isoperfect while you are not?”
“You could have been killed in that accident.”
I sit up straight and gape at him. “That wasn’t your fault. You can’t think that.”
“It … it isn’t the first time.”
I stare at him, sorrow washing over his features, his face looking suddenly older, the weight of some unclear burden almost visible on his shoulders. My eyes drop to those dog tags. Why hadn’t I seen it before?
“What happened?” I whisper, reaching across the table to take his hand in my mine.
He gazes down at our hands, twining his fingers in mine.
“We were going to be a pack,” he says. “Me, Adam, Lucas and Crusher.”
“Were they …” I ask gently, his hand shaking in mine. “Were they in your regiment?”
“Yes, we met on the very first day, as new recruits, we clicked immediately. It was clear to me right from the start that we’d be a pack. We talked about it all the time. How we’d set up a security firm once we’d left the forces, make our fortune, find our omega. Talking about it – sharing that dream – it got us through some dark days.”
He exhales, his throat quivering as the breath leaves his lungs.
“What happened?” I say so quietly I barely hear my own words, fear hovering in my chest.
“We were ambushed. Out on a patrol. It was my fault.” His eyes turn steely. His jaw hardens.
“How?”
“I should have seen it coming. I should have been watching. I checked my watch, you see, and then they were there, on top of us. If I hadn’t … If I’d …”
I slide off my seat and slip around to his, knocking my taco all over the floor.
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his cheeks and his eyes, his jaw and his mouth.
“Ford,” I tell him, “it wasn’t your fault.”
