Page 115 of Pack Me Up
“I love you,” I say.
She kisses me back, fierce and sudden. “I love you, too.”
I wrap my arm around her waist, and together we climb the steps into the warm, noisy chaos of our pack. The door closes behind us, and the rest of the world can eat shit.
We’ve got everything we need right here.
Brittney
DIRTY BETA GOSSIP COLUMN
THE MENDED HART TOUR ARRIVES IN TEXAS
May 26th
The world around me is muted tones of gray. The cemetery is at the edge of town. The sky is a single slab of cloud, so low it feels like it might brush the tops of the trees when the wind picks up.
The path to the graves is gravel. I wore black, of course, but the rain forgot to stop, and now the hem of my dress is two inches deep in mud, all the way around.
Saint is a shadow at my right elbow, solid and tall. Fox is two steps behind me, hands in pockets, posture open and impossible to read. Every time I stumble, I feel the heat of his presence just out of reach, waiting to catch me if I go down.
The twins are split, one on either side of the path. Colton is left; Cody is right. Colton is a study in tension, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists even as he tries to pretend he’s relaxed. Cody is looser, but his eyes are everywhere, twitching over every stone, every crow perched in the trees above. They never look at each other directly, but every time my shoulders tense, every time my breathing changes, I see both their heads snap in sync to check on me.
Hunter does not stand still. He stalks the perimeter. He sniffs the air, not even pretending it’s for any reason but safety.
They form a loose arc around me, a shield. Nobody else is here.
The graves are a fresh wound in the earth, darker than the rest, the mound of soil already slumping where the rain has compacted it. Four headstones sit there with the name of my mother and three fathers.
I’m supposed to kneel, or pray, or say something profound, but instead I just stand there, hands at my sides, watching the water gather and drip from the headstones.
I don’t know what I feel. That’s a lie, I know exactly what I feel, I just don’t have a word for it. Relief, maybe. Or the cheap, ugly cousin of relief that feels like guilt even when you know you earned it.
My mates hover, pretending not to. Fox is the first to break, shuffling closer, the scent of him all apple and cinnamon. His hand is there at my lower back, the warmth of it radiating through the humidity.
Saint watches the fence, keeping me safe while I find this closure.
Cody clears his throat, the sound too loud in the silence. “You want us to say something?” he asks, and I realize I’ve been staring at the dirt for so long that everyone is waiting on me.
Colton shakes his head, softly. “She doesn’t have to. Not for them.”
Hunter has circled around to stand at my other side. He doesn’t speak, but the clench of his jaw says everything.
I kneel, finally, because that’s what people do in movies. The ground is so wet it soaks through my tights in a heartbeat, and I can feel the mud crawl up the back of my thighs. I stare at the earth. I remember the way my father’s voice sounded through a closed door, the way my mother poured herself a drink at 10 a.m.to get through a day of controlling my every move. I think about the hands that bruised me, the words that stuck in my ribs for years.
The grave is just a grave. It’s nothing. It’s everything.
I reach out and touch the marker, fingers numb, and say, “Goodbye.” Not loud, not dramatic. Just a fact. I almost laugh, but it gets stuck in my throat and comes out as a cough.
Saint bends, the movement so fluid I don’t realize he’s crouched beside me until his hand is wrapped around my shoulder, anchoring me to the here and now. “You don’t owe them anything,” he says, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
Fox kneels on my other side, a mirror of Saint, and together they make a wall I can lean against. My shoulders are pressed between theirs, as the rain picks up and starts to pelt in earnest.
The twins close in from behind, Colton’s hand landing on the small of my back, Cody’s on my knee, both gentle but solid. Hunter hovers at my left, silent sentinel, face unreadable.
We stay like that until the rain turns to sleet, and my teeth start to chatter. Nobody says a word. Nobody needs to.
After a while, I get up. The hem of my dress is ruined and mud-streaked to my hips, but I don’t care. My hands are shaking, but it’s not from the cold.
