Page 125 of Pack Me Up
I can’t take it. I get up, limp over to Brittney’s bedside, and sit on the edge. I take her hand. It’s cold, but not dead cold. I press her palm to my cheek and try to remember how it felt when she was alive and wild, yelling at us for being idiots, rolling her eyes, and laughing like the world was just a game and she was the only one who knew the rules.
Colton joins me after a while. He sits on the other side of the bed, legs folded up, chin on his knees. “We’re not leaving,” he says, voice soft.
“Not ever,” I agree.
Saint and Cody get their cots closer, pushing the beds together so there’s not even a foot between us and her. Then, Saint gets to work.
He calls our contacts with the police first. Saint lays it out for them.
The person on the other side says, “We’ll take care of it.” No drama, no lectures, just business. By morning, the Loomers will be in jail. We won’t have to give statements or file charges.
I’m so relieved I almost laugh, but I’m too tired to do more than exhale and let my head drop to the pillow.
Saint moves on to the next call: Jack. It’s not an easy one. Jack is Brittney’s friend.
He picks up on the first ring, voice loud and bright, like nothing bad ever happens on his end.
“Phoenix,” Jack says. “Where are you?”
Saint tells him everything.
There’s a silence on the line, long enough to make me think the call dropped.
Jack says, “How bad?”
Saint doesn’t sugarcoat it. “ICU. Swelling in the brain. She’s breathing, but… It’s not good.”
Jack swears and then promises to tell everyone.
After he hangs up, Saint doesn’t say anything for a while. He sits on the edge of his cot, head in his hands, breathing slowly.
The room is quiet, except for the steady pulse of the monitor, the air heavy with hope and dread.
It’s the middle of the night when they show up. The nurse tries to stop them, but she’s not fast enough.
Tommy’s first through. He barrels straight for Brittney’s bed. Riley’s a step behind, her hair wild and unwashed, eyes red from crying. Oli brings up the rear, smaller than both of them but moving with determination that says she will burn down the entire hospital if anyone tries to stop her.
They don’t talk. They just collapse around Brittney, arms around her, hands all over her hair, her face, her still fingers. Tommy starts crying instantly—big, wracking sobs that shake his whole body and make Riley start, too. Even Oli melts into the tangle, her face buried in the crook of Brittney’s neck.
Jack, Aiden, Dax, and Chase drift in after the first three, but they hang back. They’re smart enough to know we don’t want alphas around our mate right now.
I see all of this through a haze of exhaustion and pain, but it still means a lot.
The noise dies down eventually, the sobs turning to sniffles, then to quiet whispers. Riley wipes her nose on her sleeve, then takes Tommy’s unbroken hand and squeezes. Oli perches on the edge of the bed, thumb stroking Brittney’s arm, her face set with a look that screams love.
“We’re not leaving,” she says, voice flat but final.
Fox nods, eyes shining. “Wouldn’t expect you to.”
Dax, who hasn’t moved, clears his throat. “What happens now?”
Nobody answers at first. Then Oli pulls out her phone, thumbs a number, and waits. The call connects, and she says, “Cancel the next three shows to start. We’re not touring until Brittney’s awake.” She hangs up before the label rep can respond, then looks around the room, daring anyone to disagree.
Nobody does.
We settle in for the night. The nurses bring extra blankets, protein bars, and a couple of folding chairs, which are claimed immediately. Oli and Riley curl up in a corner, heads together. Tommy drapes himself across Brittney’s legs, careful not to jostle any wires.
We sleep in shifts, always two awake, always one hand on the bed rail, always watching, always waiting.
