Page 90 of Pack Me Up
She doesn’t let me off the hook. “Too late for what?”
My jaw locks. It hurts to speak. “On Oli’s last tour, there was an attack, and one of ours was in on it. She helped them get to her.”
Brittney’s breath shudders. “Mistakes happen, Saint.”
“Oli and her pack forgave us, and we promised something like that would never happen again,” I say, the shame souring my stomach. “I gutted the company, but the security worldis surprisingly small, and our reputation took a hit. Everyone knows about our mistake.Mymistake.”
The silence now is thicker, like sap. I can’t look at her.
She puts a hand on my wrist. It’s light, almost hesitant, but the contact is a jolt of electricity. “Saint, you can’t be perfect.”
I laugh, bitter. “No, I’m just a fucking idiot.”
“You made a mistake,” she says, quiet but steady. “The Hart Pack forgave you, and you need to forgive yourself. Who cares what anyone else thinks?”
It’s hard to argue with her when she sounds so sure.
I stare at my hands and whisper, “I let my brothers down.”
Brittney grabs my hand. “No, you didn’t. Your brothers don’t see it that way. Why do you feel so responsible for them? I know you’re the oldest and pack lead, but it’s more than that.”
I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry as cotton. The ache in my chest is back, worse now, but I can’t stop. “By the time I was sixteen, I realized the only thing that needed protecting was the disaster inside my own house. Our parents died, and everything was left up to me.”
I look up to find her gaze on me, full of compassion and love. “What happened?”
“My parents went out to dinner for their anniversary and got in a car accident. Hunter was only seven.”
“I’m so sorry, Saint.”
I can feel my hands trembling, and I hate it, but I can’t make it stop.
“So I became the man of the house. I did all the things I thought I was supposed to—kept food on the table, kept the others in line, did every shitty job I could find. I wasn’t smart, but I was big, and people pay for that. You know?”
Brittney frowns. “You’re brilliant, don’t ever sell yourself short again.”
“I started the company before I could legally buy a beer. I ran night shifts, bodyguarded for every has-been band and drunk local politician who needed to scare off stalkers or ex-wives. It was ugly work, but it paid cash, and nobody asked questions.”
I look up. “So, yeah. When the business took off, I lost my mind a little. Thought if I could build it big enough, nothing would ever touch my brothers again.”
“Did you need the money?” she asks, voice gentle.
I shake my head. “No. Not after the first year. But I wanted—” I stop, because the words don’t want to come out.
She waits.
“I wanted to give them the world. Make up for everything they lost. Make up for…” I trail off, embarrassed by the taste of the words.
She shifts closer, sets her hand on my knee, warm and grounding. “For what?”
“For being all they had left,” I say, and it’s barely a whisper.
I notice for the first time there’s moisture in her eyes.
She squeezes my knee. “That’s not your fault.”
I snort. “The twins didn’t talk to anyone but each other for a full year after they died.”
Brittney’s breath hitches. “What about Fox and Hunter?”
