Page 57 of Holly Jolly Heat
"Michelle," I said gently, pulling her hands away from her face. "Look at me."
She did, eyes red and scared and so full of emotion it took my breath away.
"I'm okay," I said firmly. "A little bruised, but okay. You don't have to be scared."
"I can't help it. When you fell, when I saw you hit the ground—" Her voice cracked. "I've already lost one person I cared about. I can't lose anyone else."
And there it was. The real fear underneath all her professional boundaries and carefully maintained distance.
Her father had died suddenly. Unexpectedly. And she'd built walls so high that nothing could hurt her like that again.
But pack meant vulnerability. Meant caring enough that loss would destroy you.
She was terrified of that.
"You're not going to lose me," I said quietly. "I'm careful. Trained. I know how to protect myself."
"You can't promise that."
"No, I can't. But Michelle, I can promise that I'm here now. That I'm not going anywhere by choice. That every precaution I take is because I want to be here. With you. With our pack."
She stared at me, tears still tracking down her cheeks, and I saw the moment her walls cracked just a little bit more.
"This is why I don't want to do this," she whispered. "Because caring this much hurts. Because being vulnerable means you can get hurt. Because pack means?—"
"Pack means you don't face the fear alone," I finished. "Pack means when you're scared, we're scared with you. When you hurt, we hurt with you. But also when you're happy, we're happy with you. Joy is shared too, Michelle. Not just pain."
"I don't know if I can do this."
"You're already doing it. You jumped on camera last night for Lucas. You're crying right now because you thought I was hurt. You can't fight pack instinct, Michelle. It's already there."
She laughed, but it was wet and shaky. "You sound like Ro. All logical and certain."
"Ro's usually right."
"That's annoying."
"Very." I stood carefully, offering her a hand up. She took it, and I pulled her to her feet. "Come on. Let's go inside. Get cleaned up. You can fuss over my injuries and convince yourself I'm actually okay."
"I'm not going to fuss."
"You're absolutely going to fuss. You're already checking me for broken bones."
Her hands were indeed patting down my arms again, making sure nothing was seriously damaged.
"Shut up," she muttered, but there was no heat in it.
We headed inside, and I let her fuss. Let her pull me into the kitchen, make me sit at the table, grab the first aid kit from under the sink. Let her carefully check my shoulder, my ribs, my hands for scrapes.
It was pack behavior, taking care of each other, ensuring safety, the physical confirmation that everyone was okay.
And Michelle was doing it instinctively, without even realizing she'd dropped all her professional boundaries.
"You're going to have a bruise," she said, prodding my shoulder gently.
"Had worse."
"That's not the point." She pulled out antiseptic for a scrape on my palm I hadn't even noticed. "The point is you fell because I asked you to help with lights."
