Saint
THREAT ASSESSMENT FOR LOOMER PACK
Iwake up curled around my mate with the scent of toffee in my nose. It’s my morning to sleep in, and I know my brothers are already gone, handling the new venue in Salt Lake City.
I slip free of the blanket, careful not to jostle her, but she still rolls onto her back, hair snarled across her mouth and cheeks.
“Morning, honey,” I say, voice gravel.
She makes a sound that’s half a laugh, half a groan, and sits up, clutching the blanket to her chest as if we haven’t already spent enough nights with nothing but skin between us. The bus is cold. I reach for my hoodie, then remember it’s probably up in the front lounge.
She’s quiet. Not in the way she used to be, which was all fear and ice and the constant, mechanical smile. This silence is weighted, like she’s holding a question in her mouth and waiting to see if I’ll notice before she’s forced to spit it out.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask, not wanting anything to stress her.
She looks at me, really looks, like she’s scanning my face for cracks. “Are you okay?” she asks.
I can’t help but bristle. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She shrugs. “Despite the great sex yesterday, I know that guy upset you.”
I sit up straighter, roll my neck until it pops. “Vince is an ass.”
She lets the silence hang, lets it stretch out until it’s almost unbearable before saying something. “Can I ask you something?”
I know what’s coming. I wish I didn’t, but it makes sense for her to ask. I feel her question before she even starts. “Of course.”
She sits cross-legged, blanket slipping down her body.
“The man at the show,” she says. “The security one. He acted like there was something wrong with Phoenix Pack Security. Is there?”
My hands curl, knuckles whitening against my knees.
I want to lie. Every part of me wants to brush it off, make a joke, or redirect. But her eyes are too direct, too patient. The bond pulses between us, and I remind myself that this is my mate and she deserves every piece of me.
“I fucked up,” I say. The words taste like glass. “I got greedy. When the business started taking off, I wanted to prove I could make it big and take care of my brothers.”
She listens and doesn’t move.
“I hired too many people too fast. I didn’t vet them like I should’ve. Some of them weren’t loyal, and I didn’t catch it until it was too late.”
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 world is surprisingly small, and our reputation took a hit. Everyone knows about our mistake. My mistake.”
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?”
“Fox got quiet. Never complained, just started training. He started fighting professionally before joining the company. I think it helped him channel his pain.”
“And Hunter?” she asks.
The ache in my chest sharpens. I rub at it, but it doesn’t help.
“He was just a kid. For a long time, he didn’t know what he’d lost. He’d wake up in the morning and ask where Mom was, and I’d have to tell him, again and again, that she wasn’t coming back.
Sometimes he’d cry, sometimes he’d just go back to sleep.
” My hands tremble so bad I have to hide them in the blanket.
“He’s the best of us, you know? The wild one, the funny one.
But he never got a childhood. He went straight to being the pack clown, keeping the rest of us from coming apart. ”
She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “He loves you. They all do.”
I didn’t believe that before she came along but our pack is whole now with her in it and these old wounds have started to heal.
I feel the heat of her body next to mine. For the first time, the memories don’t feel like they’re going to swallow me whole.
I look over at Brittney. She’s watching me, eyes bright, mouth set in a determined line.
“Saint,” she says, and the way she says it makes my chest ache. “You know you don’t have to do everything by yourself, right?”
I want to argue and tell her about all the times I did have to. Like when Hunter broke his arm jumping off the roof and I spent six hours in the ER trying not to cry in front of strangers. I want to tell her that being alone is the only way I know how to be.
But I don’t. I let her hold my hand.
She squeezes, gentle but firm. “You’re allowed to mess up,” she says. “You’re allowed to need help.”
The words land heavy, but instead of crushing me, they sink in slow and deep, like the first drink of water after a long run. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was.
She slides her other hand over mine, sandwiching my fist in both of hers. Her touch is steady, a quiet pulse of warmth that spreads up my arm and into my chest. “You’re not weak for wanting to protect them,” she says. “You just need to let them protect you sometimes, too.”
Here, now, with her hands holding mine and her scent wrapping around me, I feel something shift. The weight in my shoulders lets up. The tightness in my throat goes slack.
“I don’t want to fuck it up again,” I say, the confession ragged.
“You won’t,” she says, without a second’s hesitation. “And even if you do, we’ll fix it. That’s what a pack is for.”
I pull her in. I wrap my arms around her, bury my face in her hair, and hold her as tight as I dare. She melts against me, no hesitation, her cheek pressed to my neck, breath hot and alive.
For the first time since I was sixteen, I feel like maybe it’s okay to let someone else share the weight.
That’s what pack is supposed to mean.