Page 76 of The Pact
“Thank you,” I say gruffly.
The words feel inadequate and small.
She threads her fingers through mine.
“You don’t have to thank me,” she says.
The rest of the flight passes in fragments. Tears finally flow while I talk about my sister and share stories from when we were young.
And the whole time, Presley stays close. Our hands together the whole time.
She doesn’t pull away, not even once.
When we land, everything moves fast. There’s a car already on the tarmac, arranged by Mr. Grant. The driver opens the doors for us before we even reach the car.
“I got it,” I tell him, and he nods and walks back to the driver’s side.
I hold the door as Presley slides in, then get it behind her.
We don’t talk much on the way to the Harts’. It’s dark outside, and everything seems peaceful.
When we pull up in front of their house, the lights are glowing from inside. From here, it looks nice and warm. Normal.
We step out of the car, and the cold air hits my face sharply, but I barely feel it. My eyes are locked on the house, on the front window, where I can see movement inside.
I turn and hold my hand out for Presley as she gets out of the car. Our fingers twine together, and I keep her hand in mine as we walk toward the door.
As we get closer, I can see Remy through the window. Rhyan is beside him, curled up on the couch, with something bright reflecting off their faces.
They look … normal. Like nothing in their world has changed.
My chest caves in, and I pause.
“I’m not sure I can do this,” I say.
Presley comes to stand in front of me.
“Yes, you can,” she says, stronger than I feel.
“I can’t go in there,” I choke out. “I can’t … be the one to tell them.”
Because the truth of this is, “I’m about to blow their world apart.”
Presley’s hands grip my arms.
“You aren’t blowing up their world. You’re here to show them that they’re safe,” she says gently.
“They’re just sitting there watching TV like everything’s fine, and I’m about to walk in and tell them they’ll never see their parents again.”
Presley’s grip tightens.
“You’re here to help them process everything. You’re so strong, Saint,” she says, squeezing.
The pain hits hard and fast because I don’t feel strong right now.
Her hands slide up to my face.
“Saint,” she starts, but I interrupt.
