Page 70 of The Pact
Presley looks at me.
“Saint,” she whispers.
Something inside me breaks open just enough for instinct to kick in.
Protector mode.
The part of me that carried Savannah through the days after my dad died. The part that knows grief, for me, can wait when someone smaller needs you more.
I reach for the phone, and Presley hands it over immediately.
“Rem,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
There’s a rustling sound, then his voice comes in closer.
“Uncle Wyatt?”
I close my eyes. “Yeah, buddy, it’s me.”
“Grandma is crying.”
I suck in a deep breath. “I know.”
“I tried to text Mom from my iPad to tell her, but she’s not answering me.”
My hand clenches around the phone so hard; it’s a wonder it’s not cracked.
I feel Presley’s palm on my back.
“Remy,” I say, forcing each word to come out, “I need you to listen to me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Where is Rhyan?”
“She’s watching dragons.”
Of course she is.
My eyes burn.
“I’m going to come get you,” I tell him.
Presley’s head whips toward me.
“Today?” Remy asks.
The hope in his voice nearly kills me.
I look at Presley, and she nods once.
“Yeah,” I say, “today.”
“Okay, but are you mad?”
The question startles me.
“No, buddy,” I say quickly. “I’m not mad.”
