19. I Won't Rot ~ Part 3

"And there will come a time, you see

With no more tears,

and love will not break your heart,

But dismiss your fears."

The walk to the counter is terrible, but I'm able to ignore the stares, and glares, that dig into my back. I sit at one of the vacant stools, and Kish slides into the one beside me, returning to his awaiting Bud Light. I order what I want and smile despite myself as the man behind the counter sits in front of me a far-from-flat ginger ale. If anyone had to survive the zombie apocalypse, thank the Lord it's good bartenders.

My joy simmers from a flame to smoldering coals when I hear a distinct voice behind me.

I grip my glass and turn a bit on my stool, turning to face my opponent. 

"Phillip," I say.

The young man smiles a bit at me, and instead of exchanging proper greetings jumps straight to his point: what am I doing here?

I shrug and take another sip of my ginger ale. "In the area, heard of the place, thought I'd stop by."

As expected, he doesn't buy it.

"You think you can just waltz back and expect us to accept you?"

I feel Kish tense beside me, and I can hear soft murmurs in the air behind Phillip: his followers wondering who to side with, me or the leader.

"Who said I was coming back?" I say, setting down my drink. "There are plenty of other packs, you know. What's stopping me from joining one of those?"

Phillip grabs me by the wrist and holds my palm in front of him, and in the dim golden light I watch as his eyes study the star tattooed on the web of skin between my thumb and forefinger. 

He releases me, throwing my arm back down. "You wouldn't join a different pack."

I look past him at the crowd of hunters sitting at the tables. My former brothers and sisters, watching as I can either be accepted or declined. It was my choice to leave, but I don't have power over being welcomed back into the pack.

I frown at Phillip, who still stands in front of me, not nearly as mad as he could be, should be. His fists are clenched at his sides, his lips thin, tightly pressed together.

"You're right," I say, "I wouldn't."

Honestly, I don't know how I expect him to react, but I know that what followed is far at the bottom of the list. Phillip holds out his hand to me, palm up, motioning for me to take it.

"You're always welcome back, you know."

I stare at his hand, then at his face. A genuine smile sits there under his nose, something I've seen before but is seemingly foreign to me. Kish nudges my side. I look down at my knees.

"I can't feel freedom in a pack," I say, verbally refusing Phillip's hand, "I can't. I don't feel safe in numbers. I feel safe on my own."

Kish's hand rests on my shoulder, and I look up at my leader's still awaiting hand. 

"Harley," he says gently, "Honest to God, we could use you. And you could use us."

He reaches for my hand again and rests the pad of his thumb over the tattoo. "You once made a pact with us, but you left. After that, the pack wasn't the same."

"You can feel safe with us," Kish says, "but if you don't, you can always go on ahead. We'll catch up."

I look back around the room of hunters, then twist my hand in Phillip's until my palm rests against his.

"Well then," I say with a smile, "It's good to be back."

Unfortunately, the fine and dandy bit of the night fades away sooner than I'd like it to.