Page 58 of Puck Your Charity

"It's all of our problem." Malcolm offers a gentle correction. "A pack isn't whole until all pieces are in place. We feel the gap just as much as you do. Finn and Lawrence give you comfort, I give you structure, but the pack remains incomplete without Victor stepping up to claim his place beside you."

I drop my arms, staring down at the carpet. The truth in his words settles in my chest, calming the chaotic thoughts in my brain.

"You have every right to demand the entire pack, Olive." Malcolm locks his dark eyes onto mine with sincerity. "You shouldn't settle for three-quarters of a bond just because one of us is too stubborn or broken to reach out. Take all the time you need. Demand everything you're worth."

He stands up from the armchair, walking slowly toward the door.

"He's fighting his own demons to become a man worthy of you." Malcolm steps out into the hallway and pulls the door shut behind him with a soft click. He leaves the words hanging quietly in the air.

I stand alone in the quiet bedroom. The anger fades, leaving behind a firm resolve. Malcolm didn't hand me an easy answer, but he gave me clarity. I want the whole pack. And if Victor is too stubborn to make the first move, I might just have to force his hand.

Chapter 18

Isit behind the steering wheel of my green Aston Martin. The engine remains off. I stare at the brick building across the street. The discreet brass plaque next to the glass door reads Dr. Aris, Trauma Counseling.

I drag my hands down my face, letting out a long exhale.

I'm exhausted. My brain feels fried from the last hour inside that office. For the first time in twenty years, I spoke my little sister's name out loud. I sat on a therapist's couch and talked about Loren. When she got sick. How my parents reacted to her illness left me feeling like I was an accessory in their life, to how I was alone with her when she died because they had stepped out of the room for a moment to grab food for me from the cafeteria.I always felt guilt for that, because they weren't there, and I think a part of them also blamed me for taking that moment away from them because I existed. We've never been close since then. It's the deepest I've ever delved into the past.

Talking about it sucked. It left me sweating and shaking. I paid a ridiculous amount of money to sit on a designer couch and dig around in the worst memories of my life.

But now, sitting in the quiet of my car, the pressure in my chest finally recedes.

The realization hits me. The pediatric oncology ward didn't trigger a random panic attack. The scent of sterile rubbing alcohol and the sight of clear IV tubes dragged me right back to that day. I panicked because I felt like a helpless, alone kid watching my sister die all over again.

I grip the steering wheel. The leather squeaks under my knuckles.

Understanding the fear doesn't excuse my actions. It just highlights the mess I made.

I let my temper dictate my life for over a decade. I used arrogance to keep people at arm's length because caring about them meant I could lose them. Loren died, and my world shattered. I decided right then to never let anyone get close enough to hurt me again. Being an untouchable prick on the ice translated into being a lonely asshole off the ice.

I ran away from a ten-year-old boy. I abandoned Sam on his Make-A-Wish day. I acted like a spoiled prick in that hallway to cover up my terror. I used my anger as a shield, hurting a sick kid and insulting Olive.

The memory of Olive standing outside that room flashes in my mind. She glared at me with absolute disgust. She saw a coward, and I proved her right. She didn't care about my bank account or my stats on the ice. She cared about the kid in that bed.

I turn the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life.

I spent the last two weeks hiding in the west wing of the mansion. I read paperbacks on trauma recovery and anger management, locking myself in my room. I gave Olive a wide berth. I thought staying out of her way proved I cared. I thought keeping my baggage away from her counted as protection.

It was just another form of hiding.

Reading books in a quiet room requires zero courage. Avoiding my packmates demands zero effort. Watching Finn, Malcolm, and Lawrence step up to care for our mate while I sulk in the shadows makes me sick to my stomach.

A pack requires participation. It requires actually showing up for your family.

I shift the car into drive. I pull away from the curb, merging into the bustling city traffic.

I need to make actual amends in the real world. Sitting in the mansion and staring at Olive across the living room solves nothing. It just frustrates her. She deserves an Alpha who confronts his mistakes, not one who retreats at the first sign of discomfort.

I head straight toward the downtown medical district. The towering glass structure of the city hospital comes into view over the skyline. My pulse ticks a little faster. A knot twists in my gut. The urge to turn the car around and head back to the safe isolation of my bedroom pulls at my mind. The old Victor would turn around. He would go home and drink an expensive scotch to numb the anxiety.

I force my foot to stay on the gas pedal. I ignore the exit signs and keep heading toward the medical plaza.

I pull into the underground parking garage beneath the hospital. The tires squeak against the concrete. I navigate the tight turns until I find a spot near the elevator bank. I put the car in park.

I turn the engine off. I sit in the quiet car for a long minute, gathering my focus. I run through the grounding exercises Dr. Aris taught me. I list three things I can see. The steering wheel. The concrete pillar. The green exit sign. I list two things I can feel. The leather seat under my legs. The cool metal of the door handle.

I take a deep breath in through my nose. I hold it for a count of four. I exhale slowly through my mouth. The oxygen clears my head.