Page 31 of Summer Holiday Lifeline

“Jet—”

Another slam of fists, and Jet tried to tear away, though not before Myles saw his tears.

Myles gripped both his wrists, pulling him into a bear hug.

“Jet.”

For a moment, Jet continued struggling to get away, but only for a moment. Then he sagged, his shoulders began to shake, and a low snarl, muffled in Myles’s sweater, shredded into a sob.

“Hey, now. Nothing happened. It was nothing.”

“But it could have been something.” Jet didn’t look up. “You can’t leave us, Uncle Myles. I can’t look after her by myself. We’re… here. I don’t know any of these people. Fuck.”

“I didn’t think.” Myles ran his palms in circles over Jet’s back. “I reacted. I didn’t think.” A belated shimmer of reaction rippled through him, and a cold sweat broke along his spine. Jet wasn’t wrong. He’d followed his instincts, but he should have paused. Should have thought it through.

Jet pushed away from him then, glaring through wet lashes. “You have to think now. You have—” He sniffed. “—responsibilities.” He swiped at his eyes, smearing black make-up into thick shadows as he backed away, shifting his gaze to blaze at the floor, like he would set it all on fire if he could.

“You’re right.”

Jet stilled. His pause filled the room before he looked up. “What?” A swipe at his reddened, damp cheeks did little to clear away his outburst or the make-up.

It was all Myles could do not to chuckle at the bewildered expression on his nephew’s face.

“I said you’re right.”

Jet sputtered a minute, but Shelly had hopped off the bed and rushed over before he could make any coherent response.

“Jet?” She gazed up with liquid adoration at her brother. “Don’t cry, ’kay? Uncle My-my can fix everything.”

“He can’t, Shells.” He sniffed again and took the hand she held out to him. “He can’t fix anything.”

“Jet—” Myles tried to think of something to reassure him, but Jet didn’t even glance at him, all his attention focused on his sister.

“You wanna go down and find some of those yummy pink cookies? Tris said he had some left over, and a huge glass of milk for dunking.”

“Yes, please.” She beamed at him, Uncle My-my forgotten with the bribe. “You look like a raccoon.”

Jet glared over his shoulder as they left the room, lashes still spiked, cheeks blotched as he rubbed away the smears.

“Jet, I’m⁠—”

But they disappeared out the door before he finished.

He wished he could have argued, but Jet had made a valid point. A point that deflated the tentative bubble of… whatever he’d felt with Steven. Sinking onto the bed, he dropped his head into his hands. He deserved that, though. He should have put the kids first. He’d dragged them here, and if anything happened to him, they knew no one. At least back in Calgary, they had Pat. They had teachers they both knew. There was an infrastructure they were familiar with to fall back on.

Here they had him, alone. They had no reason to trust Lucky or anyone else Myles called family. And then, without a thought to any of that, he’d run out the door after what he’d initially thought was gunfire and left them with strangers.

Just like Ozzy had always said, he’d put being a hero above being what his people needed.

“Fucking hell.” He got up, paced the length of the room and back, then spurred himself to motion, dragging his big suitcase out from under the bed where he’d stowed it, once he’d moved himself from the back room to upstairs with the kids. Quickly, he unzipped and threw it open, then began moving his clothes from the dresser to the case.

“Hey.” A light knock on the door frame broke through the cloud of self-loathing, stopping his frenetic packing.

The last person Myles expected stood at the entrance to their room, muscled frame filling the doorway, grey eyes sharp, but features otherwise devoid of expression.

“Ozzy.”

“Mick—Myles.” He frowned, but only for the blink of an eye before his expression returned to aggressively neutral.