Leif
Hero. That's what everyone wanted to call me. A hero. Like in the damn comics or movies. The utter disgust I feel every time someone tells me what a hero I am churns my stomach.
I'm not a hero. I'm nothing. Nobody. A father, husband, and grandfather died. An Alpha of an entire pack, bigger than a major city in Texas died. And I was a hero.
The stench of flowers suffocated my senses every day I stayed in the hospital. They covered every available surface in the room, sent by all of the grateful members of the pack and others because of what I did.
Which I'm not ungrateful for. I'm glad they think I did something. I'm glad they think they have someone to look up to and sh*t. I don't want to take that away from them. But I also know that I am a fraud.
I place my hand over the band
