When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

9. Emmy

Chapter 9

Emmy

F rowning, I watch Patrick walk away, a sensation like the world tipping on its axis, making me press my palms into the kitchen counter to steady myself.

There’s a powerful pull toward him, an almost magnetic attraction that I’m desperate not to acknowledge. It leaves me disoriented and conflicted. Wanting him feels like stepping into a storm—thrilling and dangerous all at once.

A glance at my watch. It’s late, and even though I’m sure I’m never going to be able to sleep after everything that just happened, I need to get to bed.

This time I check the front door, locking it, and the lights go off before I walk right past Patrick’s door, which is slightly ajar. He’s there, his broad shoulders hunched over a desk, engrossed in paperwork. The room is stark, almost barren, with nothing personal on display. It strikes me just how little of him seems to exist in this space he calls home.

Even though Patrick’s got that classic tough-guy exterior—no nonsense, like nothing would ever faze him, there’s a vulnerability behind his eyes, and he clearly cares about his grandmother, even if he can’t see what’s best for her. He’s the oldest grandson, and it seems like he takes his responsibilities seriously. Maybe a little too seriously.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, which is a bit longer around his collar and I’m pausing in the doorway for just a second too long, staring at his hand, his fingers, as they tease their way through his thick locks before returning to the table. He turns his head slightly and I get a glimpse of his strong jaw, stubbled with the day’s growth, and unexpected heat deep down in my core pulses through me, before I hurry to my own bedroom.

Back in my room, a fresh wave of embarrassment from earlier hits me as I climb into bed. The whole ordeal with the police turning up, getting all the neighbors out on the street—my cheeks are flushed just thinking about it.

Checking my phone, there’s a text from my mother: “Hope you’ve settled in and aren’t causing any trouble. Keep your head down. You’ll be back home before you know it.”

I’m frowning as I read her words, a sensation of pressure building inside, pressing against the cage of my ribs. Causing trouble. I type out a quick response to reassure her that everything is fine, even though tonight was anything but.

Placing my phone on the nightstand, I’m lying in bed, thoughts a jumbled mess. One minute I’m replaying the whole scene right down to the fry pan connecting with his head, the next I’m imagining Patrick without the sweat pants and T-shirt, and all the things I’d love to do to him. I can’t stop the insane thoughts from invading my mind.

The instant attraction to him, the intensity—it’s nothing like what I felt for Travis. Ever . It’s more raw, more real, and completely unsettling. I need to avoid spending time with him at all costs. The last thing I need is to get tangled up in something: it would be completely unprofessional.

Besides, I’ve caused enough trouble on my first night to last the rest of my time here. Added to the drama and scandals I’ve already endured, I certainly don’t need any more. My stomach sours just imagining the look on my mom’s face if I had to return to Philadelphia after being fired for sleeping with my client’s son.

I open my book, trying to lose myself in someone else’s story, but my thoughts keep drifting back to the man on the other side of the wall. Despite my best efforts, I can’t stop thinking about him, about his broad shoulders and well-built body, about what lies beneath that beautiful face and soulful eyes.

Somehow, I fall asleep, and the beep of my alarm jolts me from a dream that is both restless and unsettlingly vivid. I wake unusually warm, with fragmented images still flickering at the edges of my consciousness—dreams filled with the touch of skin on skin and Patrick.

Shaking off the inappropriate thoughts, I force myself out of bed and into the routine of the morning. Dressing quickly, choosing plain, practical clothes that remind me I’m here for a job, not to make an impression.

But despite my intentions, I find myself pausing in the bathroom to do my hair and dab on a little peach lip gloss. It’s a small concession to vanity that feels oddly necessary today.

As I’m smoothing down my hair, there’s the sound of the front door opening. Familiar voices drift down the hall. Curious, I step out to find Liam, Patrick’s younger brother, and Nora, the eldest of Patrick’s two sisters, already gathered in the kitchen with Patrick.

I met them at dinner last night—charming Liam, who looks a lot like Patrick, but taller and lankier, with lighter hair that’s almost blond, and Nora, whose wild streak is as obvious as her beauty, with her long, curly blond hair and striking blue eyes.

“Don’t call the police.” Liam’s hands shoot in the air, a glint in his eyes. “And no need for violent encounters in the kitchen. It’s just us!”

“Very funny. Good morning, everyone.” I try not to look at Patrick, at the butterfly strip over the red swelling on his temple, which is made easier as Liam sweeps in and stands in front of me .

“I’m only joking, beautiful. Did you sleep well after all that excitement last night? Or were you too busy thinking about me?” He leans against the countertop, a wide smile on his face. Patrick glares at him, which Liam seems to either miss or intentionally ignore.

Nora smiles brightly at me and places a loaf of fresh bread on the counter. “Don’t listen to my brother. And don’t worry about last night. Patrick shouldn’t have been skulking around so late at night.”

“Hey, I live here.” Patrick shoots her a look that Nora pretends not to see. “I was hardly skulking around.”

“Mom sent us over with this.” Nora looks at me and then at the bread. “You have to try it with some of the jam I made a few months ago.” She’s already turned to the cupboard, pulling out a hand-labeled jar filled with deep red jam.

Caught between Liam’s flirtation and Nora’s warmth, I smile, thankful for the friendly faces but acutely aware of Patrick’s watchful eyes on me, the intensity of his gaze making me self-conscious.

“I’ll eat in a bit. I just want to help Granny Sloane first. But thank you.” I catch Patrick’s eye, and can see a kind of begrudging acceptance there, despite his insistence last night that I need to leave.

At least he’s not completely unreasonable.

Their voices fade behind me as I make my way to Granny Sloane’s room. Knocking before entering, she’s already sitting up in bed, her expression set in a firm line of morning grumpiness.

“Good morning.” My tone is cheerful as I approach her. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a rock, until I had to get up,” she replies, her voice as prickly as her expression. “Too bad we all got to bed so late.”

“I’m sorry again about that. I feel so embarrassed.”

She looks mildly appeased by my genuine apology, and I flash her a gentle smile, assisting her to the bathroom. Once she’s washed up, I fetch her medication, laying out the morning’s doses.

“Here we are.” I hand her the pills with a glass of water. She takes them with a nod, her eyes softening just a touch.

Afterwards, I help her choose an outfit and get dressed. The process is slow and sometimes frustrating for her, but she manages a reluctant admission as she buttons her blouse.

“Suppose it’s nice to have help with some of these smaller things.”

“Let’s do your rehab exercises,” I suggest once she’s dressed. We move to the soft, pale green rug beside her bed, where she has room to stretch and strengthen her muscles. “You’ll be feeling more like your old self in no time.”

I watch her carefully as she attempts each exercise, her movements stiff but determined. “Have you been doing these regularly?” I keep my tone light and encouraging as I make adjustments to her posture.

Granny Sloane sighs, a look of defeat passing over her face. “No, I haven’t,” she admits. “And I hate that walker, hate it with a passion. Makes me feel so... old.”

I nod, understanding her frustration. “I know it’s tough, but these exercises will help you get back on your feet more quickly. And I’m here to help you every step of the way. We’ll get you moving without that walker before you know it.”

Granny Sloane meets my gaze, her eyes searching mine for a moment before she nods. “Thank you.” Her voice is almost vulnerable. “I’d like that.”

After helping Granny Sloane through her morning routine, we make our way to the kitchen for breakfast, although she insists on veering off to pick up the newspaper from the front porch—a task she’s still adamant about doing herself each day.

Taking a seat at the kitchen table before helping myself to some of the fresh bread Nora had set on the counter earlier, the atmosphere in the kitchen is light and teasing, with Liam and Nora still playfully ribbing Patrick about last night.

“I’ll pick up a balaclava for you today in town,” Nora says. “You’ve got a pretty massive head. I hope I can get one that fits.”

“What’s next? Going to start stalking tourists in their Airbnbs?” Liam’s words draw a sharp look from Patrick.

“Enough.” He pushes his empty plate away. “You’ve had your fun. Don’t you both have places to be?”

Luckily for Patrick, Granny Sloane returns, newspaper in hand, and takes a seat at the table, leaving her walker within grabbing distance. Liam and Nora get to their feet, each planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Now, who’s taking Emmy out to get a coffee?” Granny Sloane asks, looking around at the three siblings.

“I’m fine, really. I don’t need to go out.”

“You promised you’d go out every day. I can’t do my crossword with people making noise and moving around the house. Besides, your car still isn’t back yet. So one of these three will need to take you.”

“I can walk, honestly. It’s not far.”

Liam takes my hand and kisses the back of it. “I would take you, but I’m afraid I’m already late to meet Ethan.”

Patrick mutters under his breath: “Maybe if you got a real job, you wouldn’t be working such weird hours. Ethan’s a bad influence and you’ll never get your life in order while you’re taking your cues from him.”

Liam stares at Patrick, a wounded look on his face, before Nora gives her own apology. “I’d love to take you, but I’ve got to run. We need to talk about the pageant later.”

“Pageant?” Something cold settles in the pit of my stomach, like a shot of poison slowly spreading through my body, my reluctance no doubt playing over my face.

“It’s for charity, and you’d be the perfect contestant.” She brushes off my concern with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I’ll tell you all about it next time I see you.”

“That leaves Patrick,” Granny Sloane says, as though the decision has been made, already unfolding her paper. “You’ll take her to get a coffee in town before you start work.”

Patrick looks less than pleased, but he doesn’t object.

“He owes you after last night,” Granny Sloane adds. “He shouldn’t have scared you like that.”

Liam and Nora are already tidying up, and they wave before disappearing down the hall. The front door opens and closes before an awkward silence settles over us.

“Go on, then.” Granny Sloane uncaps her ball-point pen. “Time’s a wasting.”

Patrick’s annoyance is clear, but he nods, resigned. “Alright, let’s get you that coffee.”

He stands and grabs his keys from the counter, and there’s no choice but to follow him. So much for avoiding him at all costs.