When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

16. Emmy

Chapter 16

Emmy

I ’m practically power walking, but the car matches my speed, its engine revving a bit, as if to confirm its presence. Glancing down the street, there are just rows of homes—no bustling shops or groups of people. I’m alone, off the route I know, and lost, with no one in sight.

The beginnings of fear coil in my stomach as I risk a sideways look at the car. The heavily tinted window rolls down, and an arm dangles out the window, a beer can loosely held in hand, the casualness of it somehow more menacing.

Then the driver, a seedy-looking guy with unkempt hair and a scruffy beard, calls out to me, “Hey, you from around here? I need some directions.”

My instincts are shouting at me to keep moving, but a part of me doesn’t want to appear rude. I can practically hear my mother’s voice urging me not to be a drama queen, although I’m not a total idiot, and keep my distance, wary of getting too close.

“Sorry, I can’t help,” I call back. “I’m new in town.”

He persists, flashing a map from inside the car. “Can you just take a look and help me get my bearings?” His tone is a mix of frustration and feigned helplessness .

Shaking my head, stepping back slightly. “I’m not from around here either. I really can’t help you.”

“Are you serious? I just want you to look at the map.” His eyes narrow, voice taking on a hard edge, annoyed that I’m not coming closer.

I need to get out of here. “Maybe turn around and head back to Main Street. Someone can help you there.”

“Why the hell have you got a stick up your ass? Are you always this difficult, or is being a bitch normal for you?” He leers out the open window, his gaze hungry as he looks me up and down, confirming in that moment he never wanted help with directions.

For a brief moment, fear of what might happen if I don’t move, if I don’t get away from him, paralyzes me. Then, like a dam bursting, my instincts kick in, obliterating any concern about causing a scene or being rude. I start running—fast and blind, my only goal to put as much distance as possible between myself and the man in the car.

Over my ragged breaths, the sound of a car door slamming reaches me. Fresh panic surges, footsteps echoing behind me. The street blurs as feet pound the pavement, mine and his.

In a desperate bid for safety, I turn down another street and immediately veer off the sidewalk, ducking down the side of a nearby house. My heart hammers in my chest as I crawl through bushes, branches snagging at my clothes and scratching me.

Moving deeper into the greenery until I’m hidden from view, my body shaking with sobs and fear, I curl up, trying to make myself as small as possible, and wait. Breaths coming in ragged gasps until I manage to quiet them. Footsteps approaching, pausing. He swears, before the footsteps finally fade.

My mind replays his taunt: Are you always this difficult?

The question slices through me, ripping off the barely healed scab that was already agitated by Nora’s insistence that I enter the pageant. It’s been asked of me before, a cruel reminder of a time when I was too young, when hands that had no right touched me, and words meant to intimidate kept me silent.

The world outside my hiding place seems to hold its breath. Minutes stretch into an eternity until the only sounds are my own breathing and the distant sound of a car driving away. Cautiously, I crawl out from the bushes, fresh scratches down my arms, body aching, and face wet with tears.

Shaky and disoriented, glancing around to confirm I’m alone, relief washes over me until I realize I have no idea where I am. Pulling out my phone, I quickly open the map app and enter Granny Sloane’s address, before heading toward her home.

Too late, I realize the strawberry tart is gone, my cardigan is gone, both lost somewhere during my panicked run for safety. Fresh tears prick my eyes and I feel pathetic. The tears are just starting to come in waves again when a familiar voice cuts through the haze of my distress.

“Emmy?” The concern in Patrick’s voice is clear, even from a distance.

I look up, eyes blurred. His gaze is on me, tall frame bent as he loads a sheet of plywood into the back of a truck, surrounded by a small group of men, all staring at me. This is exactly what I don’t need.

Hastily wiping my eyes, trying to compose myself, but it’s too late. Patrick has already spotted the distress on my face. He excuses himself from the group and is by my side in moments, his expression shifting from concern to alarm as he notices the scratches on my arms.

“What happened? Who did this to you?” His voice is sharp with worry, eyes scanning the street as if expecting to find someone lurking there.

The other men from the fire department start to come closer, but Patrick raises his hand, signaling them to go back to their work. “Keep loading, I’ll be there in a minute.” He turns his full attention back to me .

“Come on,” he says.

Gently, he leads me away from his crew, down the street to a quieter spot, out of sight from the others. Embarrassment burns through me, and I try to hold back further tears, but the dam has already broken.

Travis and Maddy’s betrayal, being sent away by my mother, the looming hurricane, the unwanted pageant—all compound into a crushing weight. I try to speak, to explain about the guy in the car, but the words catch in my throat, muffled by sobs.

Without a word, Patrick pulls me into his arms. His embrace is solid and reassuring, his strength enveloping me. I allow myself to lean into him, and he holds me tightly, offering silent support. Gradually, under the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the gentle rubbing of his hand on my back, my breathing begins to slow, the sobs subside, the intensity of the emotion ebbing away.

As my breathing steadies and the world around us grows quiet, I become suddenly, acutely aware of Patrick’s body pressed against mine. His hand, large and comforting, continues to trace gentle circles on my back, and the firmness of his chest is at once grounding and igniting something deeper inside me, a heat that starts at my core and spreads like wildfire.

Slowly, I lift my gaze to meet his. Our eyes lock, and in that moment, an electric current seems to pass between us, a magnetic pull that draws us closer, one I couldn’t deny no matter how hard I tried. His beautiful face is just inches away, his breath mingling with mine. My thoughts are no longer my own.

Reaching a hand up to his face, fingers brushing against his strong, stubbled jaw. His blue eyes hold mine, intense and searching, practically glowing with desire. He’s seen inside me, seen the pain that’s usually kept firmly hidden, but he wants me anyway.

The world around us seems to disappear, the distant sounds of the guys down the street and the rustle of the wind through the trees fading into nothing. A mixture of wanting and a kind of raw vulnerability fills his gaze, and before I can stop myself, I tilt my head, raise myself up on my toes, and press my lips softly to his.

At first, he’s tentative, as if unsure whether this is what I want or what he should give. But as I keep kissing him, tasting him, driven by some part of me beyond rational thought, deepening the kiss, something shifts.

His restraint crumbles at the same time as mine, and the kiss intensifies. A low growl vibrates from his throat as he tugs me harder against him, losing himself in the swirl of need that engulfs us both.

His hands tighten on my back, pulling me closer, and his mouth moves against mine, desperate and wanting. One hand nudges higher, just cupping the side of my breast, and an aching need pulses through me. A groan escapes my lips.

All reason is gone, there’s only this crazy attraction that makes no sense, and a desperate need to be closer to him. My hand skims his belt, fingers creeping up under his T-shirt, tracing the chiseled expanse of his stomach.

He smells of clean sweat and the salty wind, and his roughened fingers shift under my shirt, tracing their way over my skin, skimming, searching, finally finding my breast, taking the weight of it, my nipple hardening in response as he rolls it between his fingers through the thin fabric of my bra.

It’s his turn to groan as his hips grind against me, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against my stomach. It’s like a sickness, a fever that’s taken hold. All I want is him.

Then he’s pulling back, hand shooting out from under my shirt. “Shit, Emmy, what the fuck. I’m so sorry.” He lets me go, breathing hard, a wild, almost feral look in his eyes until he closes them, shutting me out.

When he opens them again, he’s back under control, his voice almost monotone. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

The world comes back into focus and I shake my head, running a hand over my kiss-bruised lips, horrified at what I just did. My hands straighten my shirt and I swallow, glancing down the street, thankful the guys he was working with are out of sight.

Whatever insanity that was between us, it’s gone, replaced by an awkwardness that makes me want to open my mouth and scream until the whole world is blocked out. Patrick’s speaking again and I focus on his words, trying not to wince.

“—hope you don’t think I was taking advantage of you. I just wanted to comfort you. Shit.” His hand goes to his mouth like he’s trying to wipe the last remnants of me away. At least we both know that kiss was a bad idea. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

The guy in the gray sedan comes back to me with a rush. My first instinct is to lie. To say it was nothing. To get the hell away from Patrick and lick my wounds in private. But I’m exhausted, emotional and embarrassed, and something about the steady blue of his eyes, the depth that lingers just below the surface, has me lowering my guard, the urge to cut away the pain and embarrassment lessening just a little.

Patrick is so… real . More real than anyone I know back home, where what other people think is probably the driving factor for most of what people do. And so, against my better judgment, I’m telling him about the vehicle that followed me, the way the guy looked at me, how he got out of his car, and how I panicked and ran.

He listens quietly till I’m done. I don’t tell him about Travis or any of the other stuff, but just telling the truth about the car leaves me feeling a little lighter.

“You did the right thing by running when you did. I’m proud of you. Do you remember what he looked like? What his car looked like?”

A weird sensation takes over as Patrick waits patiently for me to keep talking. There’s not even a scrap of doubt on his face, or any suggestion that I caused this, somehow. I describe the guy, his run down vehicle, and Patrick nods, committing the description to memory.

“Look, I’ll call the sheriff and let him know. It’s probably some dirt bag passing through, but if the police or me see him around here again, we’ll have words with him.”

For a long moment, I just stare at Patrick, waiting for the rest. But there’s nothing. There’s no admonishment. No one telling me I’m overreacting, or asking questions that make me feel stupid or like it was my fault. I want to say thanks but can’t quite find the words. Patrick runs a hand over his mouth again, before swallowing.

“Look, you need to clean up those scratches and get back to Granny Sloane. She’s probably worried about you. One of the boys will drive you home.” He still looks regretful and a little embarrassed, but at least he’s acting like that kiss never happened. Thank God.

We walk back to where his crew has just finished loading the plywood, a wide and welcome gap between us. Patrick is a good, decent guy, but we can’t get involved with one another—what just happened can’t happen again. Ever again. I have my list of all the reasons Patrick O’Connor is a bad idea, and I repeat them like a mantra.

I’m not looking for a relationship and I don’t need any more trouble, not after everything that happened back home. Ruby hired me to look after Granny Sloane, not screw her son, for God’s sake. And I’m meant to be independent, standing on my own two feet, not throwing myself at the nearest guy who makes me feel safe, protected… Ugh .

I need to get myself under control and keep the hell away from him. And by the way he jumped back from me and has kept his distance since, it’s pretty clear he feels the same way.