When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

18. Patrick

Chapter 18

Patrick

L ast night I fell into bed, exhausted, after we worked late into the night, and this morning the sun is barely up, but Main Street is already a hive of activity. Hundreds of people have turned out again to help the Valiant Hearts sandbag the businesses along the front, and despite Hurricane Karen tracking right for us, there’s a real sense of community spirit, a collective effort to protect our town.

But even in the middle of all the volunteers and the clatter of shovels, the trucks delivering sand and people asking me for directions, my focus is constantly drifting to one person: Emmy .

She’s right there, just a few feet away, dressed practically in a faded blue t-shirt and jeans that hug her in all the right places, and she looks fucking adorable. She bends each time she scoops sand into the bags, and I can’t tear my eyes from her.

Every so often, a loose strand of honey-blonde hair escapes her hastily tied ponytail, and she tucks it behind her ear with dirt-smudged fingers. It’s just a small, unconscious gesture, so simple and mundane, but it captivates me.

She’s fully engaged with everyone around her, her energy infectious. Filling another bag, sealing it before passing it down the line. Someone cracks a joke and her laughter rings out, free and unrestrained.

We move to Sweet Current Bakery and Alex and Tom come out, walking through the crowd, handing out coffee and pastries to the volunteers, before grabbing shovels and getting to work. Even Dot McLellan arrives with a dainty gardening spade and several thermoses filled with coffee, her ever-keen eyes missing nothing as she chats with a group of helpers taking a break.

Out of the corner of my eye, Emmy is approaching, a croissant in hand. She’s so beautiful, her cheeks flushed from the physical work, I can’t take my eyes off her.

“Hey. You haven’t eaten yet. You need to keep your strength up.” She holds out the croissant like it’s a peace offering.

I take the croissant from her, our fingers brushing slightly. “Thanks.”

The moment feels almost normal, a welcome relief after the intensity of the kiss we shared yesterday. It’s better this way. Better for both of us if we can ignore the attraction that’s been simmering between us. It can’t go anywhere—I’d just end up hurting her because I don’t have the time or space in my life for a relationship.

Taking a bite of the croissant, I glance around at the other volunteers. They’re all focused on their tasks, not paying us any attention. Emmy stays by my side, watching me with those expressive hazel eyes that seem to see right through me.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly, her concern genuine.

I nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind.” I finish the croissant and give her a grateful nod. “Thanks for the food. I needed that.”

She smiles, a warm, genuine smile that makes something strange happen in my chest. “Anytime.”

“Hey, you two.” Mom stops beside us and Emmy gives her hand a quick squeeze before heading back to where she’d been sandbagging. I try not to watch her leave but my eyes are drawn to her anyway.

“How great is Emmy?” Mom follows my gaze. “I know you weren’t happy about her coming to live with you and Granny Sloane, but I hope you can see that it was the right thing.”

I give her a sideways look and a begrudging shrug. “Yeah. You were right. But next time include me in these big decisions, okay?”

“Only if you promise to be reasonable.” Her smile soon fades as she looks at me more closely. “You look like you haven’t stopped since yesterday.”

“I haven’t.” It’s easier that way. I won’t be tempted to do something stupid that involves a certain beautiful nurse. “Is Riley back at school?”

“I dropped her there yesterday. She wanted to stay and help?—”

“—but it’s better she’s somewhere safe,” I finish. We share a look and there’s so much unsaid between us. I hope by now she knows I’d never make a mistake again. That I’ve got my priorities right. “We’ll be moving on to the gallery soon. And I’ll help you shift all the artwork somewhere safe.”

I’m thinking about where we can store the paintings when Mom’s face crumbles, the reality of the situation hitting her. Without a word, my arms wrap around her, pulling her into a tight embrace amid the noise and activity of volunteers hustling around us. She leans into me, her body tense with the effort of holding back her emotions.

After a long moment, she pulls back slightly, her fingers hastily brushing away the tears that have escaped despite her efforts. “I’m sorry. I know it’s just a building, and we’ll rebuild. It was just such a big deal when I finally got to open the gallery.”

“It’s okay, Mom. We all understand.”

She needs me to be strong now more than ever. The gallery is more than just a business to her, it’s a symbol of her life going in the right direction, a dream realized following years of hard work and hardship.

After Dad died, life got pretty tough, and Mom and Granny Sloane worked as a team to raise us four kids. Mom took on extra shifts as a cleaner, often coming home late, exhausted but always ready to do whatever was needed—homework, talking to the girls about their crushes, college applications.

And Granny Sloane cooked for us, kept the households going. She took in ironing and did some bookkeeping for local businesses. We often did without, but that only made us closer.

Once we’d all finished high school and I was working full time, Mom had more time to pursue her art. The gallery was the culmination of all those years of scrimping and saving, of Mom never giving up on her dream and love of creating beautiful things.

Seeing her so vulnerable now, determination rushes through me. We will rebuild, not just the gallery, but whatever this storm might take from us. Because that’s what our family does—we persevere together.

Mom straightens, gives me a small smile. “And please go easier on your brother. He’s still finding his way.”

We both glance down the street where Liam is helping Ethan and Jake sandbag the front of May’s bookshop. She’s always too soft on him. And with Dad gone, I’m the only one who can try to stop him from repeating the same stupid mistakes, like there’s some kind of generational curse on the O’Connors.

“Patrick! Hey, we need more sacks,” one of the fellas calls from further down the street, and I give Mom an apologetic look. “I’ll catch you soon, okay.”

“Love you, Paddy.”

My breath catches, just like it does every time she calls me that. I was named for my dad and that was his nickname, and hearing it still hurts, even after all this time. Heading to one of the trucks to get more sacks, I’m torn as always between my responsibility to my family, and my roles as fire chief and leading the Valiant Hearts.

I hand over the sacks, then move down the street, coordinating efforts, checking on progress, ensuring everyone is working toward a common goal. It should be enough to occupy every corner of my mind, but Emmy slips through every mental barrier I erect. Every time I catch sight of her, I want her, I want my mouth on hers, my hands on her body.

As I lift another sandbag, handing it off to the woman next to me, I steal another glance at Emmy. Our eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and something in her gaze—a hint of fire, like just the sight of me makes her feel like she’s burning up—has me spiraling all over again, fantasizing about all the things we definitely won’t be doing, replaying the feel of her skin, her taste, the fullness of her breasts, her nipple pebbling at my touch.

For a moment, I consider walking over to her, just to be near her, to talk to her, but duty calls me away, a volunteer needing guidance on reinforcing another section against the storm surge.

I’m busy with the final placements of sandbags around Sweet Current Bakery when Sheriff Kyle Donovan catches my eye, striding purposefully toward me. The set of his jaw and the look in his eyes instantly tell me the news isn’t good.

“Sheriff, what’s wrong?”

Kyle doesn’t waste a moment. “The mayor just called it. She’s about to send out an alert. We’re advising an evacuation of the zone around the harbor in case the storm surges are worse than we’re expecting.”

His words land like a physical blow. My mind races—Granny Sloane, my mom and siblings, all the familiar faces and homes in those streets. And then there’s Danny Heart’s father, living right in the heart of the evacuation zone.

I quickly pull out my phone, my fingers fumbling as I unlock it to see the message from the mayor coming in, confirming the evacuation order. A few tense minutes later, Mom and Nora find me. Emmy, who had been helping nearby, watches us from a short distance, her expression anxious. Mom gestures for Emmy to come over, and she quickly joins us.

“Patrick.” Mom’s voice is steady despite the worry in her eyes, “could you take Emmy with you and go tell Granny Sloane about the evacuation? It’d be better if she hears it from you. ”

I nod, knowing it’s the right thing, even though there is still so much to do here. It’s a constant push-pull between the people who need me and my responsibilities. “Of course.”

Emmy’s also nodding, and an insane part of me is glad we get to have a few minutes together. It’s selfish and stupid, and I push the thought away, turning to one of my crew, a young firefighter who’s been helping coordinate the sandbagging efforts.

“I’ll be back soon. Keep things moving here.”

“Gotcha, Chief.”

Turning back to Emmy, our gazes catch and hold. “Are you ready?”

She nods, and together we walk to my car. I’m acutely aware of her presence beside me, the nearness of her almost a physical force. Every glance, every small gesture she makes, magnifies her closeness, and it’s an exquisite kind of agony.

My awareness of her is overwhelming—the scent of coconut lingering on her skin, the sound of her voice, the occasional brush of her arm against mine as we walk.

It’s a constant battle trying to keep myself in check.