When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

19. Emmy

Chapter 19

Emmy

A s Patrick and I get into his car, I can’t shake this sensation of being swept away by a current, everything moving too fast around me. First my life was turned upside down at home, then the hurricane, now an evacuation. This insane crush on Patrick.

The car door shuts with a thud, sealing us inside the small space, and suddenly it’s just us, uncomfortably close. The memory of our kiss yesterday comes flooding back. Again . I was hoping we could just pretend nothing happened, but it’s an elephant in the room I’m not sure I’ll be able to ignore, especially when his hand is resting on the gearshift just inches from my leg.

It was easier yesterday: he didn’t come home until I was already asleep, even though I tried to stay up, listening for the sound of the front door opening, listening for the sound of his feet padding softly up the hallway, the creak as the bulk of him climbs into bed.

Even giving him that croissant wasn’t too bad, though my heart was stuttering the entire time. But being alone with him in such a small space is overwhelming.

He starts the car and we drive past the groups of volunteers—a huge number of them came together, everyone pitching in. Most of the stores along the front have already been shuttered, and the big focus today is on sandbagging.

“It’s amazing to see so many people out helping.” I try to keep my voice steady.

Glancing at him as he nods. His profile is sharply etched against the passing scenery, and my eyes linger on the strong set of his jaw, the concentration in his furrowed brow. There are tired circles under his eyes, but even the exhaustion clinging to him doesn’t diminish his rugged appeal; if anything, it adds a layer of depth.

Sitting this close to him is awful. I feel sick with wanting him, an aching, gnawing desire that starts deep between my legs and radiates outward. It’s stupid to want him, to want something so fraught with complications, when my list of legitimate reasons not to want him is so long. This isn’t like me, anyway. I’ve never been one to rock the boat, always the one who kept the peace, stayed the steady course.

Why now? Why him? The questions run through my mind as we drive in silence, each turn of the wheels taking us closer to Granny Sloane’s. My hands are clenched together in my lap, trying to anchor myself, but it doesn’t work. I need to talk to him about that kiss, tell him what happened can’t happen again. Draw a line in the sand that I cannot cross.

Patrick pulls up in front of Granny Sloane’s pale blue house with its quaint white shutters. Next door, Ruby’s house stands out with its overgrown garden and the eclectic mix of beautiful glass and ceramic sculptures scattered between the plants. The whimsical chaos of her yard is so starkly different from the neatness of Granny Sloane’s.

Staring at the two homes, I find myself wishing that things could be different—that I was just a normal girl with a simple past, not someone fleeing shadows that seem to chase me even into the brightness of a new start.

Part of me wishes I could let go, follow my instincts, and see where this thing with Patrick might lead. But I’m not that girl with a simple past. And we can’t.

Putting my job here in Harbor’s Edge in jeopardy is not an option. Putting my heart on the line again: also not an option. I’m meant to be chasing independence, not running for the first hot guy I see.

That line needs to be drawn and it needs to be drawn now, before I let my damned hormones ruin the first good thing to happen in a while.

Turning to him, I’m caught off guard by his presence. He’s facing me, and being so close amplifies every detail of his beautiful face, the slight curl to his thick dark hair, the broadness of his body. He’s so distinctly masculine, and the intensity in the blue of his eyes, a look that borders on possession, unspools something inside me.

My gaze lands on his forearm, moving along the tanned skin, over the bulge of his bicep, the lean hardness of his chest, taking in the sheer animalistic strength radiating from him. Every atom is charged, heavy with unspoken attraction, thickening the atmosphere until I almost forget what I need to say, my stomach flipping hard.

Swallowing, I manage to find my voice. This has to stop, even though it never really got started. “I... I just wanted to say sorry about what happened yesterday. I was emotional and I shouldn’t have kissed you like I did.”

He winces briefly, making it clear this is a conversation he was hoping not to have. The air between us cools. He leans back a little, drawing his body away from me.

“I’m sorry to bring it up. But I thought it was better to clear the air.”

“No, you’re right. Definitely better to clear the air.” The moment stretches, his eyes roaming over my face, and there’s a fleeting look of something that could be disappointment, or, equally, relief, that crosses his features before he masks it with a small upturn of his lips.

“So, like I said, I’m sorry about it all. It was a mistake.” My mouth is dry, the force of my smile tight on my face.

That thin half-smile is still on his mouth. “It’s okay. I prefer a kiss over a whack in the head with a fry pan, anyway.” Then he shifts, his expression becoming more serious. “I need to apologize if I gave you the wrong impression, actually.”

God, I want to disappear into my seat. This is even worse than I was expecting.

“I don’t really have time for a relationship, obviously, even though you seem like a really nice girl. There’s so much going on here with the hurricane, and my family. It’s not you. I’m just…”

His words trail off, cutting deeper than I expect. Even though I’m the one that doesn’t want a relationship, I’m the one that can’t pursue anything with him because it would just implode my life all over again, my disappointment is sharp, taking me by surprise.

A forced smile to mask the hurt. “Trust me, the last thing I need is a relationship. I’m just here to do my job, that’s all. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

We both turn our gaze forward, a strained silence filling the space. My simple statement hangs heavy, that clear line finally drawn, and we step out of the car to face Granny Sloane and deliver the news about the evacuation, me tucking away my feelings, burying them deep, Patrick no doubt already thinking about something else.

Maybe even someone else. A guy who looks like that doesn’t walk around without women throwing themselves at him. We step into the house, finding Granny Sloane nestled in her favorite chair in the living room, a book open on her lap, the walker just off to one side.

She looks up, her eyes sharp and assessing, as though she already knows what we’re about to say, even though she refuses to buy a cell phone and wouldn’t have gotten the alert .

“How are all the preparations going?” she asks, setting her book aside as we approach.

Patrick’s demeanor softens as he takes a seat beside her, the lines on his face smoothing out in her presence. He takes her hand gently, a gesture filled with love and respect.

“Everything’s going well. We’ll be doing your house and Mom’s house tomorrow. But the mayor has advised an evacuation of the houses close to the water because of the storm surge.”

Granny Sloane frowns. “I guess that includes me.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, too bad. I didn’t go anywhere during Hurricane Sandy, and the house survived that just fine. I’m not going anywhere now.” It’s a declaration, her voice firm.

Patrick sighs, resigned, as if he had been expecting that response from her. “Granny Sloane, it’s not just about the house. It’s about making sure you stay safe, especially because you’re less mobile after the stroke.”

She shakes her head dismissively. “At my age, if I die, it’s not exactly a big tragedy, is it?”

“I’m staying with you then,” Patrick says without hesitation.

“I’ll stay, too,” I add, almost instinctively. The decision feels significant, charged with a sense of duty to Granny Sloane. If I’m here to do a job, I’ll see it out to the end. And the house will be fine, surely.

Patrick stares at me, those perfect blue eyes narrowed. “You can’t do that, Emmy. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. I won’t let you put yourself at risk.”

A flare of annoyance. I’m here to stand on my own two feet, and am definitely not looking for someone else to tell me how to feel or what to do. “I want to. I need to be here for Granny Sloane.”

“No.” He half rises to his feet. “You’ll go to the high school and wait out the storm there.”

I stand a little taller, holding his gaze. It doesn’t matter what he says: I’m staying. “If you get called away because of an emergency, someone needs to be here with Granny Sloane.”

Patrick’s on his feet now, staring at me with a raw kind of intensity that borders on outright anger. He opens his mouth but Granny Sloane cuts him off with a stern look. Her gaze shifts to me, holding for a moment longer than usual, as if she’s seeing something in me that she hadn’t noticed before.

“Mind your own business, Patrick,” she finally says. “Of course I need Emmy by my side. If the girl wants to stay, then I’m very grateful.” Her voice is firm, leaving no room for further discussion.

Patrick looks momentarily taken aback but nods, accepting her decision, even though he shoots a furious gaze in my direction, which I ignore.

Granny Sloane turns to me, her expression softening. “Thank you, dear. It means a lot to me that you’d be willing to stay. A crowded high school is no place for someone like me.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Despite Patrick’s anger, Granny Sloane’s acceptance offers me small comfort, a reminder that perhaps, in this house, I might just find a place where I can do my job, keep my head down, and make a difference without starting any more dramas.