When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

30. Patrick

Chapter 30

Patrick

I follow close behind Mom with the others as she opens the front door, only Granny Sloane and Stormy staying in the kitchen. The sky is a dark, brooding gray, rain still falling steadily, the cold wind gusting as the outer edges of Hurricane Karen pass over us.

The sight that greets us is surreal. The street beyond is flooded with knee-high muddy water, which reaches up over the top of the porch, lapping at the sandbags we’d carefully placed across the front door.

The street itself is almost unrecognizable. Trees and electrical poles are down, their tangled limbs and wires jutting out at odd angles. Items torn from homes—garden chairs, window shutters, a battered mailbox—float in the murky water, shifting with the wind. Debris is scattered everywhere, carried along by the relentless current.

“God, look at this mess,” Mom breathes, her voice barely audible over the wind’s howl. Her gaze shifts to her home and her hand flies to her mouth. “My garden.”

Most of her plants have been ripped up or drowned, several established trees toppled, including the one that fell on the roof last night. It had been wild and free, a green paradise symbolizing her stubborn artist’s heart, which refused to ever stop beating, no matter what life threw at her. But now it’s gone.

My hand goes to her shoulder, squeezing gently. “We’ll get through it, Mom. We’ve handled worse.”

She nods, but her eyes are fixed on the scene in front of us, worry etched into her features. “I know. It’s just… it’s hard to see everything like this.”

I yank my sweat pants up and step forward, wading barefoot into Granny Sloane’s garden, the water frigid, scanning the street for any immediate dangers. Rain pelts my face, the wind tugging at my sweater, the wet and chill seeping through despite the layers, while the sky churns overhead. The devastation is extensive, and there’s so much to do.

Tension snakes through my body, coiling tighter. There will be so many people who need help, so much damage from the wind, rain and storm surges. The flooded road stretches out like a challenge, a terrible reminder of the countless tasks ahead.

My mind races, thoughts spiraling as I think of the people out there, trapped in their homes, needing assistance. Joe Heart flashes through my mind—I need to check on him, make sure he’s safe at the evacuation center. The lines of muscle in my shoulders tighten, a tension headache coming on, but I know there’s no choice but to push through it. People are depending on me.

Sensing her presence rather than seeing her, Emmy moves to stand just behind me. There’s the strongest tug toward her, a part of me that wants to take her to my room and bury myself inside her, to block everyone and everything else out.

“Patrick, look.” Nora is standing knee-deep in water to my left, pajama pants soaked through, pointing at Mom’s house. The sandbags across the front door have given way, water pouring inside. A surge of adrenaline hits me, all other thoughts gone.

“We need to shore it up, now!”

My voice cuts through the wind and we all move fast, wading through the water to Mom’s house. The whip of the wind drags at us, rain unrelenting against our faces. We go around the felled tree, up the submerged stairs, across the porch.

Water swirls around my ankles as I reach the precarious sandbag barrier. Bending down to adjust the bags already in place. Water continues to seep through the cracks: Mom’s house will already be flooded.

Nora and Emmy stand next to me, their hands working furiously alongside mine. The extra bags are heavy, waterlogged, but we shift and stack them with a sense of urgency.

“Keep going! We’re almost there.” My muscles strain with effort. “Liam, do something!”

My brother’s staring out at the flooded street like an idiot, but he spins and helps me shift one of the extra bags into place. Finally, we’ve reinforced the front door, the sandbags piled high and tight. The water is still pressing against it, but it’s holding for now.

Mom steps forward and opens the door. There are several inches of filthy water covering the floor, soaking into her furniture, her rugs, lapping around the sculptures we moved inside. Her hand goes to her mouth again, and Emmy is right beside her, one hand on Mom’s shoulder, telling her it will all be okay.

I reach out and give Mom’s hand a quick squeeze. She worked so hard for everything she has, extra shifts, giving up so much, her body suffering from the physical work. Her blood, her tears, are in every eclectic cushion, each piece of furniture saved for and lovingly picked out.

Heading inside, I check all the doors. The other sandbags seem to have held, and there’s no leak in the roof. Now it’s just a matter of waiting for the water to recede and starting the clean up. But there’s no time to rest. The two-way radio on my belt crackles to life.

“Chief, do you copy?”

I pull the radio from my belt, press the button to respond. “O’Connor here. Go ahead. ”

“We’ve got a situation on Elm Street. We’ve got reports of someone trapped in their car.”

“Copy that. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The radio’s back on my belt.

Emmy catches my eye, and I can see the unspoken question in her gaze, the longing she’s trying so hard to hide. She wants to reach for me, I can feel it, to kiss me before I leave, like she would if she was my girlfriend. The intensity of her need mirrors my own, and it terrifies me.

I’m torn between the responsibilities that define my life and the growing pull toward her, the hurricane a stark reminder of how little room there is for anything other than work. My life is a tightrope, every step carefully measured, with no space to stumble, no space to fall. And Emmy... she makes me want to leap, to throw my hands in the air and just let go.

She’s everything I didn’t know I needed. The life I’ve built, the walls I’ve constructed to keep everything in order… maybe they need some give?

Wind sheets around us, and her eyes soften. The urge to just say fuck it and reach out, pull her into my arms, claim her as my own in front of everyone is almost overpowering. But I can’t. Not when we promised to keep this secret, agreeing that it was just fun.

Nothing serious.

But that space I need to make for her? That rope that needs me to loosen my grip just a little? It’s been made, it’s been loosened. There’s no way I couldn’t, not when it comes to Emmy. There’s a feeling of forces much greater than myself at play.

I stand there like an idiot for a few moments longer before shaking my head. “Sorry guys, I’ve got to go. More trouble. Someone’s trapped on Elm Street.” A glance at the dirty water soaking through Mom’s house. “Nora, Liam, keep an eye on the sandbags here. Make sure no more water gets in. Emmy and Mom, can you stay with Granny Sloane?”

They nod, and I glance at my car, water almost to the top of the tires. Heading back inside, I pull on a pair of waders and throw my currently useless cell phone, the keys to the station, as well as an emergency assistance kit, into a waterproof backpack. Elm Street is only ten minutes’ walk away.

I pass Emmy in the hallway on the way out, and the look she gives me, like she really cares about what might happen to me out there, like she just wants to throw her arms around me, could split me right in two.

But Mom is just a few feet from us, and there’s no place for anything other than a nod before stepping outside. People are counting on me, and I won’t let them down. But I’ll be back soon, Emmy.