When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

31. Patrick

Chapter 31

Patrick

T he day races past in a whirlwind of activity. The aftermath of the storm is relentless, and my crew and the Valiant Hearts, including our volunteers, work non-stop, helping evacuate people from flooded homes, clearing debris, and trying to restore some semblance of order.

The flood zone is a mess of murky, knee-high water, every step like wading through thick syrup. The smell of damp and wet earth is everywhere. Furniture and debris float by, remnants of people’s lives scattered and waterlogged, while my waders are soaked through, squelching with every step, clothes underneath clinging to me, heavy and uncomfortable.

We maneuver through the water on boats, guiding families to safety, their expressions a mix of relief and despair. By mid-afternoon, my muscles ache, and exhaustion is gnawing at my bones, but there’s still a lot to do.

I’m out of the flood zone, having just evacuated a family from their home, when the sheriff comes over, the weight of his hand falling on my shoulder. “Patrick, you need to take a break. You’re no good to anyone if you collapse.”

I nod, knowing he’s right, even though the thought of stopping feels like a betrayal to everyone who still needs help. I’m close to the high school, so I head there, hoping to grab a bite to eat and check on Joe Heart—two birds with one stone.

Inside the gymnasium, people are huddled together, sharing stories, news updates and trying to find comfort in the chaos. One of the volunteers, a young woman with bright eyes and a friendly smile, offers me a sandwich and an apple.

She tries to engage me in conversation about how the ocean surge was more than six feet high in some places along New Jersey’s coast, but my mind is elsewhere, consumed by the endless list of tasks still needing attention.

“Thanks for this,” I mumble, taking the food and heading for Joe’s corner of the gymnasium. I spot him sitting on a cot with a blanket draped over his shoulders. The sight of him always makes the world seem a little darker, bad memories hitting me, building momentum and only receding when I manage to make my excuses and leave.

Sitting down next to him, he gives a tired smile. “Hey, Patrick. How’s it looking out there?”

“It’s a mess,” I admit, taking a bite of the sandwich. “It’ll be a few days at least before the waters recede. You’ll need to stay here at the high school for a while until the roads are clear.”

Joe nods stoically, his gaze distant. “I figured as much. It’s just… hard, you know? Being here, not knowing what happened to my house.”

“I know. And I went past your place earlier. It looks like the sandbags held and I didn’t see any obvious damage. Your house is holding up better than most. But it’s not safe for you to be there alone.”

The word alone trips me, thick on my lips like concrete. He holds his gaze on me, eyes that reflect many lifetimes’ worth of loss and hardship.

“Thanks. You’ve always been there for me, even when you didn’t have to be.”

His words punch through me. “It’s the least I can do,” I manage, my voice tight.

We sit in silence for a while, the noise of the shelter fading into the background. It’s almost impossible not to relive that day, the choices I made that led us right to this point in time.

After finishing my sandwich, I stand up, giving Joe’s shoulder a final squeeze. “Hang in there. We’ll get through this.”

He nods, his eyes weary but grateful. “You too. And… thank you.”

I wave him off and head back through the gymnasium, spotting Jake talking to a couple of our regular volunteers. But before I get to Jake, my cell rings. Glancing at the screen: Mom’s name.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Can you come to the gallery if you have time?” Her voice sounds like she’s holding back tears.

“I’ll be there soon,” I promise, even though I don’t really have time. There’s always more to do, more people to help, but family comes first.

I head for Jake again and pull him aside. “Mom needs me at the gallery. You can reach me on my phone now that the networks are back up. I’ll be on Main Street.”

Concern is etched on his face as his gaze roams mine. We’ve known each other for more than two decades, since we were kids in middle school. He gets it. “I hope your mom’s gallery is okay.”

“Thanks, mate.”

He gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before I head out. The rain is still coming down hard, and the water is knee high as I make my way through the streets. Moving as fast as I can, waders sloshing through the floodwaters. As I reach the intersection, Alex from the bakery paddles past in a canoe, heading in the same direction.

“Need a lift?” he calls out, paddling closer.

“Yeah, thanks,” I reply, before climbing into the canoe. “I owe you one. ”

“No problem,” Alex says, his face grim. “Main Street’s hit pretty bad.”

We paddle through the flooded streets, rain stinging my face, passing others on dinghies and kayaks. Inside some of the houses around us, the water damage will be extensive—walls stained, carpets ruined, personal belongings strewn about, while the town looks like a scene from a disaster movie, floating debris everywhere, people trying to salvage what they can.

When we finally reach Main Street, I jump out of the canoe, thank Alex for the lift, and wade through the water toward the gallery. To my left, the road in front of the businesses facing the harbor is completely submerged. On my right, the boardwalk and pier are gone, hidden beneath the garbage-strewn water, the harbor itself dark and furious beneath the overcast sky.

Then the gallery is in front of me, and the details stop me in my tracks. The damage is worse than I imagined. None of the sandbags held against the tidal surge, and the wind ripped the plywood right off the windows, the glass shattered. Damaging, dirty water has flooded the gallery, and the large sculpture Mom was so proud of is broken into countless pieces.

She’s standing inside, her shoulders slumped, staring at the destruction. Emmy is there too, comforting her, like she belongs in this messy family of mine.

“Mom!”

She looks up, her eyes red from crying. “Patrick, you’re here. There’s so much damage.”

I pull her into a hug, holding her tightly. “We’ll fix it.”

She nods against my chest. For so long it’s been her, Granny Sloane, and me getting our family through the hard times. But after Granny Sloane’s stroke and mom finally getting the chance to live her dream of owning a gallery, I’ve been the one to step up and be there for them all.

She’s sacrificed so much to get us kids through school and get to where she is now. Seeing the gallery damaged is a massive blow to both of us. I hate seeing her hurting like this.

Pulling back slightly, an arm still around her. “We’ll get through this together. You’re not alone.”

“I know, but it’s just so hard.”

Emmy steps closer, and for a moment, our eyes lock. The connection is instantaneous and intense, a jolt surging through me. The storm of her gaze, hazel depths pulling me in, and for a moment I’m drowning.

I have to close my eyes briefly, blinking to shut her out. It’s going to be harder than I thought it would be to keep what’s between us secret, especially when every fiber of my being reacts to her presence.

It’s as if all the atoms in the universe are conspiring, pushing us together with an irresistible force. Things bigger than either of us are in motion, aligning us in ways I can’t begin to understand.

When I open my eyes, I swear Mom is looking at us strangely. There’s a flicker of something in her gaze—concern, suspicion, maybe even hurt. The last thing she needs right now is to worry about me dropping the ball when she needs me most.

The weight of it all is heavy. The gallery is in ruins, the town damaged worse than we expected. Unexpected memories flood back—of Dad, of Danny, of that day with Riley… Hooked claws of guilt lock onto my back, ripping through flesh, getting right down to the ache in my bones.

Emmy’s presence is both a balm and a torment. She’s a beacon of light in the darkness, yet every time I look at her, react to her, I need to remind myself that whatever this is between us, it can’t impact my other responsibilities, even though I’m not prepared to let her go.

She is the bit of happiness I’m allowing myself, and I want her. I need her. I just need to be careful for both of us.

Because when I drop the ball, that’s when people get hurt, and I won’t let anyone I care about get hurt ever again. Including her .

“Patrick,” Mom’s voice breaks through my turbulent thoughts, bringing me back to the present. “Thank you for coming. I know how busy you and the boys must be.”

“I’ll always be there for you. You know that.”

She nods, but the worry lines on her face deepen. “I know.”

“There’s not much we can do until the storm waters recede.” I glance between the two of them. “Why don’t you both head home? See if Granny Sloane wants to evacuate. The high school still has power from the generators—she might have changed her mind about leaving. I’ll be home later tonight.”

As Mom nods, Emmy holds my gaze and I picture my hands on her, bruising and greedy, my mouth taking hers as my own. Her taste, the soft touch of her skin, the way she arches into me, needy and wanting. I can’t have these thoughts. Not now. Later .

“Is someone with Granny Sloane?” I ask.

“Stormy and Nora stayed with her,” Emmy says. “And Liam is helping Ethan with something.”

Helping . Yeah, right. If Ethan’s involved, I can almost guarantee it’s some kind of scheme to make money. I make a mental note to speak to Liam later today, if I have time, and the muscles in my chest tighten. “Alright, I’ll see you both later.”

Mom looks like she wants to say something but then stops. I wave to them both and turn away, heading down main street through the light rain and flood waters, taking in the damage to May’s bookstore, the bakery, and then the Tidal Tavern, and all the stores in between.

I stop and talk to people who’ve come out to see the damage, and check in with Blake at the Tavern, taking stock of the fallout. The roof terrace is destroyed, windows shattered, and waterlogged furniture lies in disarray. Blake’s eyes are tired, but she’s a trooper, already making plans for repairs.

After leaving her with promises to return with volunteers once the water recedes, I work all afternoon to clear debris, help more people evacuate, and coordinate with volunteers for the Valiant Hearts. There’s no sign of Liam or Ethan, of course.

The sight of waterlogged photo albums and children’s toys hits hard, a horrible reminder of the personal cost of this disaster. But there’s no choice other than to keep going. We work tirelessly, shuttling people and pets, along with a few salvaged possessions packed into small bags, to dry land. The air is thick with the musty smell of wet, and after hours in the water, the cold seeps right into my bones.

By the time I head home, the sky is black, and every bone in my body protests. Inside, the house is quiet—Mom asleep in Granny Sloane’s bed with her, while Nora, Liam, and Stormy are curled up on the sofa, fast asleep, Liam snoring lightly like he hasn’t got a care in the world.

A quick cold shower using the camping lantern to see what I’m doing, the icy water a poor remedy for my fatigue and the knots in my shoulders. I should go to bed, sleep so I’m ready for tomorrow, but my feet have a mind of their own, leading me straight to Emmy’s room, only a towel wrapped around my waist, the cold air nipping at my bare skin.

The need to see her, to hold her, is too strong to deny. As long as I can keep up with my other responsibilities, then I can allow myself some time with Emmy, no harm done. Right?