When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

34. Emmy

Chapter 34

Emmy

“ H ello? Is that you?”

It’s Maddy. I swallow hard. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Emmy, oh my God, I’m so glad to hear your voice. I’ve been so worried. You weren’t hurt in the hurricane, were you?” Her voice is thick, like she’s been crying, and she sounds slightly drunk even though it’s not even ten in the morning yet.

“I’m fine. What’s going on?” My heart is racing, preparing myself for whatever bad news she’s called to deliver, my eyes on the flooded garden outside the window, not really seeing it.

“I... I’m sorry about everything,” she hiccups, before coughing a little. “I called from Mom and Dad’s house because I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up if it was my number.”

“What?”

“About me and Travis. I’m calling to say sorry. About the whole big mess of it, and then you finding out.”

Just the mention of his name makes me feel sick, but before I can dwell on the cold pulsing through me, Maddy is talking again.

“God. And then I thought you’d die in the hurricane and we’d never know until someone came and notified us. Mom wouldn’t call. She said we’d be giving you the attention you’re trying to get by staying. But I had to call, had to hear your voice.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“I needed a little Dutch courage before I called.” She giggles.

Before I can sort out the tangle of my emotions and respond, there’s a click on the line and my mother’s voice comes through. “Hello? Is someone on the line? I need to make a call.”

“Mom, I’m here,” I say, my voice tight. One hand has balled into a hard fist.

“Emmy,” my mom says coolly. “Did you call to boast about how you survived the hurricane?”

My jaw clenches. “No, Mom. I didn’t call?—”

“Of course you didn’t,” she cuts in. “You’re too busy playing nurse or hero or however you’re presenting yourself these days in that backwater town. Honestly, Emmy, what are you thinking? When are you coming home?”

I almost tell her that Maddy called me, but something stops me. “I’m doing what I need to do. I have a patient here and a job to do. This family is relying on me.”

She scoffs. “Are you trying to tell me you’re helping people? You mean hiding from your responsibilities? You always were good at that.”

The familiar sting of her words slices through me, but I keep my voice steady. “I’m not hiding from anything.”

“You’re just running away, trying to divert attention to yourself when there are real people impacted by this tragedy. Did you know people lost their homes? Good God, I never expected to raise such a selfish child. I don’t know why I expected anything else from you. I feel sorry for that family you’re working for. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before you do something that hurts them.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and piercing. “I have to go, Mom. Take care.”

I hang up before she can say anything else, my hands shaking. The conversation leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and parts of my heart go numb just so I can take a breath. Sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone, wishing Maddy hadn’t called with her stupid drunk apology, wishing I hadn’t spoken to my mother. I don’t want to think about Maddy and what she did. I don’t want to listen to my mom.

Memories flood back, the betrayal feeling as raw as the day I walked in on them, Maddy tangled in bed with Travis. Maybe I can’t hate her, but her tearful, drunken apology feels like a cruel joke. It doesn’t erase the image burned into my mind, doesn’t soften the blow of losing everything, the humiliation of it all.

And Mom—her biting words echo in my head, and the urge to cut away the pain comes roaring back, stronger than ever. Bleeding out my deficiencies, letting it run out of me, down the drain, washed away until the water runs clear. I picture the small neat rows of scars, the white of their ridges contrasting with the tan of my skin.

I do the 5-4-3-2-1 technique, then breathe through the urge until it passes, repeating a mantra Kathy taught me: I am stronger than my urges. This moment will pass.

Soon I’m feeling more steady, and I remind myself that I don’t do that anymore, and Mom is wrong. Running away? Hiding from responsibilities? If only she could see how hard I’m trying to carve out a life for myself.

But maybe she’s right about one thing—the one thing I couldn’t stop if I tried: this nothing serious with Patrick is going to blow up and hurt all of the O’Connors if we’re not careful.

The sting of tears, blinking them away. I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I want to be strong. I want to be like Patrick, who shoulders his burdens with grace and strength. But right now, I just feel broken, like the numb pieces of my heart will never regain feeling, like I’ll never be good enough.

I take a deep breath and send a text to Kathy: “Can we schedule that phone session? I really need to talk. ”

I stare at the screen, feeling like I’m hanging on by a very thin, very fragile thread. A moment later, her response comes through, bringing a small amount of comfort.

“Of course, Emmy. I’m not at my desk, but let me come back to you with my availability. If you need to speak urgently, let me know.”

I send a reply: “It’s not urgent. Thank you.”

Setting the phone aside, I close my eyes, trying to find some peace. At least I’m taking steps to get through this, to find my footing again, even if it feels like I’m one mistake away from disaster.

Once I’ve pushed everything away, boxed it up and pulled myself together, I head out to Granny Sloane and we work through her exercises, a smile on my face that I hope she can’t see through.

The next few days pass slowly, the nights too quickly, as Patrick works all day and we reunite in bed once everyone else is asleep, him slipping out of my bed the next morning before the others wake up. I’m busy, but it’s never enough to fill the spaces when he’s gone. Kathy eventually gets back to me, and we schedule a call for next week.

I try to lose myself in work, in helping Granny Sloane, in the endless tasks of cleaning up and rebuilding, but wanting Patrick is always there. During the day, I catch glimpses of him working tirelessly with his crew or with the boys from the Valiant Hearts. But then he’s gone, swallowed up by the busyness of the storm’s aftermath.

When he finally comes to me, it’s like the world rights itself for a few precious hours. In the darkness, with his arms around me, his mouth on my body, the long conversations where we talk about everything and nothing, living in the moment, everything is okay.

But dawn always comes too soon, and he’s gone before the first light breaks, leaving me with a cold, empty space in the bed where he should be, a reminder of how fragile this all is, how easily it could implode in our faces. The fear of anyone finding out, of this delicate balance tipping into chaos, gnaws at me, ever since that call with my mom.

“I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before you do something that hurts them.”

The flood waters finally recede around the house four days after the hurricane, and we can walk down Granny Sloane’s street and see the full extent of the damage. The neighborhood is a landscape of mud and debris, with lawns turned to sludge and fallen trees blocking driveways. Broken windows and waterlogged furniture spill out onto the sidewalks. The air smells damp and musty, with an undertone of something rotting that never seems to go away.

Ruby’s house bore the brunt of the storm, the roof damaged, floors soaked, walls warped, and cherished belongings ruined. We start work on repairing the house, salvaging what we can, but it’s hard not to feel like I’m just going through the motions, my heart half here and half with him, wherever he is.

We finally make it to the vet, and Stormy has no microchip. We register him with the vet, leaving Granny Sloane’s new cell number, but we’re all secretly hoping that if there is an owner, he stays gone. Stormy feels like part of the family and Granny Sloane loves him.

The days continue to blur together, a relentless cycle of work and the intensity of our nights together. Sometimes I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, how much longer I can pretend that nothing is going on between us, caught between the urge to see him, and fear that Nora or Ruby or even Granny Sloane will find out, that I’ll lose my job and leave Harbor’s Edge ashamed, a scarlet letter pinned to my back.

But for now, I’ll take what I can get, savoring each dark, moon-lit moment with him.