When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

42. Emmy

Chapter 42

Emmy

W e walk through the storm-damaged streets, the vestiges of Hurricane Karen still haunting Harbor’s Edge, neither of us speaking. Fallen trees and debris litter the sidewalks, but there are sections that have been cleared away, homes where the interior lights shine brightly.

There’s so much work to do to restore the quaint little town to its former glory, it’s hard to see how it will all be done in time for the Founder’s Day Festival. But there’s been some progress, which is better than nothing, a small step toward normalcy, and if Patrick thinks it’s going to happen, I believe him. It’s a glimmer of hope, a reminder that, bit by bit, we can rebuild.

As we approach the beach near the lighthouse where the bonfire party was held the night of the hurricane, the wind picks up, carrying the salty tang of the sea. Instead of heading for the beach, we walk right up to the lighthouse, its silhouette looming against the night sky. The bar beneath it is still closed, boards nailed over the windows.

Patrick motions to it. “The owners are still waiting for Federal assistance because they didn’t have flood damage insurance.” He fishes a key out of his pocket, glancing at me, before unlocking the door to the lighthouse. “One of the perks of being the fire chief.”

We climb the winding stairs in silence, the sound of the ocean somehow magnified within the circular walls, joining the rhythmic creaking of the stairs as our footsteps echo around us. We reach the top room, where the night sky stretches out in all directions through the wide windows, a dark blanket dotted with stars.

The distant lights of the town below twinkle like fireflies. Glancing out the window in the opposite direction, the beam of light from the lighthouse cuts through the darkness, a golden path highlighting the crests of waves.

Patrick sits against the wall behind the light and pats the floor next to him, and I take a seat, the stone cool beneath me. He opens the bottle of Applejack and shows me the label.

“It’s apple brandy, been made here in New Jersey for hundreds of years,” he says, taking a swig before passing the bottle to me. “Granny Sloane’s favorite.”

I take a tentative sip, the warmth of the Applejack spreading through me. The silence between us is less heavy, and his profile is softened by the glow of the lighthouse beam.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he admits, taking another long swig, his voice low and rough. “Yesterday... it shook me. I know we said this was just fun, and I was pretty clear I didn’t have time for a relationship, but I wasn’t prepared for how much you’d come to mean to me.”

He pauses, turns to look at me. Blues ticking over my face, like he’s trying to memorize every part of me. “I care about you, Emmy. The thought of losing you… well, I’m not prepared to accept that.”

My heart stutters, and that wild animal claws at me again, but I push it down. “How can you care about me? You don’t even know me, not really. I’m a mess. Trust me. I’m just going to hurt you and your family.”

He shakes his head, takes another drink. “I do care about you. And I want to know you. Every part of you. So I’m going to go first.”

Patrick looks out at the strip of sky visible in the windows opposite, long shadows across his face, so beautiful it’s impossible not to look at him. The salt of the sea mixes with the crisp, cool night air, me remaining perfectly still as I wait for him to keep talking.

“Do you remember that nightmare I have sometimes?” His eyes are still fixed on the black expanse of the horizon visible through the windows opposite.

“Yes,” I reply softly. “The one where you’re looking for her .”

He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “A couple of years after my dad died, my mom was working a double shift cleaning at the school, Granny Sloane had errands to run, and I was left in charge of the other kids. I was playing basketball with Liam in the driveway, and Riley wandered away when I wasn’t looking. She was just a toddler, and she was missing for hours.”

“You all must have been so worried.”

“The police came. Mom was home from work, crying, almost hysterical with worry. It was awful. They finally found her on the boardwalk near the pier. My mom was so mad at me, and understandably so.”

“That must have been scary for you,” I say. “Especially because you were just a kid yourself.”

He pauses, the memory clearly a heavy burden. “I’ll never forget what she said, how there’s no space for mistakes, and next time I drop the ball someone could wind up dead.” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.

The center of my chest fills with pain. “You were so young, Patrick,” I say gently. “She must have said that in the heat of the moment.”

He shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “She was right to be angry. Riley could have died or been kidnapped, or worse .” His voice wavers, and he swallows several times, the pain of that memory still raw, although it’s hard to know if Riley going missing or what his mom said to him cuts deeper.

I reach out, placing my hand on the firm of his arm, touching him properly for the first time since last night. “You were just a kid, Patrick. Have you ever spoken to your mom about it? It wasn’t your fault, I promise you.”

“But it feels like it was,” he says, “and I don’t need to speak to mom because I know now that she was right. I take my eyes off the ball, and someone ends up hurt.”

“Maybe one day you’ll be able to talk to her about this and realize the truth.” My hand squeezes his arm, but he doesn’t seem to hear me.

“The day Danny died, I was supposed to be working alongside him, but I took a day off to attend a fucking festival some girl invited me to. It was the first day off I’d had in ages, and Danny got himself killed in a house fire trying to rescue the family dog. If I’d been there, if I’d been at work, it never would have happened.”

His eyes finally meet mine, filled with a depth of sorrow and regret that no amount of platitudes from me could touch. I squeeze his arm once more, wanting so badly to take away his pain, to make him believe that he’s not to blame.

“Danny dying wasn’t your fault. It was a horrible accident but something totally out of your control. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. You’re an incredible man, Patrick. You’ve done so much good, taken on so much responsibility. But you don’t have to carry that guilt anymore. You deserve to be happy, too.”

He looks at me, his expression softening, and for a moment, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes. “Don’t you get it? You’re the bit of happiness I’m allowing myself. You’re it, Emmy.”

I lean in, resting my head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around me. “I’m a pretty poor consolation prize. There must be something you’ve always wanted to do if things in your life were different.”

He raises my hand to his mouth, the plump of his lips pressed gently against my skin. “You’re not the consolation prize, trust me. And things aren’t different.”

“But what would you do? Come on, pretend for me. You’ve got no one relying on you. You’re a free agent.”

He glances out the window again, his gaze growing distant. His voice when he speaks is low. “I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to go hiking. Like, not just a weekend camping trip, but a long walk with nothing but a backpack and the endless forest all around. The Pines are one of the few places where I really feel at peace.”

“We should do that one day,” I reply. “I’d go with you.”

He lets out a laugh, the sound bitter, rolling around the room and washing away the dream-like quality that had settled over us.

“I want to give you so much more, Emmy. I really do. But right now, things are hard for me. I have a lot of financial responsibilities. Not just for my own family, but also Danny’s dad. His life imploded because of me. When Danny died, his dad’s marriage crumbled, and he’s been battling lung cancer ever since, with no insurance. Paying his medical bills is the least I can do.”

“You’re paying his medical bills?”

“It’s why I have to take on the extra consulting work, why I’m always late coming home, why Mom thought we needed to hire a nurse to look after Granny Sloane.” He kisses the back of my hand again, quicker this time, his lips not lingering. “At least that was one good thing to come out of all of this. Meeting you.”

We sit there quietly, the sound of the waves crashing below us, and I know he’s waiting for me to open up. I reach for the Applejack and take another long drink.

There’s a long silence before I speak. “I hate that you saw them.” There’s a pull inside me, like I’m shrinking into myself, like my skin is closing tighter around me, pushing me down. I don’t want to open up. Every instinct tells me to retreat, to keep it all hidden. But I know I owe it to him. He’s bared his soul, and it’s only fair I do the same.

My entire body’s numb, which is the only way I’m going to be able to talk about this. “I hate that I let you get close enough to ask about them.”

He kisses the side of my head, not speaking, just waiting. Another swallow of apple brandy for the two of us, the bottle passing between us.

“It’s just... they’re a reminder of my darkest times. And letting you see them feels like I’m exposing the worst parts of myself.”

Patrick squeezes my hand. “We all have our scars. Some are just more visible than others.”

Taking a shaky breath. “Where do you want to start?”

“How about with your fiancé and your sister?”

I shrug, feeling the familiar ache in my chest. “Well, we were engaged, and he cheated. What Maddy did hurt a hell of a lot more than what Travis did. I’m not sure I was ever really in love with him, you know? He was perfect on paper, just the kind of guy my parents wanted me to end up with. They care a lot about status. But things with him were never like this. Like with us.”

Patrick looks at me, really looks at me, his denim eyes intense and searching. The soft glow of the lighthouse’s beam casts a gentle light across his strong, chiseled features. His jaw is set, a muscle twitching as he absorbs my words.

It’s hard not to reach out and touch his face. For a moment, I can see the depth of his emotions laid bare. He loves me. He really does. He squeezes my hand again, a gentle nod to continue, his gaze flicking ever so briefly to my thighs.

“You want to talk about everything ?” I’m suddenly so tired. Reaching for the Applejack, taking a long, burning swig, sliding my hand out of his and resting on my lap. “My sister and I used to compete in a lot of pageants when we were younger. Maddy was always winning, of course. She’s so pretty and just full of confidence. ”

“Just like you.”

A sideways glance before continuing. “My mom hired a talent coach for me because she figured I needed the help. Well, let’s just say the coach had different ideas than my mom about why he was hired.” I laugh, the sound automatic, making light of what I’m saying even though there’s nothing funny.

“He hurt you?”

I swallow hard. Hurt ? Is that the right word? My therapist called him a predator and said he deserved to be in jail. My mom said I was just difficult to work with and making it up for attention. Maybe the truth lies somewhere in between? I don’t even know anymore.

“I guess you could say that. It was a bad situation for a kid to be in, and I started cutting myself, just to feel something different, a way to let some of the pain out. My mom found out and made me go to a therapist. I still speak to her.”

I finally glance at him and see all the things I don’t want to see: pity, horror, anger. He reaches for my hand. “Emmy, I had no idea.”

“It’s nothing,” I say quickly, pulling my hand away, the familiar sensation of retreat, of walls shooting up, setting in. I’m depleted, exhausted. “It’s in the past. I don’t do it anymore. You don’t need to worry,”

He looks at me with such concern, but all I feel is exposed, like every layer of protection I’ve built around myself has been stripped away. I thought opening up would bring us closer, but instead, I feel like I need to get away, to escape the blue of his gaze that wants to look at every ugly part of me.

Kathy was wrong.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “But Emmy, it’s not nothing. You went through so much, and it matters.”

I nod, but the words barely register. What if he tells someone? Ruby or Granny Sloane? I shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have taken the risk. I need to get away, to find my footing again.

“I just… I need some air,” I mutter, standing up quickly. The small space of the lighthouse feels suffocating, and I need to get out.

Patrick stands too, looking torn. “Emmy, please don’t shut me out.”

I force a smile, one that doesn’t reach my eyes. “I’m not shutting you out. I just need a moment.”

“Wait.” His arm closes around mine, pulling me to him in a swift movement, the broad of his shoulders, his strong arms wrapping around me, his mouth closing on mine.

Part of me wants to get away, somewhere where the raw, ugly parts of me can go back into hiding, but the pull between us is magnetic. My body responds, leaning into his touch without conscious thought.

We’ve opened up to each other, but instead of feeling closer, the vulnerability is too much, and all I want is to find a way to feel safe again, to cut the pain out and scream it all away and keep my head down and not make a scene or be the center of attention, because I’m poison and I’ll just end up hurting everyone.

I want him. I want him so badly it physically hurts. But I don’t want him to see how weak I am, how pathetic I am, how trouble follows me everywhere.

The physical pull toward him matches the emotional one urging me to run, and I’m immobilized, the two opposing forces, one of retreat and protection, the other of vulnerability and connection, canceling one another out, keeping me in his embrace.