Page 47 of Worth the Fall

Fuck.

“You don’t understand. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

“There’s this look she gets in her eyes. It’s like she’s perfectly fine. She’s funny and outgoing and God is she feisty . . . but every so often, there’s this sadness, this uncertainty that flashes in her eyes, and it fucks me up. I don’t know how to make it go away.”

“You always did want to save people.”

“Not that again.” I roll my shoulders and walk over to the bucket of ice on the porch and grab a new beer. I need it. This conversation is way more in-depth than I ever intended it to be.

“No. I’m serious. It bugs you because you want to fix it. You want to swoop in and take the pain away, but I’m sorry, that’s something for her to deal with. You can’t save her from something that happened twenty years ago.”

“I know . . .” I hang my head and resign myself to this bullshit feeling I have. When I look back up, I meet his eyes with more certainty than I feel. “How bad was it?”

The widening of his eyes tells me my question takes him by surprise. “That’s not for me to tell you, Grant.” He glances back to the house were Grayson and Grady shout inside at the game, and he gets a ghost of a smile on his face hearing my brothers. “I’ll tell you this, though. If it had been one of you, I would’ve stepped on the other side of the law.”

Our eyes hold, and I know he means it. For Chief Malone to even utter the statement, it had to have been bad. Worse than I thought. Worse than I could even stomach considering. He slowly rises from the step, his still-fit body moving a little slower these days, and pats me on the back.

“You’ve always liked Emmy. I’m not surprised all these years later that you still do.” He takes a few steps toward the screen door before turning back to look at me. “Tell me this. Is there any time you’ve been with her when she hasn’t gotten that look?”

“Yeah.” I laugh. “When she’s mad at me.” I think of the fire in her eyes when I left the other night. Her temper was hot, but it put color in her cheeks and made her spine stiffen some.

He smiles. “Seems fitting. She always did have a stubborn streak.”

“She sure did.”

“So how’d you leave things with her?”

“With her pissed off at me. She wants to be in control so she can keep her distance.”

“Kinda like you,” he muses and draws a quick glare from me that doesn’t faze him. “And let me guess, you let her know you were the one who was going to set the pace?”

“Damn straight.”

“Your mom would disagree with your line of thinking.”

“So, don’t tell her.”

“I won’t.” His laugh rings out, and I know my brothers have heard him so our time is limited. “You already have your answer how to handle her, Grant.”

“What?” I tip the bottle up again.

“Make her mad at you. It might be frustrating. It might not be pretty, but then again, matters of the heart never are.”

No one said anything about hearts.