And maybe it wouldn’t be cause for panic, except any other time, we can’t get him to stop talking.
A slight pang slices through my sternum when I think about the pair they remind me of, but I stuff it down deep, unwilling to be the one to sour the party tonight.
Besides, I’m used to being haunted.
And it’s always the eyes.
Blowing out a breath, I drag a hand through my hair. “Great, I think he’s broken.”
Isa shoots me a dirty look, reaching down to pull Charlie into her arms. “You can’t talk about toddlers like that, Linc. Jesus.”
“What? What did I say?” I reach out, smoothing my thumb over his soft forehead, trying to assess the area around the site. “If he’s concussed, technically that would make him broken.”
“No, it’d make him concussed.” She turns away, heading up the front walk to my mother’s house, taking the porch steps two at a time. “God, I can totally tell you spend eighty percent of your time talking to fish.”
“Lobsters,” I grunt.
I follow her into the house, her dark curls bouncing against her back as she heads into the kitchen where Alex and my mother stand behind the stove, cooking together.
If you’d have told me two years ago that the brazen Italian cop would eventually become one of my closest friends, I’d have spit in your face.
It certainly wasn’t anything I intended; in fact, the day Morgan told me she was staying on the island, I silently rejoiced at the prospect of not having to watch him pine over her anymore. A few weeks after she moved into my cabin permanently, though, I could tell the pace at which her entire life was changing had become overwhelming.
So, against my better judgment, I proposed Alex take her for an impromptu night on the town—not our town, obviously, since it would’ve been over at Petey’s, but in Portland.
My only rule was that he not let her out of his sight.
He’d one-upped me, documenting their time together by sending me pictures through the night; at the comedy show they attended, then again when they stopped for drinks at the Four Seasons, and finally on the ferry ride home.
She looked free again, as if she’d just needed a break from all the changes. And when he dropped her back off to me, I invited him in for some of my father’s best scotch.
We settled into silence, sipping from our glasses, until I flipped on the television and the highlights from a Patriots game came on. I cocked an eyebrow, daring him to protest, but his eyes had been glued to the screen.
Now, we watch every game together.
Isa plops Charlie down on the counter, running the faucet and sticking a rag beneath it. She wrings it out, pressing the fabric against the toddler’s forehead, and my mother turns from her pasta dough with a horrified expression on her face.
“Good Lord,” she says, dusting flour off on her pants and rushing over. She smooths a hand over Charlie’s head, streaking his hair with white. “We left him with you two for ten minutes.”
“Don’t look at me,” Isa says, holding a palm up, then pointing at me. “Lincoln’s the one who said he was old enough to use the tire swing.”
I frown. “I didn’t say to put him on by himself.”
She opens her mouth for a retort, but then we hear the front door open, two deep voices bouncing off the walls as Paul Jensen and Jordan Thomas make their way inside.
There’s a foil-wrapped package tucked under Paul’s arm, deer meat for the jerky Alex is going to help him make later, and a six-pack in the other.
Jordan’s wearing the foam head of the lobster costume my mother bought for him; it matches the fisherman outfit she found at a Halloween boutique in Portland, a couple’s theme if I ever saw one.
I just wonder if she thinks none of us knows.
Not that I’m particularly eager to ask; I don’t really need to know who my business partner’s sleeping with.
Especially when it’s my mother warming his bed.
The two men set their belongings down on a table in the corner, glancing around at the Gothic decor my mother set out. True to form, she refuses to let what happened two years ago deter her from celebrating the holiday in my dad’s honor.
Only now it’s a much more intimate affair.
“Whoa,” Jordan says, gripping my shoulder in his hand. “What’d we miss?”
“Can babies get concussions?” Isa asks, letting my mother sweep Charlie into her arms.
“I think anyone can get a concussion,” Alex answers, stirring something in a stockpot. “Are his eyes shifty?”
My mother frowns, gripping Charlie’s chin as she tries to look into his eyes. “He’s a toddler, dear. They’re always shifty.”
“How hard did he hit the ground?” Alex turns off the burner, walking over to inspect the damage. He squints at the bruise, pursing his lips.
“I don’t know,” Isa says, chewing on her bottom lip. “Medium hard? But he didn’t really react at all, so…”
Alex bends down so he’s eye level with Charlie. “Where’s it hurt, bud?”
As if working on some sort of delayed timer, Charlie’s eyes crinkle at the corners, big, fat tears pooling behind his lids. He points to his forehead, choking on a sob.
To my surprise, Alex reaches out, taking him from my mother as the cries explode, pushing him up on his shoulder as he moves away from the crowd.
He moves into the corner of the room, speaking softly in the toddler’s ear even as his screams become deafening, patting Charlie’s back until he starts to hiccup instead.
“Wizard,” my mother whispers, smirking as she goes back to flattening her dough.
“You some sort of baby whisperer?” I raise an eyebrow, taking the beer that Paul silently hands me.
Alex shakes his head, chuckling. “Something like that.”
The kitchen settles down a bit after that, and I move off to the side with Paul, who reaches into his pants pocket, pulling out a little black box.
I press my lips together. “Uh… I hate to break it to you, Jensen, but I’m kind of already in a relationship with your daughter.”
He guffaws, rolling his eyes, and it sends a spark of warmth through my chest to see him so fucking happy. His own relationship with Morgan is strained, something they’ve been working at over the last two years, but I can tell they’re both happier because of it.
It’s amazing how much changes when you find the pieces of you that’ve been missing for so long. Even more when you didn’t know you were missing anything in the first place.
And if she’s not in a place where she’s ready to repair the one with her adoptive parents, whom I have only met once, then I’m glad she at least can have this. Whatever it is.
It’s better than nothing.
I take the box from Paul, turning it in my fingers before pushing the top open, revealing a stunning silver ring with a massive, pale-blue gemstone in the middle.
“Just like her eyes.” I swallow, my chest burning with emotion.
“It was her mom’s.” Paul smiles down at the ring, tears rimming his lids. “I know you said you wanted to get her something new when you asked, but I found that last week when I was cleaning out the attic, and figured…”
He cuts off, clearing his throat, and shrugs.
I grin. “You did good, old man.”
“Where is Morgan, anyway?” Isa asks, squealing into her beer when she sees the ring. “Oh, my God! That’s freaking gorgeous. She’s gonna die when she sees it.” Grimacing, she squints up at me. “Sorry, poor choice of words.”
Isa and Morgan picked up right where they left off twenty years ago, the two falling into old patterns, their friendship blossoming as if it never paused in the first place. It’s hard to find fault in her when I know she brings my girl as much happiness as she does, so I ignore her comment and try not to let her excitement make me nervous.
I’m almost positive Morgan will say yes when I ask her to marry me, but that isn’t stopping the sweat from lacing my pa
lms or calming the erratic thumping of my heart.
A few seconds later, Daisy comes traipsing down the stairs, her hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head. She stops short when she sees Alex in the corner, rocking her son, and her face hardens, brows drawing in.
“What the hell, Lincoln?” she snaps, folding her arms against her chest. The air in the room stills, eggshells appearing beneath our feet the way they always do around my sister these days.
My mother always says that anger is sadness’ stepsibling, and Daisy’s channeling her personal grief into being insufferable. She’s a ticking time bomb, and we’re all stuck waiting for the inevitable explosion.
“I ask you to watch Charlie for half an hour, and he already has a bruise, and has been passed off to a near stranger?”
She stomps over, ripping the toddler from Alex’s arms; for some reason, he just stares at her as she gives him the stink eye, completely unbothered by her sour attitude.
“I’m not really a stranger anymore, tesorina,” he grumbles, and she rolls her eyes, turning away to face me.
I narrow my gaze at him, wondering what the fuck that was about, but I don’t have time to dwell because Daisy’s snapping again.
“I hope you’re better at consoling your catatonic girlfriend than you are my child,” she hisses, setting Charlie on her hip.
The room falls so silent, you could hear a pin drop. My face heats, a lump forming in my throat, making it hard to breathe.
“What are you talking about?”
Daisy shrugs. “She’s been upstairs freaking out for the last half hour. I don’t know what her deal is.”
I glance around the room, and everyone’s looking back with subdued expressions. “What?” I say, unable to form anything but monosyllabic words, panic seizing my gut.
“You’d better go talk to your girl.” My mother nods at the stairs.
My heart battering against my ribs, I shove the ring in my pocket, turning and booking it up them, pushing open the door to my sister’s bedroom with all of my body weight.
I stumble inside, finding Morgan propped up in bed, Monet’s head resting on her stomach. She’s staring at the wall, petting him absently, and the scene makes my muscles clench tight, fear threading through me.
“Hey, killer,” I start, shutting the door softly behind me. “You okay?”
She licks her lips, swiveling those glacial blues to my face. “Uh… not really, no.”
I walk over, perching on the edge of the bed, putting my palm on her knee. “Want to talk about it?”
A strained laugh tumbles from her mouth, and she shrugs. “How do you feel about kids?”
My face scrunches up. “They’re noisy, sticky, and very fragile. My cabin isn’t exactly equipped for additions, either.”
“Oh.” She huffs, pushing into a sitting position. “Well, that’s just great, Lincoln. What am I supposed to do, then?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if I get pregnant, you… you...” She exhales, exasperation coloring her face, throwing her hands up in the air. “You ignoramus.”
My eyes widen, and a snort tears from my chest. “Yikes. We need to work on your insults.”
Her hand finds a pillow, and she chucks it at my head; I deflect the attack, laughing, and scoot over, pulling her into my arms.
“Are you trying to tell me something?” I ask, my hand dropping down, palm splaying across her stomach.
She tenses, eyes going wide. “Oh, god, no. I’m just… thinking out loud here.”
“So, panicking.”
After she resigned in Portland, Morgan spent the majority of her time here working on herself and following the Fate Reaper’s trial. When it continued to be postponed, she decided she missed the thrill of being a detective and went down to the precinct to see if Stoll had a spot for her.
He put up a good front, but the rumor around town is that he was actually hoping she’d join his squad.
Not that I give much thought to rumors.
If I do, then I’m forced to take a look at the ones I ignored for years. And when I do that, my guilt becomes all-consuming, necrotizing my heart from the inside out.
Because no matter what I’ve gained in the time since, I can’t forget all I’ve lost.
But damn, if this woman doesn’t make it a little easier.
“It’s just… I’m starting this new job, and all of these people are gonna remember me as the girl who encroached on their territory, and… put their friend behind bars.”
She winces, her fingers tracing along the tattoos on my forearm. “They already don’t like me, what if something happens, like I get pregnant, and they resent me even more because I have to take a leave of absence, or fuck up a case because I’m too busy worrying about my kid?”
“Do you even want kids?”
“I…” She sighs, dragging her hands over her face. “I don’t know. I’ve never even thought about it.” Peering up at me through her lashes, she purses her lips. “Do you?”
“I wouldn’t mind popping one out of you.”
“Ew.” She scrunches up her nose.
“But if you told me you never wanted any at all? I’d be okay with that, too. I just got you back, sweetheart. The less I have to share you, the better.”
She hums, considering this. “Accidents happen, though. And what if I decide I do want them someday?”
“Then you’ll have as many as you want. Stoll can take his complaints up with the state labor department.”
I press a kiss to her temple, sliding my hand up over her heart. “Regardless, there isn’t anything you can do to fuck up the job. Outside of kids, any number of things could go wrong. But Stoll offered you the position because he knows you can do it. Probably solve cases in circles around his other detectives. What’s he gonna do, fire the girl who helped take down the town’s most prolific serial killer? You put Skelm Island on the national map, sweetheart. The press alone did wonders for business.”
Chewing on her lip, she stays quiet for a moment, and I know she’s thinking about last week’s verdict.
Guilty on all counts.
Swallowing, I push down the bubble of emotion welling in my chest—the same one that flares up every time I think about him, a mix of sadness and disgust that I struggle to let go of.
But I’m working on it. For now, it’s just something I live with, a constant stirring that reminds me of how quickly everything can change.
Morgan sighs. “If I ever want to make captain, I don’t want to be butting heads with him—”
“You won’t.” I tap her nose, dipping down to taste her lips. “I think Stoll might surprise you.”
“And you?” she asks, her voice pinched, as if she’s afraid of the answer. “You, the most stubborn man in the world, are willing to go along with anything now?”
I hum, reaching into my pocket, pulling out the black velvet box and twirling it in my hand. “I don’t know, killer. I think I might surprise you, too.”
Thank you for reading!
Thank you so much for reading Be Still My Heart! We hope you loved Lincoln and Sloane’s story and enjoyed your time on Skelm Island.
Please consider taking a second to leave a review!
Also By Emily McIntire
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The Never After Series
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Book Two (Title TBA) - January 2022
Also by Sav R. Miller
King’s Trace Antiheroes
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Sweet Solitude
Sweet Sacrifice
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Vipers & Virtuosos - December 2021
Acknowledgments
We’ll keep this short and sweet. This book wouldn’t be possible without:
Our families who support our p
rocrastination habits and love us through our daydreams. (Special shout out to Mary Ann, who came up with the title of Be Still My Heart, which made the idea come to life.)
Ellie and Rosa: Forever working on our deadlines and fixing our compound words.
Nicki and Jackie: The PA’s behind the scenes who keep things running smooth and remind us we actually have to write the book for people to read.
Our PR Team: Give Me Books, who make sure we actually have teasers made and tropes ready to go.
Cat: Who makes our vision come to life in a way that no other designer could, creating truly stunning covers.
Our Street Teams (The McInCult & Sav’s Sirens): Y’all already know.
Our ARC Teams: For reading, reviewing, and loving our work enough to want to help spread the word.
And to all of the readers: Without you, none of this possible. Thank you.
Emily McIntire
Emily McIntire is an Amazon Top 20 bestselling author of painful, messy, beautiful romance. She doesn’t like to box herself into one subgenre, but at the core of all her stories is soul deep love.
A long time songwriter and an avid reader, Emily has always had a passion for the written word, and when she’s not writing you can find her waiting on her long lost Hogwarts letter, chasing her crazy toddler, or lost between the pages of a good book.
EmilyMcIntire.com
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Sav R. Miller
Sav R. Miller is an international bestselling author of dark and contemporary romance.
She prefers the villains in most stories, and thinks everyone deserves happily-ever-after.
Currently, Sav lives in central Kentucky with two pups named Lord Byron and Poe. She loves sitcoms, silence, and sardonic humor.
Be Still My Heart: A Romantic Suspense Page 36