by Addison Fox
“Know about what?”
“The cancer. How bad it was. She made me promise. She knew you and Cole were having problems, and we were both sad about the baby, and she swore she didn’t want to add to it.”
“Dad—”
He cut her off before she could continue. “I told Marcy it was wrong. Told her you had a right to be here. To see her. But she made me promise.” Fresh tears clouded his eyes, but his gaze remained steady on hers. “If I could change it, I would. You had a right to know and a right to decide if you should be here. We were wrong to keep that from you.”
The flash of anger that heated her at her mother’s decision faded, fizzling out as if it had never been. “Thank you.”
Of course her mother had known. They’d always been open, talking freely to each other, and Emma had gone increasingly quiet as things with Cole got worse, too wrapped up in her own life and worsening circumstances.
God, how much time had she wasted? And what had she lost by shutting her parents out?
Yes, her marriage had gone bad. It wasn’t the end of the world, nor did it need to be. How much more was she going to lose before she stopped looking for outside validation? Her marriage hadn’t provided it. Neither had her father’s approval. Even the push for the Unity seemed hollow somehow.
Yes, she wanted her legacy, but would it really be that bad to share it? To open up and partner with another? She’d allowed stubborn pride—and worse, a deep-down fear that he would ultimately walk away, like Cole—to push Nick away.
Peter patted her hand, his voice gruff as he interrupted her thoughts. “I like your young man. He’s not one of them metrosexuals like Cole was.”
“You know that word?”
“I know lots of things. I watch TV.”
She laughed at that, a small idea sparking. “Maybe we could get a treadmill you can walk on while you get all that modern education.”
“I don’t need—” Her father stopped, a longing gaze flicking to the trash can. “Maybe that’d be okay.”
“And maybe if you use it, we can make a standing date for a donut and coffee on Friday mornings.”
“That’d be nice.”
She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “We’ll get through this.”
“Yeah.” He laid a hand on her cheek. “You still haven’t said anything about your young man.”
She pulled back, her hands fiddling over his blankets. Straightening them. “There’s nothing to say. And I’m not sure he’s my young man.”
“Pretty damn sure he is. He’s been in here every day. Won’t talk about you at all, but keeps checking on me. Since he doesn’t know me from Adam, I figure those visits are about you.”
“He’s been here?”
“Every morning.”
“What do you talk about?”
“Investments. The neighborhood. Some new development projects. He’s got his eye on things and wants to see the neighborhood continue to grow.”
Emma took a moment to digest the news that Nick had been coming around. She hadn’t heard from him, yet he’d still taken the time to see her father. To check on him, and engage him in discussion.
“He did mention he hasn’t seen you.”
“We’re not . . . I mean . . . we haven’t . . .” She stopped, shook her head. “I haven’t seen him.”
“You gonna fix that?”
Emma eyed her father. “You going to go down and do the required therapy today? I’ll come with you.”
“I believe I will.”
“Then I believe I’ll go see Nick once you’re done.”
Nick pulled the stick for a few Unity lagers, the order a strange sort of torture. Not like he didn’t need to get used to it, especially since he was one of the moron independents who’d bought into the summer marketing packages he was so damned proud of. Large posters lined the walls and stacks of coasters lined the bar, and he’d been pulling fucking lagers like the beer was going out of style for the better part of a week now.
“Nick!”
Hector’s shout pulled him out of his funk over the beers, and he turned to the door. When Hec only waved an arm, Nick nodded. He passed over his order, then headed for the entrance.
He’d barely cleared the front door when he caught sight of the problem.
Zach the asshole had come back for more.
“I don’t want your business.”
The man staggered, his fist waving as he walked closer. “Try and stop me. You can’t keep me out.”
“Actually, as this is a private establishment, I can and will stop you.”
Zach popped off a light shove before dancing back out of the way. Nick held his ground, the shove not even shifting his center of gravity. He had no interest in a fight with an addict—hell, with anyone—but he’d be damned if he was going to keep dealing with this. “You’ve clearly got a problem with me.”
“You’ve got the problem. Kicking me out of here. Interfering with my woman. Hell, then you show up when I’m trying to have a night out.”
“You need help.”
“Awfully self-righteous for a man who sells booze.”
“I sell liquor responsibly.”
“That’s like my dope dealer only giving me a packet at a time.”
“Who’s your dealer?” Nick purred the question, finally closing in on the opportunity to deal with whoever was higher up, supplying the neighborhood addicts.
“You think I’m going to rat, too?”
Nick eyed Hector over Zach’s head, Hec’s subtle nod all he needed. “It’s just you and me. You afraid to talk to me?”
Emma walked the last few blocks to the End Zone, her steps light as she skipped over the sidewalk. She had to get to Nick. She had thoughts and ideas and plans, all of which formed as she helped her father through his therapy session.
Thoughts about their future.
Ideas of how to integrate their two ways of working.
And plans on how to tell him she loved him.
The physical therapy work was slow going, but both their attitudes were better, and she’d seen real progress after resettling her father in his room. He’d tried, and that meant the world to her. It also provided a glimmer, no matter how small, that maybe she could get him back on track with his life.
Best of all, he’d listened to her as she’d shared a few of her ideas, outlining where Nick could fit in. Peter had added a few suggestions, making her partnership proposal stronger, before sending her from the rehab center.
Straight to Nick.
Would he be interested? A few hours ago she’d have doubted it, but the news that Nick had come to spend some time each day with her father had given her fresh confidence that he wasn’t as unaffected by their relationship as she feared.
More, it gave her hope that he might be willing to hear her out.
She had two proposals for him—one business, one personal—and her mind darted back and forth between them on the walk over. Where to start? Bury the lede or go for the gusto?
His street corner was up ahead, and Emma picked up speed, racing past the squat, corner building that was the End Zone. Frosted-glass windows kept her from seeing inside, but the laughter and noise could be heard on the street, spilling from the building in a welcoming rush.
How would she tell him?
Order a beer? Get Patty in on the act? Or no, maybe she could find Hector, get him to send Nick to his office—
Her thoughts vanished as she walked straight into a wild punch, the world around her going hazy and dark.
“Son of a fucking bitch!”
Nick screamed the words, the blur of motion before him quickly reassembling into light and shape and color as Emma staggered backward from the force of Zach’s fist.
He raced for her, stumbling over a still-reeling Zach, as Hector stepped in to grab her. His friend’s quick thinking had her steady and her body never hit the ground, but it was the high-pitched, animalistic sound that exploded from his throat that had Ni
ck whirling toward Zach.
“What is wrong with you?” He stalked toward Zach, anger forming a haze that confused as much as it clarified. He’d sworn he wouldn’t fight the guy, but that was before he had any idea Emma would once again be on the receiving end of the jerk’s brutality. He’d hurt her, and on the heels of what he’d done to his own girlfriend.
“Nick!”
Nick had Zach by the front of his shirt, his fist hard as he dragged the man forward. The skinny frame reinforced Zach’s addiction, but even knowing that, Nick couldn’t quite hold back.
Couldn’t stop the rage and anger. Or the horrible memories that overlaid his father’s face on top of Zach’s.
He’d escaped this. Had gone on to a better life. Yet no matter how far he tried to get away, it stalked him. Haunted him. And proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, there was nowhere he could run.
“Nick.” Emma’s voice broke through moments before her hands were on his forearm, tugging and pulling at him to let go. “Nick!”
Zach struggled under his grip, but some of the fury ebbed out of him. Was he aware he was beaten? Or had he simply lost the drive to fight anymore?
“Nick! Don’t do this!” Emma called to him once more, her gaze searching as she pleaded with him to step away.
But it was the defeat in Zach’s eyes that had Nick finally loosening his grip.
“I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry.” Zach held up his hands, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“You need help.”
“I’m sorry.”
Hector moved between them, the vice cop they’d made arrangements with earlier joining the mix. Detective Cade Rossi had been assigned undercover work in the area, and, knowing Nick had dealt with a few problems, had agreed to stay close for a few weeks. He gave Nick a smart salute before reading Zach his rights.
“Nick! Are you alright?” Emma was all over him, her hands rubbing up and down his arms, her gaze searching his.
“Me? I’m fine. It’s you—”
She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around him as her lips met his. The shock of the past few minutes, coupled with how desperately he missed her, coalesced into a hard ball of need deep in his gut. He wrapped his arms around her, his mouth a hard slash against hers as he tried desperately to reassure himself that it was really her.
And she was here.
“Are you okay?” He brushed his fingertip over the corner of her eye, where the skin was already growing red from the punch.
“I’m fine.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Oh, you know. My usual. Walking into drunks again.”
He pressed his lips to the bruised flesh, heat already forming beneath the skin. “That’s going to leave a mark.”
“That’s good. I was starting to miss having a bright-yellow-and-green bruise covering half my face.”
“Smartass.” Nick pulled her close once more, and buried his head in the curve of her neck. “I couldn’t believe it was you standing there.”
“Nick—”
He stilled, his face still buried in that warm, wonderful scent that was uniquely Emma. “What were you doing standing there?”
“I need to talk to you. About everything. I need to tell you my plans.”
She reached for his hands and pulled him toward the small bench he kept out front. Sitting down next to her, Nick almost laughed at their familiar position. They’d sat here once before, but he didn’t know her then. Not the real her. The bright, vibrant woman who had captured him, body and soul.
“I have a proposition for you. About the Unity.”
Nick stilled his thoughts. He wanted to kiss her and talk about forever, and she still wanted to talk about the damn brewery? “I don’t care about that anymore.”
“I think you do. And I think you might like my idea.”
“Emma. I don’t care.” When she tried to go back to her point, he lifted a finger and pressed it to her lips. “I don’t care. I don’t want the Unity. I’ve decided my investments need to go in a different direction.”
She kissed the pad of his index finger, adding a quick nip to make her point. “I know you don’t care. And I believe you when you say you can walk away. But there’s something you need to know.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s taken me a while, but I finally understand I’ve been focused on the wrong things. Getting my degree. Leaving Chicago and coming home. Fighting with my father. I thought they were the answers, but they weren’t. That’s why I kept stubbornly fighting for the Unity, even when things felt so right, so easy, with you.”
She gazed up at him, emotion reflecting back at him in rich, sweeping waves. “I thought I had the answers, but I didn’t. It turns out they were just the path.”
“The path to what?”
“To you.”
The misery that had kept him steady company since the day he left her standing in her father’s hospital room slowly began to ease.
“To you, Nick. It turns out that while I thought I was going back to my roots, it’s my roots that brought me to you. That’s what I fought so hard for. Why I couldn’t quite let go. Because if I let go, the shining mirage that brought me home might vanish, and then I’d be alone again.”
“You’ll never be alone.”
“I know that now. And I also know I don’t need the Unity to be safe. To be happy. Or to understand who I am. I just need you.”
He leaned in to kiss her again, stopping just shy of her lips. “Does this mean neither of us wants the Unity anymore?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
He held back, his smile meeting hers. “Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.” She closed the distance between them, her mouth finding his, and Nick knew he’d been given the greatest gift.
He’d found Emma. But he’d also found a new purpose. A new dream. Like the day he’d discovered his brothers on the soccer field. The day Mama Lou had dropped her dry cleaning. The day Chili Samuels had ordered him over to the bar. On those days, and so many others, he’d forged a life.
But none of it had made sense until Emma had walked back in.
In time, he’d tell her about his ideas. The things he’d been mulling over with Tommy, and the business plans he’d bounced off her father. He’d tell her all of them. But for now, he needed to know if that was the only reason she’d come back. “Is that all you came to tell me?”
“No. There were two things.”
“Was the second thing that you loved me?”
Her mouth dropped open, and he leaned in and captured that sweet little O in a hard kiss. “Because I love you. And I figured I had about twenty-four hours left in me before I was going to break down and come tell you.”
“Waiting me out, Kelley?”
“Doing my level best. But since you’re as stubborn as your father, I figured I’d be the one breaking down.”
“What do I get for going first?”
He wrapped her hands in his, interlocking their fingers. “The same thing I do. Forever.”
“You willing to put that in writing? You know, since you’re now in training to be a big businessman around town?”
“I can do that.” Nick leaned closer, his lips brushing hers. “But I’d rather show you.”
Epilogue
The first bottle of pumpkin ale came off the line to a lot of whooping and hollering. Like soldiers, dark brown bottles with vivid orange wrappers marched down the bottling line. Emma watched their progress, the light tinkling of glass where the bottles rattled against their confines sweet music to her ears.
Almost as sweet as the husky voice that floated along the shell of her ear while big, strong arms wrapped around her waist. “Your first official creation as brewmaster looks mighty fine.”
“Don’t you mean our creation?”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Nick spun her around, his bright blue eyes full of the promise and passion she’d come to love.
“I think ours is appropriate. It was the result of our continued arguments over just how sweet to make our chocolate stout, which even now still sits mournfully in the development stage.”
“Chocolate should be sweet.”
“And beer shouldn’t be.”
And so went the same argument they’d been having for the past three months. One of many, actually. They battled over the product they brewed. They battled over their expansion plans for the Unity. They even battled over holiday marketing plans.
If Emma had assumed running the Unity together would be easier because she and Nick had fallen in love, the past summer had disproved that notion. And she’d quickly found she wouldn’t want it any other way.
One of their line foremen rolled out a keg, its contents a match for what was running through the bottling line. In moments, he had a tap run and was filling glasses with the new brew.
“You should have the first glass.” Nick’s arm stayed around her, his hold casual but firm. She loved that. Loved how his hold was protective and possessive, all at the same time.
Emma pointed toward the front of the line, where Peter stood, eagerly awaiting a glass. “I’d like my father to have it.”
Nick nodded, his smile bright. “Of course.”
In moments, glasses were filled and raised all around. Several people had already snuck a few sips, but it was her father’s glass that was raised the highest. “Toast!”
The room quieted, waiting while Emma and Nick made their way to the front, at Peter’s urging. When they were finally beside him, Emma felt a deep wellspring of gratitude at the change that had come over her father. In addition to the weight he’d lost after the surgery, color once again filled his cheeks, the gray pallor long gone. He still missed her mother, and his fondness for donuts still often overrode his common sense, but he was healing.
And for the first time in a long time, more hope than bluster filled his voice.
“What’s this about?” Emma asked, taking her place beside her father.
“I’d like to make a toast.”
The cavernous room was large, but sound carried, and her father had never struggled with projecting. The team quieted as Peter lifted his glass. “To my daughter and my soon-to-be son-in-law.”