Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)

by Adair, Marina

  “I need Mom,” she begged, and Roger’s face went into panic mode, as if trying to figure out how to gently remind his grown daughter that her mother was dead. She was gone and never coming back. “I need her so much right now and she’s not here.”

  “I need her every second of every day,” her dad whispered and Emerson held on tighter. “I thought it would get easier. I thought that maybe someday she would be simply a happy memory.”

  Emerson looked up to find that Roger was crying too. She’d never seen her dad cry. Not even at the funeral. “And?”

  “And then something amazing happens with one of you girls, or a hummingbird lands on the feeder, and I remember that she’s gone.” He cupped her face. “But then I remember that you’re here and she is such a huge part of you. I know I’m not your mom, and I know that you outgrew needing me a long time ago, or maybe I made it so that you couldn’t count on me, but I’m here now.”

  “I’ve been dating this mule-headed, stubborn, God-he’s-such-an-idiot man,” she admitted.

  Roger smiled. “Sounds like true love.”

  “It is, Dad,” she said miserably, burying her face in his chest. “And I am pretty sure he loves me too, but he’s a chicken and took a job as a beefcake and doesn’t want a long drawn-out ending so he left.”

  “Sounds like a certifiable asshat to me,” Roger said and Emerson laughed. She laughed so hard water started dripping from her eyes.

  His hand stroked her hair, just like her mom used to. “Oh, sweetie, don’t cry.”

  “I’m not a crier,” she sobbed into his Hawaiian shirt.

  “I know.” He delivered comforting little pats to her back. “You’re a tough girl, just like your mom.”

  She looked up through blurry eyes. “Mom cried all the time.”

  “Yet she was adamant that she wasn’t a crier.”

  A few days later, Emerson woke up to find she was not alone, but being watched.

  She rubbed her eyes and remembered she was on the couch—at her dad’s place. Her head throbbed, her lids were scratchy when she blinked, and that cold, empty feeling had settled in her bones. “What time is it?”

  “Almost eight,” Roger said.

  Emerson shot up, shaking her head to clear the sleep-induced fog. “Eight?” She never slept in that late. Actually she hadn’t slept at all since she’d heard that Dax had indeed left. He’d texted her to explain that he’d still come up for Street Eats and she’d texted him back one word.

  Crumbs.

  He’d texted back that he was sorry. And that had been that. And Emerson was working hard to move forward like he was obviously doing. But it didn’t mean that she didn’t feel the loss with every breath.

  She threw the blanket back and sat up. “I have to get Violet ready for school.”

  “Violet’s ready,” her sister said, plopping down on the cushion next to her. She was in a light green dress, pigtails with coordinating bows, and cute white flats—which couldn’t have taken a fairy tour of the yard this morning. She looked showered, school ready, and adorable.

  “Did you get dressed by yourself?”

  “Dad helped me pick out the dress and stuff,” she said, swinging her legs. “But I showered myself. And washed my hair.”

  “I can tell.” Her hair was crunchy from the residual shampoo.

  “Violet and I had a long talk the other day and decided that girls who were old enough to go win ribbons and go to Disneyland were old enough to dress appropriately for school and use their real name.” He handed Emerson a steaming mug of coffee. “Breakfast is on the table, toast and eggs, nothing fancy but it’s edible. Violet, go grab your lunch so we can head out.”

  Violet kissed Emerson on the cheek, then hopped down, her flats slapping the wood floors as she ran.

  Emerson looked at Roger, who was looking smart and business ready in his loafers, slacks, button-up shirt, and . . . Emerson rubbed her eyes. “What happened to your hair?”

  “Mary at the Prune and Clip cleaned it up a bit and a lady at the winery said I look like George Clooney.” He beamed and Emerson felt her chest squeeze.

  “You look good, Dad,” she said quietly.

  “Ah, like George Clooney,” he corrected, grabbing his laptop bag off the chair and car keys off the wall hook. “I get off early today so I can pick up Violet.” Who was magically waiting by the front door—lunch and school bag in hand. “We’ll be home early to help with the prep work. Oh, and the guy at the auto body shop called while you were asleep. The truck will be done this afternoon. I told him we’d pick it up by four, then I figured maybe the three of us could get some root beer floats on the way home.”

  Emerson’s throat tightened at the memory of the last time they’d had floats. “That sounds fun, but you don’t have to do all this.”

  Roger leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “Yeah, kiddo, I do. And I want to. You’ve been taking care of us for so long, let us take care of you this time.”

  “But I’m . . .” She trailed off before she could say fine. It had been four days since Dax left and she was so far from fine she didn’t even know what direction to move in. Other than one that led her to the backup tray of baklava her dad had helped her make last night.

  “Fine. I know you are,” he said, setting his bag on the floor. “But your mom always said that it was our job to make it magical.” He sat next to her, his expression sad yet hopeful. “Let me make it magical for you, Fairy Bug.”

  “Okay,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder, desperately wanting to be that same little girl who believed in magic and fairies and happily ever after. Her dad pulled her in tight and gave her the kind of hug that made her feel safe, loved, and gave her hope that maybe there was still some magic left out there for her.

  “Love you, kiddo,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “To the moon and back.”

  “And every star in between.”

  “You’ve got one shot. You can either sit there all day, staring a hole through that scope, knowing the target isn’t going to get any clearer, and waiting for the sun to set. Which really makes things difficult.” Dax looked at Gomer through the binoculars. The kid was twenty feet up, wedged into the side of a cliff, and contemplating if he had the shot. Same position he’d been in over an hour ago. “Or you can take the shot.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gomer’s voice came through the headset.

  “Was that a ‘yes, I’ll take the shot, sir’? Or you’re still thinking about it?”

  “If he doesn’t take the shot, I’ll shoot him,” Jonah said. He sat next to Dax in the bunker at the county shooting range, sipping on his coffee. The rest of the team had been tested and cleared, passing the long-range field exercise with ease.

  All except Gomer, who was still on the ledge, waiting for the wind to blow his direction. Hitting an orange-sized target at five hundred yards was impressive, but Dax knew that Gomer had the chops. FNG issues aside, the kid had something—and Dax needed him to figure that out.

  “And I only get one shot, sir?” Gomer asked.

  Dax closed his eyes. “How many bullets were you given?”

  “Two.”

  “Good, so if you were given two and missed the first shot, how many remain?”

  “One shot,” Gomer said.

  “And now that we all know how to subtract, take the shot, and soon, or I am going to grab a beer and you’ll have to walk home. Understood, Deputy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dax set the headset down and looked at Jonah, who was looking back all kinds of amused. “The kid just psyched himself out. He didn’t think the first shot through, rushed it, then scrambled around to find a better angle and now he’s hesitating.”

  Jonah leaned back in his chair. “Is that what you’re doing? You rushed the first shot and now you’re hesitating?”

  “I already cleared the entire field.” And he’d done it in record time. Six bullets, six targets, in under six seconds. Jonah’s little army of deputies
had practically pissed themselves.

  “I was talking about why you’re sitting here when Emerson is across town setting up for her cook-off.”

  “Street Eats,” Dax corrected and, yeah, he knew what Jonah meant. He’d spent the entire week trying to forget about it, with no such luck. He was the one who’d blasted his way in, gotten her to open up, then he’d hurt her. Badly.

  Emerson had finally allowed herself to lean on someone else, and he’d taken the support right out of her foundation. Because he’d hesitated. He’d seen the look in her eyes, heard the confidence in her voice when she’d said she loved him, and it was like he couldn’t breathe through the admission.

  It was so unexpected—she was so unexpected—and her words so completely terrifying that he froze.

  “You going to call her? Tell her you want another shot?” Jonah asked.

  “What’s the point?” Dax asked, knowing he’d blow that one too. “You and I both know that my kind of job doesn’t afford the lifestyle that she’s looking for.”

  Jonah laughed at that, hard and long until Dax shot him a look that would have a smart man running. Jonah proved that wisdom didn’t always come with age, because he choked on another few laughs, even patting his chest. “Sorry, you said lifestyle about a woman who wears Converse, offensive tank tops, and drives a food truck.”

  “I meant that she’s got plans, knows what she wants, and trust me, it’s not me.” Dax shook his head. “Plus, she’s already got a hundred people weighing her down.”

  Jonah studied him, seeing way too much. After a minute, he shook his head slowly, releasing a low whistle while he did it. “Oh man, this is even worse than I thought,” Jonah said, sitting back. “You told your woman, the one who loves you, what she needs and what she wants? Rookie move, bro.”

  “She’s not my woman,” he mumbled. “And how do you know she loves me?”

  Because she might have told him that in a heated and emotional moment, but Dax hadn’t told anyone else. No matter how emotional he’d been after. He hadn’t had the time—or the heart.

  Emerson loved him, and Dax didn’t have a clue what to do with that information—how to process it in a way that would fit into his plan. He’d done the plan A thing, was on to plan B, and even if he managed to come up with a plan C, D, or Z, he didn’t know how to reconcile that reality with the role he’d been playing the past few weeks.

  So he froze. Watched her walk out of his house and did absolutely nothing to stop her, then jumped on his bike and headed off toward his new life. Only he got there and it didn’t feel much like a life at all. His apartment was bare, his new team, although nice enough guys, felt like cardboard fill-ins, and his bed felt empty. And his chest—

  He didn’t even want to go there.

  “According to Shay, who got the entire story,” Jonah said, enjoying himself, “Emerson wanted to be your woman, only when she told you, you ran away like a little girl.”

  Dax’s head throbbed at the idea of Emerson talking to her friends. So did his heart. Not that he was concerned if they thought he was an ass, since it would be an accurate assessment, but that the most private woman he knew was hurt badly enough to have to go to them.

  And he’d done that to her.

  “I didn’t run,” he said. He’d driven his motorcycle like a grown-ass man. “I went to start my new job.”

  Jonah snorted. “You don’t want that job. Protecting a bunch of entitled suits? You’ll be bored in three months.”

  “You think that sitting here watching Gomer stare at a freaking orange target all day will excite me?” Dax asked.

  “No, but based on that sorry look you’ve been sporting all day, I think Emerson excites you. And you know that. Just like you know that she might be the one who saves you.”

  “All that in one look, huh?” he said drily. “Man, Sheriff, you’ve got talent.”

  “Oh, it’s not just any look. It’s the look guys like us get when an incredible woman says she loves you. The look that says your biggest fear is you’re not loveable. Or worse, maybe you are but you know deep down that you don’t deserve it. How could you, after everything that happened?” Dax could see the familiar pain in his brother’s eyes. “I get it. Trust me.”

  Dax did. Jonah too knew what it felt like to carry the weight of someone else’s choices. A few years back he’d made a gut decision that ended up in the deaths of a couple of teenagers and a fellow officer. Jonah had come home, but the guilt was always right there with him.

  Dax had doubted if his brother would ever get past it. But somehow he had. He’d found whatever answer the universe had to explain away something as messed up as two dead kids, and he’d found peace. Even more, his brother had found happiness. And love.

  “You want to know the only difference between you and me, Dax?” Jonah asked. “I blew the first shot with Shay, and the second, but I decided that I would go back as many times as it took to get it right, because Shay was worth it. But you? Rather than take another shot, you ran, because running hurts less than her figuring out that you were right.”

  Dax sat back and rubbed his hand over his chest, trying to ease the itch that had been gnawing at him all week. It didn’t help. Nothing he seemed to do helped. Not even running. That made it worse.

  “But here’s the thing with love,” Jonah said. “That scenario could never happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because in love, the man is never right,” Jonah said. “Never. Let me repeat, in case you still don’t get it. The man is never right, and even if he is right, he knows it’s better to go to sleep with a sexy woman next to him than cuddle up with his ego on a cold couch. Egos don’t wear lace. Remember that and everything else is easy.”

  Easy, Dax thought. Everything with Emerson was always easy and natural. Chaotic and crazy and unexpected—but easy. With her he felt like everything was all right, that he was all right.

  He loved that she never judged or demanded. She’d accepted him, broken parts and all. And wasn’t that the definition of love?

  “Yeah, I know that look too,” Jonah laughed. “Equally as scary but lacking in that heart-ripped-out-of-your-chest feeling that always made me want to puke.”

  “I still might puke.” Dax stood and looked at his watch. Because she’d asked him if he trusted her and he’d said yes. And trust was a two-way deal, he knew that. Yet when she went for honesty he let doubt creep in.

  He’d hesitated.

  Because of the connection. He’d hesitated because he’d recognized that look—it was the same one he’d seen Jonah give Shay, his grandpa give his new wife, ChiChi, and he knew if he went for it and misjudged, it might kill him.

  So he’d reassessed, tried to find a different avenue, an angle that wasn’t there, and spent so much time weighing risk to motives that he missed what was standing right in front of him.

  His golden opportunity.

  Emerson had put herself out there, offered him a chance to be a part of her team, no guarantees but an honest-to-God chance at finding happiness, with her. And instead of fully engaging, he’d changed position before really giving it a shot.

  He wanted that second shot. Needed it.

  “Emerson is stubborn,” he said to Jonah, who was just smiling. “Almost as bad as I am. Hell, I’d only give me one shot. What if she does the same?”

  “Did you cuff her in front of the mayor and throw her in jail?”

  “What the—?” Dax narrowed his eyes. “No.”

  Jonah waved a carefree hand. “Eh, then you should be good. Buy her a kitten, though, just in case.”

  “A kitten?” Dax asked. “Are you screwing with me? I’m not buying her a kitten so you can get rid of one of the nine thousand in your house.”

  Jonah shrugged. “Your call, but I’d go with Patches. He’s a Siamese-Bengal mix. Won’t shut up but took on a coyote a few months back and won. He’s missing a leg. A real badass. Sounds like Emerson’s type.”

  A bullet blastin
g through metal cut through the air and Dax turned his head. Gomer had taken the shot, and it was all Dax could do not to run down there and look to see if he’d made it. “Tell me he hit orange.”

  Jonah picked up the binoculars and laughed. “Nope, went wide and hit my cruiser.” Jonah looked at Dax over the lenses. “Poor FNG hesitated so long he talked himself right out of his second chance.”

  “You going to give him another shot?” Dax asked, not amused by the irony.

  “Nope. You are.”

  Dax looked up and Jonah patted him on the back. “You can tell him Monday morning when you report to work—as his mentor. That way the kid sweats it out a little.”

  Dax hugged his brother. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Try ‘Affirmative, awesome brother of mine. I will report to work first thing Monday morning, here is my hand, let’s shake on it,’” Jonah said in his best Dax impersonation. Dax laughed and took his brother’s hand.

  An overwhelming sense of right went through that shake, because everything Dax had lost when he’d walked away from the army was standing right in front of him. He was already a part of the best brotherhood on the planet.

  Dax pulled Jonah in for a one-armed bro-hug, followed by the more masculine proud-of-you smack to the back. “Missed you.”

  Jonah paused, and so did Dax. It was the first time he’d said those words to anyone in his family since enlisting.

  “Missed you too. And I’m glad you’re finally home,” Jonah said thickly and Dax realized that he wasn’t home. Not quite yet. But he was finally ready to start the journey. And he knew just who he wanted to take it with.

  “Now go, before you have to bring Emerson a kitten and a Shetland pony.”

  By the time Emerson set the last of the cupcakes on the tray, she had chocolate batter dried on the tip of her ponytail, orange-zest-stained nails, and enough ouzo frosting on her apron to pass for a drunken cupcake. She also had a heartache that burned as hot as the Sahara that made fully enjoying this moment hard.