Brette studied him, the way he offered her a wan, quick smile, the hard swallow that chased his words.
“Ty . . .”
“You told me that you liked inspiring stories. That you didn’t do dirt. This story on Jess . . . it’s just going to destroy lives.”
“She destroyed lives.”
“Her father was the criminal here, not Jess. And she’s paid for his crimes—”
“Hardly.”
He closed his eyes, as if pained, and she felt like a jerk.
Because she knew a little about how it felt to lose everything, to start over with nothing. If it hadn’t been for Ella in Brette’s life, she would have been sleeping in her old Ford.
Maybe Ty had been Selene’s Ella.
And here he was, sacrificing his own privacy, his own pain, to save Jess. Throwing himself like the proverbial sacrificial lamb in front of Brette.
Now Brette really felt like a jerk.
And not just a little jealous. What might it be like to have a man care that much, to protect her at the cost of his own privacy, his reputation?
“Okay, Ty,” she said softly.
He raised an eyebrow, just a little surprise in his expression. Then he nodded. Exhaled. “Thanks, Brette.” He leaned back, ran his hands through his hair. “I’m not sure where to start. It was last spring, and we got a callout for—”
“Ty,” she said softly. “I’m not telling your story, either.”
He stopped talking, just stared at her.
“I came here looking for a hero. And I found one. That’s enough for me. You can keep your story to yourself.”
He looked undone, his expression hollow.
She offered a tiny smile.
“Brette, I . . . is there any way we could—”
“We’re back with that update from Mansfield Blair,” the television announced.
He turned, and she wished she’d turned off the television.
Any way we could . . . what?
But Ella’s father, every inch the powerful millionaire, in his dark suit jacket, a white shirt, and pressed dress pants, had Ty’s attention. Mansfield looked freshly shaved, his dark brown hair slicked back, completely composed despite what had to be a desperate thirty-six hours.
He stood at the front of what looked like the hospital lunchroom, introduced himself, and gave an update on his son. Some sort of brain bleed that, kudos to the PEAK team, had been helped by their quick evacuation.
Brette had the urge to reach out, take Ty’s hand, give it a squeeze.
And that’s when things turned sour.
“Unfortunately, included in this accident was my daughter, Vermont senator Ella Blair. She is resting comfortably after surgery to repair her broken leg, an injury that would have never occurred if PEAK team member Gage Watson hadn’t taken an unskilled, untrained snowboarder along on his search and rescue mission. This is the same Gage Watson who, by the way, was responsible for the death of a snowboarder three years ago on Outlaw Mountain, in Canada.”
Ty looked back at Brette, who had sat up.
Their attention turned back to the screen as a voice lifted off camera.
“Wait! I have a story to tell!”
The camera turned and fixed on Ella, dressed in a bathrobe, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, pushed in a wheelchair by her mother, who, as usual, looked like she had stepped out of the boardroom. Or the capitol.
“Gage Watson is not who you think!”
Oh no. Because Brette had seen that look before, the same determination that had made Ella park herself in a helicopter, refusing to leave, only three days ago.
Brette looked at Ty. “I need to go.”
And he didn’t hesitate, not a pause to question her. He came around the bed and with one movement picked her up, cotton blanket and all.
And then she was back in his arms, hers around his neck as he carried her down the hall.
Yes, probably she could find a way to forgive him.
“Just sit down, Gage,” Jess said. She stood in the back of the snack room, holding the remote control, popping up the volume.
Pete sat on a vinyl chair and was staring at the television screen. He’d driven Gage and Ty to the hospital and seen the altercation between Gage and Ella’s father.
Probably, Pete’s presence was the reason Gage didn’t lose it, put the man down in his fancy suit, and fight his way into Ella’s room.
No, Pete’s hand on his arm, his low counsel to wait until Ella asked for him, had prevailed.
Yes, she would ask for him, and everything would be fine.
Surely.
So Gage had followed Pete to the snack room to grab some quick grub. But not before Pete made him stop by the ER to have a doc take a look at his strained ankles.
Just swollen, no significant injury. And frankly, he felt fine.
Nearly invincible.
He still couldn’t believe they’d lived through another avalanche.