And the next.
“You’re hero enough for both of us.”
No, but maybe he would be someday.
Pete turned to Tallie, not sure what to say to her. She looked up at him with those amber eyes, her golden-brown hair down around her shoulders in tantalizing waves, a smile on her lips that hinted she’d like a go at trying to make him feel better.
And he knew, right then, it wouldn’t. “I have to see my brother,” he said, not trying to be rude. He chased his words with a smile.
“Oh. Okay. Well . . .” Her smile fell. “Give me a call, then.”
He offered her a smile rather than lie to her.
Pete glanced at Gage, who was doing his part with the media stragglers, lifted his hand to Chet, and headed to the stairwell.
Pete stopped at the nurses’ station on the third floor and checked in, and they gave him the go-ahead, despite the late hour.
Too late. Because as he eased the door open, he spotted Sam, the moonlight drifting over his sleeping, bruised, and broken form.
Pete sank down in a nearby chair and just took a good look at him.
Big brother Sam, his chest caved in, his head bandaged, an oxygen cannula affixed under his nose, an IV inserted into his arm, fluids dripping. In the wan light, Sam appeared frail and not at all the larger-than-life overbearing guardian that drove Pete to his last nerve.
In fact, Sam looked devastatingly human.
And Pete had nearly lost him.
In a rush, the day swept over him. No, the last week, starting with the grizzly, then their crazy fight, then finding Sam nearly dead—all the way to the moment when he thought he’d done it.
Saved them all.
He had wanted to be a hero. Wanted to save the day, wanted Jess and even Sam to see him as the guy who didn’t cause trouble but saved people in trouble. The guy who said, “I’ll bring them home,” and meant it.
The guy who could redeem his sins.
Pete walked over to the window. He spotted Ty walking out of the hospital, Jess with him.
Ty had his hand on the small of her back. They disappeared into the darkness of the lot.
Nice. Perfect. Talk about colossal mistakes. He just hadn’t seen that coming.
And Pete couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the fatigue, maybe just the stress, but he cupped his hand over his eyes, fighting the burn in them.
Cosmically, he probably deserved it. Really, it wouldn’t have taken him long to totally screw up anything good he had with Jess.
Still. He braced his hand on the window frame, nearly shaking. How he wanted to put his hand into something, through something.
Just somehow take the idiot inside who’d royally derailed his life, and slam him against the wall, knock some sense into him.
He turned around, slid down to the floor, his hands over his face. I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry. I just can’t get it right.
“Pete?”
He caught his breath. Across the room, Sam had opened his eyes, was now looking at him.
Pete scrubbed his hand down his face, thankful for the darkness that hid any remaining wetness there.
“Who are you apologizing to?”
Had he spoken aloud? Maybe. “No one.” He found his voice, his feet. “I just came by to see—”
“Thank you, Pete.”
He stilled, watching as his brother groped for a light above him. Sam caught the switch by his bedside, flicked it on.
In the puddle of light, Pete could see the last forty-eight hours on Sam’s face, his eyes, his body. He was unshaven, his eyes cracked, a bruise over his forehead—although yes, he had better color than he had by the side of the road.
The sight of him could send Pete back to his knees.
However, the devastation all broke away when Sam smiled at him.
Smiled.
Pete couldn’t move, and his heart skidded to a full stop.
“You did it, Pete. You found them.” Sam swallowed then, shook his head. “And I’m an idiot.”
Huh? “Yeah, well, we all knew that.”
“Right.” Sam shook his head. “No, I mean I should have trusted you.”
Pete’s faux humor dropped away. “I . . .” Except, he had no words. He scraped a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, when Willow wasn’t where you said she’d be, I was pretty frustrated too. Although Gage tells me you tried to make a break for it.”
“Not one of my best moments.” Sam gave a shake of his head, looked away. “I’ve had a string of those lately. Starting with . . . the fight at the Pony.” His gaze landed back on Pete. “I’m sorry about that too.”
“Naw. I probably deserved that.” No, he knew he’d deserved that.
“No, you didn’t, Pete,” Sam said. “Because it had nothing to do with Jess and your friendship—or whatever—with her.”