“I meant it when I told him I loved him that night. In the barn. Five years ago,” she whispered. “I love him. Maybe I always have . . .”
And suddenly the thought of not risking her heart on Noah seemed so much worse than the potential fallout.
“HE’S GOING TO make a full recovery.”
Noah heard those words, spoken over a crystal clear international connection, and he sank to his knees behind the bar. He’d been living in a fucking holding pattern for the past two weeks. Josie had called with updates, but never good news. He’d had to fight back tears after that first call, and he’d been working that time too.
“Dominic’s here. I don’t know much yet, but he was shot in the chest. He’s in surgery.” Josie had paused for what felt like forever. “Again. But the nurse said most combat-related deaths happen before they reach the hospital, so all least he’s here, right?”
“Right,” he’d confirmed as the pit in his stomach had turning into a fucking crater. And God, he’d felt like he would lose it right there, one hand on the taps, his shoulder holding his phone pressed against his ear.
“You all right down there?” Josh called from the other side of the bar. It was Tuesday and they’d just opened Big Buck’s, otherwise Noah would have had a full audience to witness his weak-kneed tumble. “Not going to faint on me, are you? Because I left my smelling salts in the car.”
He drew his cell away from his ear and looked up at the redheaded Summers brother peering down at him. “Shouldn’t you be out somewhere chopping down trees and pissing off environmentalists?”
Josh shook his head. “Day off.”
“Then sit down and drink your beer.” Noah pushed himself off the ground.
“Noah, are you there?” Josie said.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Dominic is going to be fine,” she said. “Well, he’ll probably never fight the bad guys again. The doctors said he did a number on his hand. And the pulmonary artery doesn’t exactly heal overnight . . . But he’s awake, breathing, and today he might get to eat something.”
“I’m so fucking glad to hear that, Josie,” he said, glancing at Josh. He had questions for her, but none that he wanted to ask in front of an audience. “Hold on a sec,” he said to Josie. Then he covered the mic with one hand and spoke to Josh. “Mind going into the back to check on Caroline? She’s been jumpy lately. I try to check on her every so often.”
“Is she armed?” Josh asked casually as he slid off his stool and picked up his pint glass.
“No, her gun is still in my safe,” he said.
Josh nodded. “Then it would be my pleasure.”
Noah waited until the door to the back room swung closed, and then he removed his hand from the mic. “I’m back, Josie,” he said, rounding the end of the bar and heading for the door. It wasn’t anywhere near closing time yet. Hell, it wasn’t even one in the afternoon. But he flipped the sign on the front door to closed.
“Everything all right there?” Josie asked.
“Yeah.”
Except my dishwasher thinks she’s being hunted and keeps asking for her gun back. Oh, and I miss you. The way you serve drinks like you own the place, the way you kiss, the way you feel beneath me, and hell, the way you call me a jerk.
“We’re fine here,” he continued. “How are you?”
“I’m glad that I flew over. Thank you for covering my bills. I’ll pay you back. I promise.”
“Paid sick leave, family leave . . . it comes with the assistant manager gig,” he said.
Family leave.
She just might need that newly created benefit. He ran his hand over his face, closing his eyes. He’d spent the past two weeks coming to terms with the fact that part of him hoped she was pregnant. Shit, he’d put himself through fourteen straight days of pure hell, hoping that Josie would call him up and tell him they were having a baby. He wanted a reason to hold tight to her and not let go, an excuse to give Dominic now that his best friend was going to live—thank God—for wanting his little sister.
But shit, he was a jerk. How could he hope for something that would tear her apart? After what she’d suffered through the last time, it felt fucking selfish.
“Thank you,” she said. “But I think I’m pushing the limits of sick leave even for the assistant manager.”
“We’ll talk about it when you get back,” he said. Please say you’re coming home soon.
“OK. But, Noah, I’m staying here until they send Dominic back to the States. My dad’s leaving in a few days. He says he needs to get back to work. But I—”