Page 36 of Daddy's Heart

"Yes, I do." Her hand moves to my face, thumb stroking across my cheek. "I want to know everything about you."

"Emery—"

"Please." Her voice is soft, pleading. "Let me help."

And maybe it's the way she's looking at me, or maybe it's the fact that I'm tired of carrying this weight alone, but I find myself wanting to tell her everything.

But I can't. Not yet. Not when we're finally here, finally together like this.

"Just job stuff," I say finally, my voice rough. "Side effects of the work. Some things you can't shake."

The guilt sits heavy in my chest. Four years of carrying the weight of failing to save her best friend, and she doesn't even know. Doesn't know that the girl in the photo on her side table is the reason I wake up in cold sweats.

"I understand," she says softly, and something in her voice tells me she does. "We all have things from the past that follow us around."

I want to ask what she means, but I don't. Can't. Because asking her questions means opening doors I'm not ready to walk through. Not tonight, when she's soft and warm in my arms, when everything feels perfect.

"Yeah," I murmur instead, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "We do."

We lie there in the darkness, her holding me while I fight to get my breathing back under control. Eventually, the nightmarefades, replaced by the warmth of her body and the scent of her skin.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"For what?"

"For not running when you saw how fucked up I am."

"You're not fucked up." Her arms tighten around me. "You're human. You carry too much weight, but that doesn't make you broken."

I want to believe her. Want to think that maybe she's right, that maybe I don't have to carry this guilt forever.

"Sleep," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "I've got you."

For the first time in four years, I do.

Eleven

Emery

"Well," Logan says, settling back at my kitchen table with his morning coffee and a satisfied smile, "you look thoroughly debauched."

I nearly choke on my own coffee. "Logan!"

"What? I'm just making an observation. Your hair is still messed up from someone's hands, you've got that glow that comes from excellent sex, and you arrived home at the same time I got here." He takes a delicate sip. "Elementary, my dear Watson."

Heat floods my cheeks. "And how do you know I didn’t have to go to the store? I could have been all out of vanilla oat milk. And you’re nosy."

"I'm observant. There's a difference. And you had no groceries." He leans forward, studying my face with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. "So. How was your evening with Sheriff Tall-Dark-and-Brooding?"

"It was..." I search for words that won't make me sound like a lovesick teenager. "Good. Really good."

"Good? That's it? Honey, you look like you got thoroughly claimed by an alpha male. I'm going to need more details than 'good.'"

Before I can respond, the front doorbell chimes. I frown, wondering if it’s Colt, but when I pull the door open there’s a police officer standing there instead.

"Morning," he says, nodding to both of us. "I'm looking for Emery Langston."

My stomach drops. "That's me."

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