Page 80 of All I Need (Hearts of the South)
The edge of the mattress dipped, and she squeezed her eyes closed. If she opened them, Gates would be there, face and body whole, the blue paramedic uniform sliced open, the fabric stained purple with blood. She lifted reluctant lashes, and sure enough, he waited, his expression solemn.
“Gates.” His name left her lips on a torn whisper.
“It’s okay.” He didn’t touch her and his expression didn’t lighten. “I’ve got to go.”
“Please wait.” Tears burned her eyes. “I need to talk to you.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Gates,please.”
And she was awake, darkness hovering around her in her apartment bedroom and Emmett’s arm a warm weight across her waist. Knowing she’d murmured Gates’s name aloud, she stilled, eyes wet. Next to her, Emmett slept on, and she tried to relax. At least he hadn’t heard.
God, she hoped he hadn’t heard.
He shifted in his sleep and rolled to his back, an arm over his eyes.
She covered her own eyes with a hand, knowing sleep would not come again during the night.
* * * * *
“Can you sit still?” Walker glanced at Emmett from the corner of his eye. “You’re making me crazy.”
With a deliberate effort, Emmett brought his jittering knee to a stop. “Sorry.”
“What is with you?”
“Just antsy.” He stared out the window. The empty storefronts that had once housed Walmart and Winn-Dixie flashed by, the vacant parking lots a little eerie even under bright sunlight. The radio blipped with Chris Parker’s time and status check-in.
“Trouble with you and the doc?”
“No.” It was true. The issue was all in his head. Waking to hear Savannah murmur Melbourne’s name in her sleep triggered his insecurities, but that washisproblem. It didn’t indicate trouble with them.
He was going to have to find a way to deal, though. Sharing her with a dead man’s memory was simply part of his reality. He’d been truthful when he’d said he didn’t expect her to forget or stop loving Melbourne.
Besides, he had the beginnings of a commitment from her. Maybe Clark was right, and her loving him would come. Maybe her being truly committed to him would come.
All of that didn’t make him less on edge.
The radio fired to life. “All units, 10-10 reported at 227 South Highway 3.”
A fight at Spirits? Oh, hell yeah. Exactly what he needed to redirect his thoughts. He made eye contact with Walker, who was already steering into a U-turn. Emmett reached for the mike and called them in as responding, in transit.
The squatty concrete-block building sat right off the curvy highway. A little later in the evening and cars would pack the grass-and-dirt parking lot, but this early fewer than a dozen dotted the area. Early, just-off-first-shift-at-McGee’s drinkers. Walker braked to one side of the drive, Troy Lee’s Charger and Chris’s K9 unit turning in behind them. Emmett called in their arrival and stepped from the car. A lick of adrenaline burned under his skin.
Nothing better than busting up a good bar fight.
The club door stood open and music spilled out. A couple of patrons shot nervous looks at the marked units and headed for their trucks. The smart customers, the ones who didn’t want to be around when the cops showed up.
Chris gestured at them. “I’ve got these guys. Y’all go ahead.”
Troy Lee shot him a look. “Thanks.”
They didn’t approach the door directly, but fanned out, pairing to allow one to enter while another covered him. Inside, a Jason Aldean song thumped, but the woman hunched on a barstool, screaming and weeping, nearly drowned it out. The bartender scowled.
“Took you long enough to get here.” He gestured at the two men in a standoff on the makeshift dance floor. A handful of customers gathered, watching the drama unfold. “Can you do something about them two?”
Troy Lee directed Bennett to the crying woman with a discreet gesture.
