Page 35 of More Than a Hero
She leaned back slightly, her face tilted up toward his, her expression vulnerable in the dim light. Before she could wipe at her eyes, he beat her to it, the rough pad of his thumb gently brushing away the lingering tears that clung to her cheek.
With a sniff, she reached for the tissues on the end table, blew her nose, dabbed at her face, and then let out a deep, slow sigh.
“Feel better, or do you need more?” he asked, his voice low and steady, a quiet anchor for her emotions.
She gave a small nod. “I feel better.”
“That wasn’t a very long cry,” he mused.
Her lips twitched. “I didn’t need a very long cry.”
He studied her, sensing there was more beneath the surface. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She exhaled another slow breath and let her gaze drift over the room before finally settling back on him. “You already know why I love my job,” she murmured. “But one of the hardest things is that with the age group I work with, death is inevitable.”
Pete didn’t rush to fill the silence that followed. He understood the power of quiet. It could pull out confessions, truths, things people didn’t even realize they needed to say. And even though Angie was more outgoing than he was, she also appreciated the kind of peace that came from simply being present.
She took another breath before continuing. “Sometimes, death is a release. When someone has been sick or in pain, you know they’re not suffering anymore. And if they had family, friends, or even one person who cared, there’s a sense of calm in that, even through the grief. But when one of our clients dies alone…” She shook her head. “That’s when the sadness is overwhelming. I don’t know if they were scared. I don’t know if they felt pain. I don’t know if they went peacefully, or if their last moments were filled with fear.”
She swallowed hard, and he could see the emotion rise in her throat. “He wasn’t sick, so hospice wasn’t involved. He was just… old. And one day… today… he was gone. I just hate that he was alone.”
Pete tightened his hold on her, grounding her in his embrace. “I haven’t told you this before, but I’m in awe of what you do, Angie.”
She scoffed softly, shaking her head as if dismissing the idea. “You’re in awe of me? You put on a badge every day and go after drug dealers. You put yourself in danger to protect people. That’s what a hero does.”
“There are all kinds of heroes,” he said, his voice dropping to a quiet certainty. “Some wear a uniform and carry a weapon. Some stand in front of a classroom full of kids who need someone to believe in them. Some work thankless jobs just to make sure their families are fed. And some, like you, spend their days making sure that older people aren’t forgotten. That their dignity isn’t stripped away just because they’re aging. You make sure they have what they need, that they’re seen, that their voices still matter.” His gaze locked onto hers, his words laced with conviction. “That’s heroism, too.”
Their eyes never wavered, the weight of his words thickening the air between them, drawing them closer like an invisible thread winding tight.
“Can you stay tonight?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Will you stay?”
His arms tightened around her. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth—just a whisper of contact, just enough to let her feel the tenderness behind it.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin as he spoke.
She rested her head back on his shoulder, and he lost track of time, content to hold her, to simply exist in this space with her.
After a while, he spoke, his voice gentle but firm. “Angie, I don’t want you to feel like you asked me to stay out of desperation. I’m here for whatever you need, but if at any time you change your mind?—”
She lifted her head, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips. “Could you get any better? Because right now, I’m convinced you’re perfect.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Far from perfect.”
Her fingers traced lightly over the back of his neck, her touch sending warmth through him. “You’re perfect to me. Perfect for me.” Her gaze softened, filled with something deep and unspoken. “And I haven’t changed my mind.”
She took a slow breath, then tilted her head, her eyes flickering with something new. “So, really, the only questions I have are, have you eaten tonight, and what time should I set the alarm for in the morning?”
His lips curled into a grin as he pulled her a little closer. “Yes, I’ve eaten. And don’t worry about the alarm—I’ll set my own. I can stop by my place in the morning before work.”
She shifted off his lap, and he loosened his hold just enough to let her move freely. Without hesitation, she stood and reached for his hand.
He didn’t even think before threading his fingers through hers and standing, letting her lead. He wanted her to take the reins. He wanted this to be exactly what she needed, without pressure or expectations.
She led him up the stairs to a hallway with three doors. One was a bathroom. Another looked like a small spare room with half-filled boxes and a yoga mat unfurled on the floor. The third was her bedroom.
She turned to face him once they were inside, her hands still wrapped in his, her expression shifting. A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face, and it nearly undid him. He wanted to erase it, to take away any doubt, any hesitation.
“Angie,” he murmured, his thumbs stroking over her knuckles. “I’m here with no expectations.”
