Every Little Kiss (24 page)

“Lucky she didn’t have boys,” Seth replied. “My friends and I went through so many screen doors at my house that Mom started making me pay for them out of my lawn-mowing money.”

Emma grinned. “I said we never broke
much
. There
used to be more vases. I could also show you the walls that have been repainted.”

He chuckled, trying to picture Sam and Emma running wild through the cavernous house, knocking over antiques. “What did you do to the wall? Chocolate? Marker?”

“Both. I was the chocolate. Sam was the marker. We’ve . . . kind of continued in that tradition.”

“It was always dirt with Kira and me. And we grew up in a ranch-style house. Typical Florida stucco ranch, you know, so it was easy to cover a lot of area before we got caught. We were good at divide and conquer,” he said.

Emma’s brows lifted. “What were you trying to conquer, exactly?”

He shrugged, his mouth curving at the memory. “Different things. My parents’ resistance to our having lizards as pets, for one.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

“Yeah, we heard that a lot. Not sure Dad cared as much, but he traveled enough for work that Mom got the last word on it. We did finally get a dog, at least. Not a very doggy dog, but he was a good boy.” He hadn’t talked about Ming in a long time, but Emma’s eyes sharpened with interest. And these were good stories, he thought. Ones he ought to enjoy sharing as much as he enjoyed the memories.

“Poodle?” Emma asked.

He shook his head. “Pekingese. He actually really, really liked dirt, so Ming made a good adventure buddy, even if he thought fetching was beneath him.”

Emma looked charmed. “What?” he asked, unable to help the grin.

“Just picturing you with a little foofy lion dog hunting lizards with your tomboy sister. She had to be a tomboy.”

“Hey, Ming was a man dog. A very small man dog. And Kira is still kind of a tomboy, but she likes dresses. She used to go through a
lot
of dresses. I guess the dirt didn’t wash out that well.”

“Neither does paint. That was the one thing that used to drive Mom nuts, but Dad always stuck up for Sam. He just knew she was going to be an artist.” He caught the wistful note in her voice, saw her glance at the collections of photographs on the mantel. Sensing it would be all right, he picked up one that featured a young-looking, dark-haired man putting a wheel on a little red wagon and smiling at the camera. He knew that smile, and those eyes.

“This has to be him,” he said. “You look just like him. Prettier, I mean, but . . .”

Emma nodded. “I know. I act like him, too. That’s what everybody says, anyway, except he was quieter. Just as stubborn, though.”

“You don’t remember?”

She shrugged, and he saw the sadness in her eyes again. “Yes and no. I was twelve. You don’t remember as much as you think you will. Or as much as you want to. Sometimes I’m not sure whether I actually remember something that happened, or if I’ve just heard the story so many times that I think I do.”

“I’m sorry you lost him.” It was all he could think to say, but he meant it.

“I’m sorry, too,” she agreed, taking the picture and gently putting it back on the mantel. “He was funny. I do remember that. All the Henrys have a dry sense of humor, but his was hilarious. And he was smart. He loved reading Sam and me bits of things he was interested in, or taking us for walks to show us things. He was amazing with his hands, too. Always fixing or building something.
He made Sam this cool little art studio up in the attic. I was so jealous.”

Seth stepped closer to her. “What did he think you’d grow up to be?”

She laughed, but she wrapped her arms around herself before she spoke again. Emma looked vulnerable in that moment, and it shook him. Before he’d known her, he’d never have guessed she was anything but supremely confident—invincible. But she had scars, like anyone else. Like him.

“He said I was going to make people happy for a living. I thought that sounded completely boring, because I usually wanted to be Supreme Empress of the Galaxy, and making people happy didn’t get you an art studio, but I guess he was right. I get paid to bring the happy.” One side of her mouth curved in a half smile. “And I can always go mess up Sam’s art studio if I feel the need. It’s big enough for both of us.”

“He’d probably love what you do,” Seth said.

“Oh, he’d probably tell me to lighten up. He was always threatening to cloud up and rain all over me if I didn’t.” Her cheeks turned pink. “He called me Sunshine. His way of teasing me because I was so serious half the time, I think.”

Seth thought of her matching yellow umbrella and rain boots, and something twisted painfully deep in his chest. He understood her so completely in that moment, the need to keep little reminders of who she’d been, what she’d lost, even as she tried to move forward. It made him want to share a piece of himself, to let her know she wasn’t alone.

“My best friend, Andy, used to like to make up stupid nicknames for people. Especially the ones he liked.”

That caught her interest, at least. “Andy. Was he . . . ?”

“The masterpiece above my fireplace, yeah. That was him.”

She tilted her head at him, her expression completely open. “Did he give you a nickname?”

Seth laughed softly and rubbed at the back of his neck, remembering. “Oh yeah. He called me Feathers.”

Emma blinked, and he laughed again. “Feathers?”

He grinned, remembering. This was a story he hadn’t told in a long time, but for the first time since he’d heard the news of his friend’s death, sharing it didn’t hurt. It just felt right. “Yes, Feathers. See, Andy and I met at college, did the ROTC thing together, even managed to get stationed together afterward, but that’s another story. Anyway, we used to have all these obnoxious, half-tamed birds around campus. They’d do just about anything to get their claws on food, shiny things, whatever caught their eye. You weren’t actually supposed to feed them, but it was kind of a moot point. I think they were smarter than a lot of the students.”

“I suppose
you
fed them, though,” Emma said.

Seth shook his head, remembering. “Nope. I’d just go sit out there and watch them sometimes. They were funny. And they were complete jerks about what they wanted to take, which made it funnier. Until one day when I got the bright idea to enhance my viewing experience by bringing along a loaf of bread. Because, obviously, it would be just like feeding ducks at the pond.”

“Which you’re not really supposed to do, either.”

“Okay, Wildlife Management, do you want to hear what happened or not?”

When she smiled, he continued.

“Anyway, I sat down on the quad, opened up my loaf of bread, and tossed exactly one small piece to a nearby bird.”

Emma’s smile widened, and her nose crinkled up. “Oh God.”

“Yeah. You’re looking at the only guy ever mugged by a flock of birds at the University of Florida. Andy used to say he couldn’t even see me running, just this huge mass of squawking birds flying across the quad. We won’t even talk about the mementos they left me with.”

Emma was giggling now, and he knew she was picturing it. He laughed with her, even though he still got twitchy in parks sometimes.

“And hence, Feathers,” she said.

“Feathers,” Seth affirmed, pushing up the sleeve of his shirt to show her his raven. “So now you know the story of the tattoo you like so much.”

She came to him then, still laughing as she touched the design he’d spent months working on with a tattoo artist. “They have ravens at UF?”

“No, but I like ravens better than those jerk blackbirds. And it reminds me without giving me flashbacks.” He grinned. “I wanted to remember Andy. He would have told me to make it look cool. And he would have laughed his ass off that I’d commemorate him this way.”

“But . . . Feathers,” she said again. “That’s quite a nickname.”

“If I start hearing it around, I’ll know who ratted me out,” Seth warned her. She reached down and squeezed his hand.

“You won’t hear it from anyone. Except me,” she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Don’t expect me to be able to help myself
all
the time. Come on. I’ll grab a bag of chips and we can go sit up on the widow’s walk. Though after what you just told me, you might feel like you’re taking your life in your hands. We do have gulls.”

He shook his head, glad he’d vanquished her sadness
for the time being. “I’m feeling lucky. Let’s do it. Just make sure you show me how to make a quick getaway if we need to.”

“You got it, Feathers.” When Seth looked down at her and opened his mouth to protest, he was treated to a quick, hard kiss and the flash of a smile before she set off for the kitchen. Seth followed, though not before a single, long look at the collection of photographs on the Henrys’ fireplace. Her memories. He’d never expected that they would have so much in common. Or that she could make him feel even more grateful for the people he’d gotten to keep—his parents and sister. If he’d needed any more proof of all the healing he’d managed to do in the past couple of years, setbacks notwithstanding, the conversation he’d just had was it.

The past didn’t always have to be an open wound. It could be just what it was—his past. At least, it was when he was with her. It was amazing, Seth thought, the progress a guy could make when a stylish high heel was kicking him out of his comfort zone on a regular basis.

Seth pulled Emma back into his arms just before they reached the kitchen, feeling like a weight had been lifted off him. He didn’t know why or how, only that it had happened because of her.

“Thanks,” he said. “For today. You’ve got a knack for figuring out exactly the right thing—you know that?”

She tilted her head to the side, and there was something in her eyes he hadn’t seen before, something that made them seem fathomless as they searched his face. “Only because I . . .” A faint crease appeared between her brows, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. She shook her head with a faint smile. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks. I’m glad I made your day. It’s just a big old house, but it’s mine.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what she’d been about to say. But she was already walking away, and he didn’t want to risk spoiling what was left of their afternoon by pushing her about something that might not have been anything at all. So Seth did the only thing that seemed to make any sense—he let it go, though he knew it would niggle at him the rest of the day. Instead, he carried the bag of chips she handed him to the roof. Then Seth sat on the widow’s walk with his arm around Emma, looking out at the sea and feeling the bloom of a thing he hadn’t expected ever to feel again.

Peace.

“I
’m an idiot.”

Emma lay on her couch, fending off Boof’s headbutts while she cradled the phone against her ear. A bag of chocolate eggs she’d hidden in case of emergency lay on her coffee table, torn open and half gone. She wasn’t proud, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Yes, I am. I was standing right there, and he was looking at me like, like . . . I don’t know. But it was a moment. And instead of telling him how I felt, I made some stupid joke. And then I got the potato chips, because that is totally a nonverbal way of telling a man you love him.”

“Em.” Sam had been very patient with her ranting, but Emma could hear the amusement in her sister’s voice. “You’re not an idiot. You got scared. It’s allowed.”

“Maybe it’s better this way,” Emma said, popping another chocolate egg into her mouth and chewing while she scratched Boof beneath his chin. “Maybe I should just wait for him to figure it out. I’ve got a few years, right? Until my looks start to go?”

“Emma, you’re thirty.”

“I know! But what if I start to fall apart in a couple of
years? And he’s still hanging around figuring himself out, and my best years are behind me, and—”

“Oh my God. I’d forgotten how you get when something’s really bugging you.”

Emma frowned. “What is
that
supposed to mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Sam said. “You. Conjuring worst-case scenarios, probably with a bag of chocolate nearby. Losing your damn mind. It’s like the price nature exacted for making you so collected the other ninety-nine percent of the time.”

“You’re not funny,” Emma grumbled, and tried to be quiet about it as she chewed another piece of candy. “I screwed up.”

“How? Did you not have a good day?”

Emma opened her mouth, considered the actual answer, and then sighed. “No. It was a great day. Except for that.”

“Which was a problem only in the scary confines of your own head,” Sam said, and then her voice grew gentle. “If you really want to tell him, then quit worrying about it and just let it happen. There’ll be another time. Maybe even a better time. I saw the way he looks at you. I genuinely don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

“How does he look at me?”

“Like you’re amazing. Which you are, with the notable exception of right this second. But you’ll get through it.”

Emma pressed her lips together and looked at Boof, who was perched on her chest doing his slow “I love you” blink while she rubbed his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s better if I just keep it to myself for a while. I feel like I’m running and he’s walking. I don’t want to dive in and then realize I’ve made a huge mistake again.”

“Oh, I so know exactly how that feels,” Sam said. “With Jake, I was the one dragging my feet, but that was
exactly what I was afraid of. I was wrong, though. It would have been a huge mistake not to dive in.
Despite
past experiences,” she said pointedly. “And mine were actually with him. Seth isn’t Ben. We’ve discussed this.”

“I know he isn’t,” Emma said. “I’m glad he isn’t. But that still doesn’t mean he’s figured out where I fit in his life. He’s just starting to open up. I need to figure out a way to put the brakes on before I crash into a wall or something.” She flopped her head back and stared at the ceiling. “I knew. I knew that if I ever really fell in love, it would make me miserable.”

“Great attitude.”

Like you were all sparkles and rainbows when it happened to you.”

“Fair enough.” Sam was quiet for a moment, then said, “If you really feel that strongly about it, just tell him. Your head will explode if you don’t, and anyway, at least then you’ll know where you stand. The not knowing is why you’re miserable.”

“Yes. There’s that.”

“And? I’m hearing an ‘and.’”

“And,” Emma said, her voice growing softer as she found herself at a loss for the words that usually came so easily, “when I was there with him, I started to realize exactly what a huge step I was about to take. What I’d be risking, you know . . . what it could mean. . . .”

She trailed off and Sam started to speak again, but the noise outside drowned out most of it. Emma frowned, moving Boof off her chest and standing to look out the window.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked. “I can hear the sirens here, too.”

Emma peered out the front window, looking out onto the square, and saw a squad car go flying, sirens blaring,
in the direction of Northside. She could hear others in the distance. And the wail of ambulances. Her breathing quickened, and there was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

It could be anything. Accidents happen all the time. It could be anything.

“I’m going to see if I can find out,” Emma said. “Call you back.”

*   *   *

He knew when he got the call that it wasn’t going to be good.

Seth pulled the cruiser up in front of the dilapidated little house in Northside, a part of town he’d become awfully familiar with. He’d gotten his black eye one street over, and he was called out to the neighborhood on a regular basis. There were good people here, like anywhere, just trying to mind their own business and get by. But there were also some problems, and those problems tended to be recurring.

This particular problem fell into that category.

As soon as he got out of the car, he heard the sound of glass shattering inside, a woman’s voice shrieking in anger, followed by a man’s bellow. A couple of neighbors milled around outside, looking worried. They were tired of the trouble, Seth knew. So was he.

“Hey, Officer Andersen,” one of them said, jogging up to him. He was young, maybe nineteen, with a scruffy goatee and a hard look about him. But Seth knew the kid was working his ass off in community college here, determined to get out of the grinding poverty in which he’d been raised. Seth had already told him that if he needed help, all he had to do was ask. He’d seen too many of these kids not make it out because the deck was just too damn stacked against them.

“Hey, Paulie. Thanks for calling.”

“No problem.” His lean, sharp face was etched with worry. “They’ve really been at it tonight. We all tried to ignore it, but the whole ‘I’ll kill you, you bitch’ thing starts to kind of worry you after a while.” Jimmy Aldrige had been threatening to kill “that bitch,” otherwise known as his girlfriend, Jenny Blankenship, for far longer than Seth had been in the Cove. Lately, though, it seemed like the calls had come more often, and Jimmy’s ranting had taken on a wild, dark edge that made Seth uneasy.

“They both drunk?”

A roll of the eyes. “They ever not drunk when you’ve been out here?”

“Fair enough. Officer Salvatore’s on his way, too. I learned my lesson with Jimmy’s brother.” He tapped the corner of his eye, and Paulie chuckled.

“Made you look badass, though.”

“Sure. Maybe I could pay him to punch me once a week.”

“Dude, that’s putting money back into the community right there.” Something larger shattered inside the house, and this time the woman’s scream held a note of fear. Paulie’s smile vanished as he looked toward the house.

“I’m tired of this shit. One of these times he’s going to kill her. For real.”

“Not tonight, at least,” Seth said. He watched Mark’s cruiser pull in, lights flashing, and was glad to see his friend step out. He walked over to him, and after a quick consultation they headed up the leaning, rotted front steps. Seth could hear the sounds of a television inside, muffled voices from a commercial. The light from it flickered through the dingy window.

This isn’t gonna be good.
He knew it, sensed it with every instinct he had. A glance at Mark told him he wasn’t
the only one who sensed it, like a sour tang in the air. Still, it was time to begin.

A hard knock on the door. “Mr. Aldrige? This is the police. We’re going to need you to open up.”

The house went eerily silent, but for the television. Jenny’s silence was worrisome, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d turned around and backed Jimmy up after he’d beaten the shit out of her. Seth knocked again, his voice firmer. “Police! Open up!”

He heard footsteps then, slow and deliberate, approaching the door. Seth’s fingers twitched, and he brought his hand to the butt of his gun. It was a small measure of comfort as the air around him seemed to thicken. For a brief instant, this night blended with another one, and he could almost smell the cool, dry desert night, the pungent stink of the village. On the other side of the door was a man who was responsible for the deaths of at least ten U.S. soldiers, and Seth could hear a baby crying.

It’s time to break the door down. Let the baby not be anywhere near the bastard. Jesus—

He blinked, and it was just the Cove again, dingy yellow light spilling out onto the porch as the inner door swung open to reveal a potbellied man in his forties, clad in boxers and a stained T-shirt, his eyes red and rheumy, peering at them through a screen. He stank of booze. Seth tried to breathe. He hadn’t had a flashback since before he’d gotten out. Why he’d have one now was—

“G’off my property,” Jimmy growled. “I know who you are. I know.”

“Mr. Aldrige,” Mark started, and that was when Jimmy moved and Seth saw what he had in his hand.

“Shit,” Seth said, and went for his gun. Mark shouted something, but it was lost in the muzzle flash and sharp pops that blew holes in the night.

*   *   *

When the handful of phone calls Emma made to try to find out what was going on produced no results, she was forced to do her least favorite thing—sit and wait. As minutes turned into an hour, and then two, she knew that Seth must be there at the scene.

It’s probably an accident. Or maybe something bad happened and then the cops were called. He’s fine.

It was a completely logical train of thought, but as time passed, Emma couldn’t hang on to it. She paced restlessly, considered just getting in her car and heading toward Northside more than a dozen times. All she wanted to know was that he was safe, and she had no way of doing that without looking like she was completely overreacting to some sirens and flashing lights. Never mind that what she’d seen was out of the ordinary for the Cove. He was a cop. This was what he did. What did she think she was going to do—panic and hunt him down every time she saw a speeding squad car?

“I’m fine,” she told herself out loud. “I can do this.”

It was a tough sell to begin with. Then the phone rang.

“Have you heard from Seth yet?” It was Sam’s voice, a rush of sound.

“No. No, why? Did you hear anything?” Emma tried to keep the edge of panic out of her voice, but it was an exercise in futility.

“I did.” Sam cursed quietly. “There was a shooting over in Northside. One or two dead, and Fitz heard that there was a police officer down. I’m not sure—he didn’t know—”

But Emma had quit listening. The world seemed to tilt beneath her feet, and the still silence of her apartment became overwhelming, oppressive. Any minute now, one of his friends would knock on her door to tell
her. Or maybe they’d forget about her, just a girlfriend, until his parents had been notified and they remembered he had a life here, too. People who cared about him. Someone who loved him.

Her heart began to pound as her mind tried to wrap itself around the possibility that he was gone. In her mind’s eye she was twelve again, being told that there was nothing more to be done, that the fight was lost and all that was left was to prepare for what was coming . . . to sit and wait and try to cope with her powerlessness to save someone she loved more than anything.

“Emma, listen to me. This doesn’t mean it’s him. You need to call. . . . Emma?”

“I have to go.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but she managed to turn the phone off and set it down carefully. When she pulled her hand back, it was shaking. Terror, grief, fury were all circling. . . . She could feel them. But Sam was right. Until she knew for sure, she had to stay functional. She had to push through.

This is why I decided no heroes. Remember? Nobody who would make himself easier to lose. Nobody who would make me go through this again.

She walked to where her purse was on legs that felt wobbly and numb, slung it over her shoulder, and headed for the door. She wasn’t exactly sure where she should go—the station? The hospital?—but she couldn’t be in her apartment another second. Emma had just shut the door when her phone began to buzz again. She looked at an unfamiliar number, and her breath stilled. This would be the call. This . . .

She managed to get it to her ear, and she spoke even though it felt like someone had her chest in a vise, squeezing it tighter and tighter.

“Hello?”

“Emma.”

Then she was sliding down to the floor on legs that were no longer interested in supporting her, resting her back against the door while she listened to a voice that was as strong as it had been when she’d heard it just a few hours ago.

“Emma, are you there?”

“I’m here. Seth. I thought . . . I heard there was a shooting. Are you—” Everything she wanted to say came out disjointed, a series of half-finished thoughts and questions. She still couldn’t quite believe it was him on the phone, though as it sank in, the relief that crashed through her had tears welling in her eyes. She sniffled them back, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. She didn’t want to cry in her hallway. She didn’t want to cry over Seth. She didn’t particularly want to cry at all. The emotional tumult that sank its claws into her was horrifyingly familiar, and extremely unwelcome. She inhaled deeply, trying to come down, regulate her breathing, make her heart stop fluttering like a trapped bird.

“There was, but I’m fine. The bullet just grazed me.”

She closed her eyes. “You were shot?” A number of images rose in her mind, none of them welcome, all of them frightening. Why would anyone try to kill Seth? But of course she knew the answer. He enforced the law. Being hurt or killed in the service of it was simply an occupational hazard.

“No. He tried. That’s all. I’m okay.”

“And him?”