Page 77 of Free to Live

Shakily, I pull back. “I’ll go to Grace,” I say before I dart for the open door.

Hearing a muted curse, Joe snaps up the receiver with a “This better be important,” just as I reach Grace’s room. I crouch down to her level where she’s ensconced with Elmo in a bean bag chair. “Hey, baby, so what do you want for dinner?”

“Nubbets!” she shouts with abandon.

I smile at her fondly as I stroke the black curls that are haphazardly escaping the tiny bands I love watching Joe manipulate with his long fingers. “Is chicken what Daddy was going to give you?

“No, but it might be what she has to eat. Holly, can I speak with you for a moment?” Joe’s voice is grim behind me.

Uh-oh. “Be right back, baby.” Pushing into a standing position, I follow Joe out the door out of Grace’s earshot. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s rare when it happens, but I was called into work.” Frustration is warring with the need to race out the door.

“Then what are you still doing here?” His face blanks. “Come on, Joe. We’re both frustrated with each other, but this is different. You need help and I’m offering it. At least if you want me to?” A hint of vulnerability enters my own voice.

“Want you to?” He yanks me so close, I crash hard against his chest. Clutching his biceps for support, my lips part in surprise. “Please, God, just be here when I get home so we can work the rest out.” His lips are so close to mine, I can feel the air from his mouth pass into mine.

But now’s not the time for the promise of what I know those lips can offer to me.

“I’ll be here,” I whisper.

Releasing me, his hands linger against my tattoo under which my pulse beats. “I’ve got to go,” he says before he turns and heads out the door.

41

Holly

Istartle awake feeling another presence in the room. Protectively, my arms curl tighter around Grace, who’s snuggled asleep against my chest.

“If you knew how beautiful that looks after what I just endured…” Joe’s voice comes from the darkness across the room. It’s filling the room that held girlish giggles with an oppressive bleakness. In the dim light, I can just barely make him out when he stands to cross over to where we are. His clothes are immaculate, but his face bears the traces of blood he didn’t quite manage to wash away.

It’s his eyes, though, that force the question out of me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I whisper, cognizant of the warm bundle I’m holding.

“Not with Grace around. Here.” He leans over and slides his muscled arm beneath his little girl. My breath catches as the bare skin of his forearm brushes against my stomach where my shirt’s ridden up. “Give her to me. I’ll put her down and be right back.”

Straightening, he lifts Grace out of my arms. I immediately scramble to right myself. He frowns down at me. “Holly, it’s the middle of the night. There’s no need to lock yourself in a suit of armor.”

If you only knew, I think to myself, but before I can form a response, Joe strides out of the room with Grace. Spying my camera, I smile thinking of all the goofy pictures Grace and I took earlier tonight. “I wonder how many pictures of the TV I’ll end up printing out?” I chuckle.

I wasn’t aware of Joe returning to the room until I hear a clink hit the table. Turning, I see him remove his hand from the baby monitor. “You let her touch your camera?” His voice is appalled.

I shrug. “It’s just a camera. All the files were already backed up, just in case.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” A shadow crosses his face. “It’s about the only thing that is.”

I wait a few moments as anger and pain chase each other across his face. Before I can ask again if he wants to unload his burden, he bursts out with, “Right after I was called in, there was a callout. When we got there, there was a small chance we could have saved him.”

My eyes wander over his dark features, realizing grief is starting to settle in. “Who, Joe?”

He gives me a name I don’t recognize. I shake my head gently. “I’m sorry, I just don’t…”

My words get caught in my throat when he grinds out, “He was fourteen years old.”

I can’t breathe. I barely manage to ask, “Was it an accident? A wreck?”

Joe runs his hands through his hair, yanking it in frustration. “No.”