Page 9 of More Than a Hero (Baytown Heroes #12)

Angie couldn’t believe how well the date was going.

Under normal circumstances, she never would have invited a first date to her house.

But something about Pete had her throwing her usual rules out the window.

Maybe it was his quiet confidence, the way he didn’t try too hard but still made her feel like he genuinely wanted to be there.

Or perhaps it was simply that she trusted him.

And when she had told him she didn’t want the night to end, she’d meant it.

From the moment she had spotted him at the restaurant, her gaze had taken him in, and she was just as mesmerized as when she’d first seen him in uniform.

Tonight, he wore dark jeans and a navy blue button-up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, the fabric stretched just right over lean muscle.

A charcoal-gray sports coat had completed the look, giving him that effortless put-together but not too put-together appearance.

But looks could be deceiving. Just because she was attracted to a man didn’t mean they were meant to be.

That was why she had been cautious, why she’d suggested they take separate vehicles and meet at the restaurant.

An escape route was always good to have.

But now, sitting next to him in the warmth of her home, she didn’t feel the need for one.

She wanted time. Time to get to know him.

Time for him to get to know her. And, hopefully, for both of them to like what they discovered.

She took a sip of her beer, settling into the sofa, and turned toward him, one knee tucked onto the cushion to face him more fully. “Tell me about the young people you were with at the YMCA.”

Pete shrugged, rolling the bottle between his palms. “I just saw a need in the community and thought I could do some good.”

She arched a brow. “That answer was good, but it feels a little… incomplete.”

He chuckled, his thumb absently peeling at the label of his bottle, his eyes dropping for a second.

“Pete?” she prompted gently. When he lifted his head, she held his gaze, speaking carefully.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.

And I certainly don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.

But I do want you to feel like you can share things with me.

Anything. Because I really want to get to know you. ”

This time, he didn’t look away. Instead, he studied her, and something serious and contemplative moved in his dark eyes before he nodded slowly. “I didn’t exactly have the same upbringing as you did.”

She blinked but kept her expression neutral. His words surprised her. But more than that, she wanted to know more.

“You grew up with parents you speak highly of,” he continued. “You’re close to your grandparents. I’m sure you know how lucky you are.”

She bit the corner of her lip and nodded. “I do. There are times I probably take them for granted, but I know how incredibly fortunate I was growing up. And how lucky I am to still have them close.”

His jaw flexed slightly, and when he spoke again, his voice was steady, but there was a weight behind his words.

“I’m not sure either of my parents was ever really interested in having kids.

Or if they were, maybe it was just because that’s what they thought they had to do.

Good parenting was never something they understood how to do. ”

Her heart ached at the quiet way he spoke, and before she could think better of it, she reached out, her fingers lightly resting on his arm.

The warmth of his skin seeped through their touch, sending a charge through her system, but she ignored it. She didn’t want to be sidetracked by the sexual energy she felt around him.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “Please, share anything you want.”

He hesitated, and then, without releasing his beer bottle, shifted his free hand over hers, wrapping his fingers around hers, holding tight.

“I wasn’t physically abused,” he said, his voice low.

“But my parents were so unhappy that it spilled into everything with our family.” He exhaled, as if gathering his thoughts.

“My dad worked, but he also liked to gamble. He was always sure he’d hit it big.

But he never did. And every time he lost, he grew angrier.

He drank a lot. I could usually tell how much money he’d lost by how drunk he was. ”

Angie swallowed hard, tightening her grip on his arm.

“My mom worked part-time,” he continued, his tone even.

“But she always felt like having kids had taken away her ‘big break,’ as she called it. When my dad would drink, she’d get mad, say she could have made it big if it hadn’t been for him…

and then for us. They’d scream at each other until he left to gamble more, to drink more, to sleep around.

And she’d drink, too. Get upset. Then turn on my sister and me, yelling about how we had ruined her life. ”

She saw it then, the ghost of old wounds flickering across his face.

He took another sip of beer, then gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“I remember you have a sister,” she said softly. His head tilted as though in question, and she hastened to remind him, “From the night we ran into each other… literally, in the pharmacy.”

A slow, genuine smile crossed Pete’s face, softening the hard edges that had formed as he spoke about his past. “That’s right. Yeah. Sally was just one year older than me. We protected each other growing up. Or at least… until I became rebellious.”

There was warmth in his voice when he said her name, an unmistakable affection that contrasted with the heaviness of the conversation.

“She left home when she was eighteen,” he continued, his gaze momentarily distant as if recalling a long-faded memory. “She got pregnant but moved in with a friend, kept a job, built a life. She was everything to her daughter that our mother wasn’t.”

Angie’s heart clenched at the way he said it. There was no bitterness, just quiet reverence, as though his sister’s strength still amazed him.

“When she was twenty-five, she met and married a really good guy who treats her like a queen,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

“He adopted her daughter, and they had a son together. She’s such a great mom.

” He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.

“I always tell her that, and she laughs and says she just did everything opposite of what our parents did.”

Angie smiled, touched by the story. “That’s probably the best thing she could have done.”

His grin lingered for a moment before he exhaled, nodding. “Yeah. It really is.”

Her original question had been about the kids at the YMCA, but now, she could see so much more. His past, his family, and the reasons he was drawn to mentoring those kids. It was all connected. And he was trusting her with it… something she didn’t take lightly.

“Anyway,” he said, shifting slightly as if suddenly self-conscious. “I’m probably going on too much?—”

“No!” She cut in quickly, shaking her head. “I love learning about you, Pete.”

His eyes searched hers, lingering long enough that she could feel the weight of his scrutiny. He was testing her sincerity, trying to determine whether she really meant it. Whatever he found in her expression must have satisfied him, because he slowly nodded.

“By the time I was twelve, I was getting into trouble.” His voice was quieter now, more reflective.

“I didn’t care much about school, but I had a group I hung out with.

Most of them were older, and I was too dumb to realize they were just using me.

” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I must’ve still had an innocent look about me, because they figured out pretty quickly that I could get away with things they couldn’t.

So they got me to start shoplifting for them. ”

He shook his head, his grip tightening slightly around the beer bottle still resting in his lap. “I thought I was slick,” he muttered. “But I was such a dumb fuck.”

Angie leaned in slightly, her fingers still wrapped around his. “In case you didn’t know this, Pete,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “We’re all dumb fucks in middle school.”

For a second, he stared at her in surprise, then barked out a laugh, the sound sudden and full. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I guess you’re right.”

The laughter faded into something quieter, something that hummed between them like an unspoken thread of understanding.

And then the air shifted. She could feel it, the way his nerves passed through their connected hands, how his body seemed to hold just a little more tension.

His story wasn’t over. And she could tell that they were getting to the part that really mattered.

“I had just turned fourteen when I finally got caught shoplifting in a grocery store by the police. It was an older cop,” he said, his voice thoughtful, distant. “I don’t know what the hell he thought he saw in me, but he must’ve looked deep and found something decent.”

She wanted to tell him that finding something decent in him wouldn’t have been difficult. That it was probably always there, just waiting for the right person to notice. But this was his story, so she remained quiet.

Pete took a sip of beer, then exhaled, his thumb idly rubbing over the rim of the bottle. “Instead of arresting me,” he continued, “he told me that if I was willing to work at the grocery store for free to pay off what I’d taken, he wouldn’t haul me in.”

Angie swallowed, her chest tightening. "He gave you a choice. And therefore, he gave you a chance."

He held her gaze again and nodded. "That's a perfect way to put it."

“I take it you took him up on his offer?” Angie asked, tilting her head as she studied him.