Page 5 of Shelter for Shay (Broken Heroes Mended Souls #2)

SHAY – LAKE GEORGE, NEW YORK

T he house had taken on that strange in-between hush—where time didn’t feel linear anymore. Just a slow, winding drift between medications, sleep, and silence.

Shay sat in the worn armchair beside her mother’s bed, elbows on her knees, fingers laced together.

She watched the rise and fall of Margaret’s chest, slight and shallow beneath the floral blanket.

The oxygen machine let out its slow hiss with every breath.

The heart monitor beeped with every beat of her pulse.

It should’ve been soothing by now, but today it made Shay feel like she was running out of time.

Everything had changed in the last forty-eight hours.

Her mother, always so careful, so strong, had begun to slip. The kind of slipping that couldn’t be reversed with medication or new doctors. The kind of slipping you didn’t come back from.

All their reminiscing about the past had turned into planning for the final departure.

Shay reached out and tucked a strand of gray hair away from her mother’s temple. Margaret didn’t stir.

She thought about the letter again—his letter—every line she’d read aloud just two days ago. Her mother’s face lit up with the same joy she used to have when Shay would waltz in the front door from one of her adventures. And maybe there was a trace of hope. Maybe even peace.

Matthew Rhoades.

Moose.

She hadn’t expected him to respond, much less get on a plane. There’d been no pressure. Just the truth. And yet here she was, nervously rechecking the time and wiping her hands on her jeans like it would make any difference.

For the last two days she sat and listened to her mother tell story after story about Moose.

How she’d fought with the teachers at school to give him a fighting chance when they’d all written him off because of his poor attitude, lack of attendance, and bad behavior.

She had only one picture of him—his senior picture.

It was an awkward picture, but boy was he a handsome kid.

Even with the sorrow that filled his eyes.

And all the letters he’d written. She’d reread every single one. Not only did she feel like she knew the man, but his chickens too.

The doorbell rang.

Shay’s pulse kicked hard. She stood so fast her legs bumped the tray table beside her mother’s bed. The water glass wobbled but didn’t spill. Pulling open the bedroom door, she turned, glancing over her shoulder.

“Sweetheart?” her mom asked, licking her dry cracked lips.

“I’ll be right back.” Shay tugged the door closed. She hadn’t wanted to tell her that she thought maybe her special visitor was here just in case it was someone else and not Moose.

Shay jogged down the stairs and crossed the house in a few quick strides, suddenly aware of how messy everything looked.

The stack of medical forms on the hallway console.

The coffee mug she’d abandoned hours ago on the living room side table.

Her own flannel shirt half-buttoned over a tank top and worn leggings—comfy, yes, but definitely not first-impression material.

But this wasn’t about her, it was about her mom—and Moose.

Their goodbye. Shay was just going to be the person standing in the corner.

She smiled at the thought. Her mom would’ve laughed so hard at the joke.

When she reached the front door, she hesitated for just a second before pulling it open.

And there he was.

Broad-shouldered. Quiet-eyed. A presence like a force field she could feel even from the other side of the threshold. His hair was slightly tousled, his expression solemn but open, and his gaze locked on hers with a kind of stillness that made everything in her spin a little off-axis.

He wore fitted dark jeans and boots. Nothing flashy. Just grounded. Steady. But there was a roughness around the edges too—a tension in his jaw, a faint shadow under his eyes. He looked like he’d seen hell and walked out of it carrying the weight on his shoulders.

And yet… there was kindness in the way he looked at her. A softness that called to her heart.

“Hi,” she said, her voice unexpectedly soft. “You must be…”

“Matthew Rhoades,” he said with a faint smile, “but everyone calls me Moose.” God, even the voice. Low and warm and just gravelly enough to sound like trouble if she let it.

Her mom had told her he was charismatic, even as a broken teenager. The man standing before her was more than that.

“You’re… you’re taller than I thought,” she said before she could stop herself.

His smile deepened, just slightly. “I get that a lot.”

She moved to the side, clearing her throat. “Come in.”

He stepped through the doorway, ducking his head slightly. That must have been instinctive for a man built like a linebacker. He took it all in—eyes scanning the room, the corners, the exits—like someone who didn’t know how not to.

Shay shut the door and turned to find him watching her. “Thank you for coming,” she said quickly, needing to fill the air. It wasn’t that he made her nervous, but something shifted inside her, as if finally meeting him brought her mother’s circle of life together in a way that mattered.

“I’m glad I made it in time,” he said, setting down his duffel near the wall. “I did make it in time, right?”

“She’s resting now,” Shay explained. “The last few days have been… rough. But I know she’ll want to see you.”

He nodded and glanced toward the hallway. “This place hasn’t changed much.”

“You’ve been here before?” she asked. “My mom never mentioned that and she never mixed her work life with her personal one.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t mean the house.

Just the area. The neighborhood. I grew up in the village, so not far from here.

I used to walk around a lot when I was a kid, not wanting to be at home, and I’d often find myself wandering this neighborhood.

I’m sure I passed this house many times, not knowing this was where she lived. ”

There was something in the way he easily gave that information—allowed a piece of the past to tumble out in a wave of vulnerability—that made her want to wrap her arms around him and hold on tight.

“You left Lake George when you were a teenager?” she asked, moving her thoughts to small talk. Anything to push past the insane sensation of feeling like she honestly knew this man—could draw strength from him—when in reality, he was a perfect stranger.

“I was eighteen.”

“What made you leave?” she asked. Even though she knew the answer, she wanted to hear his version and maybe just listen to the timbre of his voice a little while longer.

He hesitated, gaze drifting to a framed photo of her and her mom on the mantle. “Needed space. Distance. Time away from this place. I joined the Navy.”

“But you stayed in touch with her.”

He nodded. “Your mom… she didn’t give up on people.

Even when they gave up on themselves.” He waved his hand.

“But she made me promise her that I’d write her back.

Let her know that I was vertical. That I’d found something better than…

” He let the words trail off. “Well, then what I was living here.”

Shay felt like a stone dropped in her chest. “Yeah. She’s always been like that.

Sometimes it was hard being her kid because I wondered if she loved the kids she counseled more than she loved me.

I once thought maybe I should get into trouble to get her attention but then thought better of it.

Of course, that was all when I was at that teenage rebellious stage of life. ”

Moose chuckled. “She would have hung you by your backside.”

“Probably,” she said. “But she was also the best mom in the world, so there was that.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

Moose looked at her, not with pity, but with something quieter. Understanding. As if they shared the same pain. Maybe in a weird way they did.

“Do you want coffee?” she asked, needing the excuse to breathe.

“That’d be great.” He nodded. “I’m bone-tired and barely slept on the flight.

You’d think considering I’m used to being strapped into a transport plane that flying commercial would be a real treat.

Well, it wasn’t.” He ran his hand over his face.

“Actually, not true. I flew first class. Something I never do. But it was so damn comfy with all the free drinks and the movies. God, the movies. I watched three. Crazy, right?” The ease in which he switched from one subject to the next was a breath of fresh air.

Most people these days had no idea how to talk to Shay.

There were always awkward pauses. Clunky transitions. And quiet stares of sadness.

“Not really. But I get on a plane and I’m asleep before we take off.

I can sleep anywhere. The curse of being someone who spent a year volunteering in an orphanage where my bed was a foam mattress and I didn’t have any other choice.

” She led him into the kitchen, where the light through the window hit the counter just right, casting a golden line across the sink.

She moved around on autopilot—grabbing mugs, pouring, trying not to notice the way Moose leaned against the opposite counter like he belonged.

“So,” she said as she poured. “You’re a SEAL?

That’s got to be an interesting and exciting career. ”

“Interesting, yes. Exciting, not in the way you think.”

She handed him a mug and leaned against the counter across from him. “That sounds intense.”

“Some days more than others.”

“Why the Navy?”

“Your mom mentioned the military as a way for me to get an education. To get out of here. And to find structure in my life.” He gave a faint smile.

“I picked the Navy because I love the water and I’m a really good swimmer.

” He chuckled, shaking his head. “One of the times I got in trouble in school was because I broke into the pool and was caught swimming at three in the morning.”

“Oh my God. You’re a legend.”

“Excuse me?” He arched a brow.