Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(61)

“You’re applying,” Jonah said and Dax couldn’t help but notice that the question mark at the end was missing.

He shook his head. “Not happening.”

“What I meant was that you already applied,” Jonah said, smiling. “I wrote your résumé last week and sent it in. Congratulations, the job is yours. Now untie me before I kick you in the nuts.”

Dax wasn’t going to untie his brother, just like he wasn’t going to take that job. If someone had to make the hard calls, it wasn’t going to be him. Ever again. Although the thought of staying in St. Helena didn’t make his chest itch as badly anymore, the idea of playing judge and jury for another fifteen years was enough to take him under—and he’d just remembered how to breathe again.

“Until I hear you say ‘game over,’ this training is still a go.” When Jonah just smiled, Dax cleared his throat. “And thanks for the endorsement,” he said truthfully, because a guy like Jonah having enough faith in Dax to send in his résumé meant a lot. “But I heard back from Fallon. The job is mine. I can start as soon as Kyle gives me the all-clear.”

Something he needed to talk to the doc about at his post-op appointment that Adam was taking him to tomorrow.

“Congrats,” Jonah said with equal emotion. “Fallon runs a tight ship and they’ll be lucky to have you.” Jonah smiled, but his tone was dead serious. “Any team would be lucky to have you, Dax. Including mine.”

Dax wasn’t so sure about that. In San Jose he would be hired muscle with some serious skills behind him. No connections, no shared history, just a former sniper with a reputation and a job to do. Here, surrounded by family and friends, he was afraid he’d hesitate. Connections did that to a person, screwed with their head and contributed to making crap decisions.

He thought of Emerson and the way she’d leaned into him the other day, as if he were the only thing keeping her standing. How good it had felt to be the sole grounding force in her vortex of chaos. And how instead of pulling back like he should have, he’d pulled her closer, encouraged her to lean on him as if he was applying to be her own personal hero—then agreed to do the CQB training knowing he was going to leave.

Yeah, crap decisions.



“This one is delish,” Harper moaned around bits of homemade pita. “It’s so juicy and spicy.”

“It’s my Greek twist on a slider. I use ground lamb and short ribs for the patty, like my mom did, but then put my secret roasted red pepper and caviar aioli on top,” Emerson said, knowing it was a front-runner. The dish was complex and rich without being snooty, and walked that fine line between sophistication and street food.

“This is a definite menu must-have,” Harper said, shoving the rest of her slider in her mouth, then licking her fingers clean. “I could eat this every day.”

That was exactly what Emerson was going for. A menu that could win over the judges but remain approachable to the locals. Delectable without pretentiousness. And if she was being honest, it had heart too.

Smiling, she took a sip of wine and leaned back on the lounge chair, content to just sit by and watch the trees blow in the breeze.

It was Sunday afternoon and Emerson had a rare day off, so she’d decided to spend it sharing a bottle of wine with Harper on her balcony, sampling a few ideas she had for Street Eats. They were also celebrating Emerson’s Blow Your Cork earnings—which after the last event put her just two grand shy of her goal. She still hadn’t found a truck, but with her menu taking shape and the RSVP in the hands of the committee, she was feeling hopeful.

Something she hadn’t felt in years.

“Speaking of delish,” Harper said with a secret smile. “What’s up with you and the beefcake?”

“Nothing,” Emerson said.

Harper snorted. “Nothing, huh? Then why are you flushed?”

“I am not.” She touched her cheek and—this was becoming ridiculous.

First the flutters, then the hoping, and now flushing? It was like she was turning into one of those girls. And she had worked her entire life not to be one of those girls. “It’s because he hugged me.”

Harper froze, second slider halfway to her lips. “Hugged? You let him hug you? As in putting his arms around you and sharing an embrace?”

“I hugged him back.” And it was a fantastic hug too, all sweet and gentle and warm and—oh God, there went the flutters.

“Is he okay?” Harper leaned forward, shock and a little smart-ass lacing her features. “Are you okay?”

“I hug people.”

“Like who? Name one person since Liam, no, wait, your mom, who you hugged. And Violet doesn’t count.”

Emerson thought long and hard on that one, wanting to prove Harper wrong. Had it really been that long since she’d hugged someone? Wait, yes. “I hugged you. That night Shay got her shop for the pet rescue.”

“That was over a year ago and I hugged you. You merely tolerated it, just like you tolerated the celebratory Street Eats hug,” Harper clarified, and Emerson wondered if Harper remembered every hug of her life. “To qualify as a hug, it needs to be reciprocal. So this hug with Dax—”

“Dax and I had sex last weekend, against nearly every horizontal and vertical surface of my apartment, and you didn’t ask all these questions. But we hug and it’s a matter of national security?”