Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(80)

“But here’s the thing with love,” Jonah said. “That scenario could never happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because in love, the man is never right,” Jonah said. “Never. Let me repeat, in case you still don’t get it. The man is never right, and even if he is right, he knows it’s better to go to sleep with a sexy woman next to him than cuddle up with his ego on a cold couch. Egos don’t wear lace. Remember that and everything else is easy.”

Easy, Dax thought. Everything with Emerson was always easy and natural. Chaotic and crazy and unexpected—but easy. With her he felt like everything was all right, that he was all right.

He loved that she never judged or demanded. She’d accepted him, broken parts and all. And wasn’t that the definition of love?

“Yeah, I know that look too,” Jonah laughed. “Equally as scary but lacking in that heart-ripped-out-of-your-chest feeling that always made me want to puke.”

“I still might puke.” Dax stood and looked at his watch. Because she’d asked him if he trusted her and he’d said yes. And trust was a two-way deal, he knew that. Yet when she went for honesty he let doubt creep in.

He’d hesitated.

Because of the connection. He’d hesitated because he’d recognized that look—it was the same one he’d seen Jonah give Shay, his grandpa give his new wife, ChiChi, and he knew if he went for it and misjudged, it might kill him.

So he’d reassessed, tried to find a different avenue, an angle that wasn’t there, and spent so much time weighing risk to motives that he missed what was standing right in front of him.

His golden opportunity.

Emerson had put herself out there, offered him a chance to be a part of her team, no guarantees but an honest-to-God chance at finding happiness, with her. And instead of fully engaging, he’d changed position before really giving it a shot.

He wanted that second shot. Needed it.

“Emerson is stubborn,” he said to Jonah, who was just smiling. “Almost as bad as I am. Hell, I’d only give me one shot. What if she does the same?”

“Did you cuff her in front of the mayor and throw her in jail?”

“What the—?” Dax narrowed his eyes. “No.”

Jonah waved a carefree hand. “Eh, then you should be good. Buy her a kitten, though, just in case.”

“A kitten?” Dax asked. “Are you screwing with me? I’m not buying her a kitten so you can get rid of one of the nine thousand in your house.”

Jonah shrugged. “Your call, but I’d go with Patches. He’s a Siamese-Bengal mix. Won’t shut up but took on a coyote a few months back and won. He’s missing a leg. A real badass. Sounds like Emerson’s type.”

A bullet blasting through metal cut through the air and Dax turned his head. Gomer had taken the shot, and it was all Dax could do not to run down there and look to see if he’d made it. “Tell me he hit orange.”

Jonah picked up the binoculars and laughed. “Nope, went wide and hit my cruiser.” Jonah looked at Dax over the lenses. “Poor FNG hesitated so long he talked himself right out of his second chance.”

“You going to give him another shot?” Dax asked, not amused by the irony.

“Nope. You are.”

Dax looked up and Jonah patted him on the back. “You can tell him Monday morning when you report to work—as his mentor. That way the kid sweats it out a little.”

Dax hugged his brother. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Try ‘Affirmative, awesome brother of mine. I will report to work first thing Monday morning, here is my hand, let’s shake on it,’” Jonah said in his best Dax impersonation. Dax laughed and took his brother’s hand.

An overwhelming sense of right went through that shake, because everything Dax had lost when he’d walked away from the army was standing right in front of him. He was already a part of the best brotherhood on the planet.

Dax pulled Jonah in for a one-armed bro-hug, followed by the more masculine proud-of-you smack to the back. “Missed you.”

Jonah paused, and so did Dax. It was the first time he’d said those words to anyone in his family since enlisting.

“Missed you too. And I’m glad you’re finally home,” Jonah said thickly and Dax realized that he wasn’t home. Not quite yet. But he was finally ready to start the journey. And he knew just who he wanted to take it with.

“Now go, before you have to bring Emerson a kitten and a Shetland pony.”





By the time Emerson set the last of the cupcakes on the tray, she had chocolate batter dried on the tip of her ponytail, orange-zest-stained nails, and enough ouzo frosting on her apron to pass for a drunken cupcake. She also had a heartache that burned as hot as the Sahara that made fully enjoying this moment hard.

“The toppings are prepped, the orange slices are candied and ready to go on the cupcakes, and the troops are waiting for orders.” Roger pointed to the cluster of tyke-sized #GOGREEK hats sitting on the steps of the food truck with promotional shirts on. “Look, even their uniforms are ironed.”

That wasn’t all. Each girl had hand drawn a sign for the competition, proclaiming Pita Peddler the best streatery in wine country. They’d also handed out over two hundred fliers to tourists who had come out to taste some of the best eats in the country. Including several corporate scouts interested in finding new potential franchising opportunities.