Need You for Keeps (Heroes of St. Helena, #1)(37)

He lifted his head and watched as her eyes slowly opened and struggled to focus. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he said, “Five years ago, I made a mistake and three people died.”

“Oh my God, Jonah.”

“Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “I was on my way home from a routine follow-up when I came across this kid. Fifteen. Nervous. Obviously up to no good. Swore he was on his way home from the library,” he said, remembering how scared the kid had been, and knowing he was going to bolt. Only he didn’t, he stood there like a man, ready to puke, watching as Jonah dug through his backpack.

“Was he?”

“Yeah, he was. I found a biology textbook, a sorry-looking set of school supplies, and a couple of comic books. I also found a semiautomatic.” No bullets, thank God.

“What happened?”

“He admitted to pinching the gun from his uncle after a few kids had tried to jump him the week before. If they came back, the kid wanted something to scare them off. I knew without a doubt he was telling the truth.”

More importantly, his story checked out. Ricky was fifteen, no priors, and on the honor roll at his school—a kid from the shitty side of town trying to overcome his circumstances.

On some level, Jonah understood that.

“But instead of following protocol and bringing him in, I confiscated the gun, let him off with a warning, and gave him twenty bucks to buy a bus pass.”

She cupped his jaw, her thumb gliding gently over his cheek. “Because you’re a good man, Jonah, and you knew that the last thing he needed working against him was an arrest record.”

“Two months later, the same kids cornered Ricky in an alley. He pulled out a different gun, this one loaded.”

“Oh, God.”

“Ricky and one of the other kids died.” So had one of Jonah’s fellow officers who had responded to the call of shots being fired.

“You couldn’t have known,” she said quietly, tightening her arms around him.

“I didn’t have to know. That’s why there are rules.” They were clear and Jonah had taken an oath to uphold them. But he’d made an exception and three people died. “I send his mom a card every year on his birthday, to let her know I’m sorry. He would have been twenty this week.”

Shay was quiet for a moment. “Does it make you feel better? Sending her a card?”

Jonah laughed, because it didn’t. If anything it made him feel worse. But talking to Shay alleviated some of that guilt he was so desperate to cling to.

“You gonna send her one next year?” she asked, and he knew what she was really asking: When was he going to finally forgive himself?

“I don’t know,” he lied, because he knew he would.

They both did, but instead of telling him to move on or giving him some lame speech like his family and his fellow officers did, she gave him a gentle kiss.

“I bet she appreciates it. Ricky’s mom. I bet it makes her smile that you honor his memory that way,” Shay said, and Jonah wondered if she knew how much of herself she gave away when she looked at him like that.

“I hope so.” A part of him always hesitated, afraid that his cards brought up painful memories for the woman, but he couldn’t stop sending them.

As if reading his mind, she said, “When my mom died I remember feeling sad and alone. If someone sent me a card, letting me know I wasn’t alone in my loss, it would have meant the world.”

He wanted to know more about her world, wanted to know what it took to be a fixture in it. From what he’d noticed, Shay didn’t let people in. Oh, she had a bunch of people fluttering around the periphery, but very few, if any, seemed to actually make it in—and stick.

“A card isn’t much, but I don’t know what else to do and I need to do something.”

“And one day, that need will become a want and then it won’t hurt so much.”

“I hope so.” He was looking forward to that day.

Shay put her arms around him and burrowed in as close as she could get. “I know so.”

She ran a hand over his back, as if trying to offer comfort and ease some of the tension he felt building, to let him know she was there. Unable to help himself, he pressed his face into the curve of her neck, breathing her in, and doing his best not to notice how damn good she smelled—she felt even better.

“Thank you for listening. And for sharing,” she said, sliding her hands in his hair and moving against him and yeah, she was ready for a change in topic.

“Want to come in and share some more?” he said, and before she could answer his lips were on hers because he too was done spilling his guts. To prove it he gave her a little nibble.

She groaned and her head tipped back, a clear “go” when it came to other forms of connection. He sucked and kissed all the way down her neck, taking his time and showing her just how ready he was.

“I can’t,” she said, pulling back, her gaze running the length of him while indecision and hunger played across her pretty face. “I want to. Like really want to, but—”

He placed a finger on her lips, because he could work with want. He could also work with the need he saw in her eyes. “Thank God, because I was afraid you were making up some reason to leave.”

“I am.” Suddenly her hands were on his shoulders and she was stepping back, right out of his arms. Connection broken. Any hope he’d had for taking this into the bedroom—or to the nearest flat surface—was broken. “But it’s a really good reason.”