But Garrett had tossed a small twig aside, and gazed down at her hand like he’d wanted to take it. She hadn’t known if she wanted him to hold it or not, but when he had, a current had rushed up her arm as if the tips of her fingers where he touched her had been struck by lightning.
“I’m gonna be your hero now,” he’d said.
And he was.
He’d protected her his entire life, from anything and everything. He’d become not only her hero...but the only man she’d ever wanted.
* * *
He could feel Kate in the house somehow.
Of course his mother wouldn’t let her drive so late back to her apartment alone. Garrett also had an apartment of his own in a newer neighborhood, but tonight he’d also planned to stay in his old room so he could get blissfully inebriated without having to drive. And yet even after all the wine he’d drunk, he didn’t feel so high.
The news of Kate’s plans to move had sobered him.
Now he lay in bed with just a little buzz to scramble his brain, not enough to numb his thoughts. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
He might as well have been eighteen again, staring at the ceiling, sleepless with the knowledge that Kate slept nearby. Except now, Molly no longer slept in Kate’s same room, and Kate wasn’t a teenager anymore. Neither was Garrett.
With the vivid imagination of a man, he imagined her red hair fanning out against the white pillow, and the mere thought of her in bed caused his muscles to tighten.
His chest became heavy as he grappled with the same feelings of guilt and solitude that he always did when he thought of her.
Garrett had also denied little Molly of a father. But Molly had never looked at him with resentment. She had never really looked at him like she wanted something from him, like Kate did.
Sometimes, when he got drunk and reflective, he wondered if that night had never happened, would things have been different for him? He might have been happier, like his younger brother. He could have also waited until Kate was the right age, and then, if there had been any hint of her having any special feelings for him, he might have let himself feel them back for her. But it was pointless to imagine it. Pointless torture and torment. Because that night had happened, and Garrett could still feel the dank air, hear the gunshots and remember it as if it had happened less than twenty-four hours ago.
Yeah, he remembered exactly how those gunshots had exploded so close to him, how they’d burst between the buildings of downtown San Antonio like an echo. He remembered his father’s grip—which had been firm on Garrett as he guided him into the concert entrance—and how suddenly he’d jerked at his side and his fingers had let go. His father had crashed like a deadweight to the asphalt.
“Dad?” Garrett had said, paralyzed in confusion for a second, only to be instantly shoved aside by Dave Devaney, whose expression clearly told Garrett he’d already figured out what was going on.
“Get down—run!” the man had shouted, reaching for the weapon Garrett knew he carried inside his jacket. But Garrett could hear his father sputtering, struggling to breathe, and he had been paralyzed for a stunned moment. The world could have been crashing over him. As far as he’d known, it had been. But all he had been conscious of was his father. In the middle of the street, clutching his chest, where blood spurted through his open fingers like a fountain.
Instead of running away, Garrett had run back to him. He hadn’t known what he planned to do. He’d only known his father was covered in blood, choking on his own breath, and that his eyes—dark as coal like Garrett’s—looked wild and frightened. As wild and frightened as Garrett felt.
He’d dived back for the figure on the ground and gripped him by one arm, trying to drag him aside, when he’d heard Devaney’s “No, boy! Dammit, no!” A half dozen more gunshots had exploded, and in that instant, the weight of a man had crushed him to the ground.
Garrett had cursed in front of his father for the first time in his life and squirmed between both men. Something hot and sticky had oozed across both his chest and back as he’d tried to push free, which had proved immensely difficult being he was only ten, and Dave Devaney had been a big man. His father had sputtered one last time beneath him, and when Garrett swung his head around, Jonathan Gage’s eyes had been lifeless.
Garrett had gone cold, listening to sirens in the distance, footsteps, chaos around them.
Suddenly he’d heard Dave’s voice, saying, “Garrett,” as he rolled to the side to spare Garrett his weight. He’d blinked up at the man, shocked, mute when he realized the man had stepped into the line of fire to save him. Him. Who hadn’t run when he’d been told to.
The man had reached out to pat his jaw, and Garrett had grabbed the man’s hand and attempted a reassuring squeeze. He’d shaken uncontrollably, felt sticky and startlingly cold. “My daughters... They have no one but me. No one but me. Do you understand me, boy?”
He’d nodded wildly.
The man had seemed to struggle to swallow. To speak and breathe. But his eyes had had that wild desperation Garrett’s father had worn, except his gaze had also been pleading. Pleading with Garrett. “Help me.... Be there...for them...”
He’d nodded wildly again.
“So that they are not alone...taken care of...safe. Tell ’em...I l-love...”
Garrett had nodded, his face wet and his eyes scalding hot as he tried to reassure the dying man. His chest had hurt so much he’d thought he’d been shot, as well. “Yes, sir,” he’d said low, with the conviction of a ten-year-old who’d suddenly aged to eighty. “I’ll take care of them both.”
But how could he take care of Kate now, if they would be miles and states apart?
* * *
Kate was jolted from her thoughts when the door of her bedroom crashed open. She sat upright on the bed, her heart hammering in her chest. A huge shadow loomed at the threshold.
Garrett.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he said gruffly.
Shock widened her eyes. His voice was slurred, and she wondered how many more drinks he’d had after they’d last seen each other.
From the light of the hall, she could see he was still partly dressed in his black slacks and button-up shirt. His tie was loose around his collar. His hair rumpled. His sleeves rolled up. Oh, God, he looked adorable.
“I’ve made up my mind,” she told him.