The Hero I Need

His words make my heart flutter because I know just the Grady he means.

A proud, lion-hearted man who turned himself inside out just to let his friends into his life.

“Yeah. I noticed,” I whisper, straggling out the words before my throat closes.

“He’s always been too proud to ask for anything, even when he damn well should have,” Weston tells me, taking another Bruce-sized bite off his sub.

I’ve still got a mouthful of mine, so I just look at him, unable to form words.

“I’m talking about when Brittany was sick and dying... Uncle Grady never asked anyone for help, and he sure could’ve used it. That shit ripped him in half. She didn’t even know who he was by the end.”

Food gets stuck in my throat and I have to swallow extra hard to push it down.

“She didn’t?” I finally get out.

“Nope. Poor lady didn’t remember nothing. Not him. Not the girls. Not her own frigging name. It was horrific. She had a feeding tube and Grady had to do everything for her. Everything.” With sad eyes, he pauses, raising a fist from the wheel. “Seemed like it went on forever. I can’t even imagine what it was like for my uncle. The end was a blessing in disguise when it came, putting her out of her misery, but not for him. Grady always thought he should have done more. He never realized he just...he couldn’t have. He’s a helluva guy but he’s not a miracle worker. There was nothing anyone could’ve done, and he ran himself raw caring for her. He was kind and faithful to the bitter end.”

“Wow,” I mouth numbly, feeling my pulse slowing to a crawl.

Ah, hello pain.

There’s that pesky heartache again, determined to make me spill a few more tears for the incredible man I left behind. The handsome man with a desperado’s soul I couldn’t even give a proper goodbye to.

God, what’s wrong with me?

Weston takes a drink of water, slugging it back like a whiskey shot. “Shit. I was just hoping he was snapping out of this funk he’s been in for years, finally getting over it and moving on with his life, y’know? The dude deserves a little excitement. A real date or two with a nice woman, if it’s in the cards.”

He turns that sad smile on me.

I wasn’t that hungry before, but now, I can’t take another bite and tuck the sandwich back in its wrapper. I had no idea Brittany’s death was so awful. So sad.

I’d never asked Grady directly, never pried into what he’d gone through.

No wonder he’s so viciously protective of Sawyer and Avery.

Of himself.

Watching someone he loved die like that gives a new definition to torture.

“If I had two wishes, Willow, I’ll tell you what they’d be,” Weston says darkly. “For one, I’d wish I could finally get my life back on track, bring in steady business at the shop, and stop looking over my shoulder.”

The way he says it sends a chill up my back. Apparently, trouble runs in the family with the McKnights.

“And the other?” I venture when he goes quiet.

“Easy. I’d want to see my uncle get hitched again to the woman of his dreams. Somebody cool and gorgeous and adventurous. Someone to bring him out of his shell. Somebody to complete his family. Hell, someone to make him smile, because that man doesn’t do it near enough, and when he does, nobody can help but smile back.” His eyes sparkle, and I see an adorable smile light up his face.

“That’s really kind of you,” I say softly, turning my head sharply to the window.

I think he still sees the heavy tear I wipe off my cheek, but I said I wouldn’t do this, didn’t I?

I won’t cry over Grady again, much less dwell on the fact that I’m one more loss in his life.

I won’t go all angsty school girl for this wounded beast-man with an unforgettable kiss.

Too late.

I already am.

Weston goes quiet, at least, politely leaving me to my heart being slapped around in my ribs like a drunken volleyball match.

I’m grateful for the silence.

The messages on the screen mostly stopped after Drake arrested the two men in the SUV who made the fatal mistake of chasing his wife.

Idiots. For all I know, they’ll have to answer to Edison too.

I’m so out of it the miles drift by, and I look up in surprise when Weston speaks again.

“We should be in Sheridan in forty minutes or so according to the GPS,” he says.

Our route flashes on the dashboard screen.

Every mile makes my stomach cave in a little deeper.

“Uncle Grady texted a little bit ago. Said he booked us rooms at a hotel about fifteen miles away from the refuge,” Weston says. “Smart, right? I can’t wait to take a load off after this.”