Page 16 of That One Heartbreak

“Paul’s t-shirts.” Her voice was low.

His chest tightened. “Yeah.”

“Did you keep anything else of his?”

He lifted a brow. “His whole locker. Anything left in his desk drawers. I have it all.”

She let out a low breath. “I told you I didn’t want it.”

“I have space in my garage. It isn’t a big deal. I just didn’t want you to make any rash decisions.”

Her jaw jutted out and he knew he’s said the wrong thing. He didn’t know anybody with as much pride as this woman.

And yeah, she deserved to have pride. Not everybody would have been able to keep it together after losing their husband. But she had, and she’d done it well. Her kids were a testament to that.

“If you want anything else, you can come take a look.”

“I don’t want anything else.” She shook her head. “I just…” She let out a long breath. “I was in a bad place last night. I overstepped the mark. I’m sorry.”

“You overstepped the mark?” He was confused now. His gaze dipped to the base of her neck, where her skin dipped before it met her sternum. Fuck, it looked soft.

Eyes away, Hartson.

“I shouldn’t have let you hug me.”

She was worried about him trying to console her? He wanted to roll his eyes, but this conversation felt too precious.

“You were upset. It was a simple hug. Nothing more.” His voice was low. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

She took a deep breath, her chest rising beneath the silk of her blouse. “I don’t want you thinking I’m some kind of weak woman, burning my daughter’s cupcakes and having my kids screaming at each other. Because I’m not.”

There was that pride again. And fuck if it wasn’t the most enticing thing he’d seen.

“I’ve never thought you were weak, Kate,” he told her. “Never.”

“But other people do.” A fleeting smile pulled at her lips. “Some people think I can’t cope.”

“Then fuck them.”

Her eyes met his. “I think you might be one of them.”

“What gives you that impression?” he asked gruffly.

“Because you run past my house every night.”

“I told you, it’s on my route. I need to keep in shape.” Yes, it was a fucking lie. But he couldn’t sleep if he didn’t know they were okay. Not that he’d ever tell her that.

Her gaze dropped to his body, then shot straight back up again. And then her phone started to ring. She lifted it from her purse and looked at the screen and sighed.

“Bad news?”

“My mom.” She gave him that hint of a smile again. “So kinda.”

He remembered Paul talking about his mother-in-law.“High maintenance doesn’t even describe it, man.”Marley blinked at the memory of them talking about her over a beer at the station late at night.

God, he missed his friend. So much so that sometimes he didn’t know what to do with the emotions. Except push them away and run until he forgot them. The department had pushed him to have therapy after Paul had died in front of him. He’d lasted three weeks.

He wasn’t a talker. He was a doer. Action was his therapy.

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