Page 43 of Breaking Through

"You showed me how to balance caring while respecting someone's autonomy. I learned from you how to support without smothering." I met his eyes as we stared at the uniform in the mirror. "I watched how you handled lost hikers by giving them the tools to find their way while honoring their journey. It helped me figure out how to help Grandpa without taking over his life."

"You mean I got pissed off and told you to back off. That's different."

"Is it?" I wrapped my arms around him from behind, watching our reflection. "You've taught me about strength and vulnerability since that first morning on the beach. Maybe it's time I returned the favor."

He leaned back against me, a solid weight that somehow made me feel stronger. "I hate that you'll see me like this. In Chicago. When I'm not..."

"Not what? Not the strong, silent ranger? Not the calm voice of reason?" I tightened my hold. "Wade, I fell for all of you, including the parts that shake and break and need piecing back together."

His hands covered mine where they rested on his chest. His heart pounded through the thick material of his dress uniform—steady, alive, fighting through the fear.

"Sarah's planning to send snacks for our trip. Rafe's invented something called Courage Cookies that I'm pretty sure are just regular chocolate chip with extra vanilla."

A hearty laugh rumbled through Wade's chest. "That woman needs a hobby."

"Pretty sure we are her hobby. She's got the whole town invested in our story now."

"Christ." He turned in my arms. "Should we be worried?"

"Probably. I heard they're debating whether to classify us as enemies-to-lovers or grumpy-sunshine."

"Those are real categories?"

"For someone who catalogs every plant species in the park, you're charmingly naive about how Blue Harbor categorizes its love stories." I reached up to straighten his collar. "The marina's book club has a whole system. With subcategories. And footnotes."

"And we're in it?"

"Featured entry. Sarah's very proud."

He groaned. "This town is out of its mind."

"Says the man who built a special trail just so Mr. Nolan could keep walking his dog after his hip surgery. Tom told me about it."

"That was basic trail maintenance."

"In the shape of a figure-eight so he could rest at the halfway point without feeling like he was turning back?" I raised an eyebrow. "Face it, Ranger Grumpy. You're part of this absurd little town now."

"Yeah." His voice softened. "Guess I am."

Looking at him in his dress blues, with vulnerability and strength warring in his eyes, I understood something Gran used to say about art:Sometimes the most powerful pieces aren't the perfect ones, but the ones that show their history in every brushstroke.

I squeezed Wade. "We should practice."

"Practice what?"

"The memorial service. You said you have to speak." He nodded. "So practice with me. Right here, right now."

"Holden..."

"Please?" I took his hand. "Let me be your first audience. No pressure and no judgment. It's just me listening."

He stared at our joined hands for a long moment. Finally, he squeezed my fingers and began to speak. "Jenkins had three kids..."

Chapter fourteen

Wade

The dress blues felt like armor made of lead, each polished button a weight dragging me down. Behind the makeshift curtain that separated the "speakers" from the "mourners," I adjusted my collar for the tenth time in as many minutes. The fabric scratched against my scars like it was trying to remind me I didn't belong in Chicago anymore.

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