Page 32 of Redeeming Melodies

"Fuck, I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that definitely didn't make my fingersitch to smooth it back. "Just needed to breathe for a minute, you know? Figure out who I am without all the noise."

"Seems like a good enough reason to me."

He looked at me then, really looked, those green eyes intense even in the dim light. "You're not what I expected, Jake Thompson."

"No?" I pulled up to Clara's, killing the engine. "What did you expect?"

"Some small-town cop on a power trip, maybe. Not..." He gestured vaguely at me. "This."

"This?"

"Someone who actually gives a damn. Who sees more than just another drunk asshole causing problems in his town."

The honesty in his voice caught me off guard. "Maybe you're not what I expected either."

His smile turned knowing. "And what did you expect, Sheriff?"

"Just another rich guy running from his problems." I met his gaze steadily. "Instead I got..."

"Got what?"

The question hung between us, loaded with something I wasn't ready to name. The truck's cab felt too small suddenly, the air too thick with possibility.

"Someone worth helping," I finished lamely, breaking eye contact.

An unfamiliar urge to reach out, to offer some kind of comfort, swept through me. I gripped the steering wheel tighter instead, confused by my own reaction. Since when did I want to protect someone I barely knew?

"Let's get you inside," I managed, killing the engine. Before Elliot could protest, I was out and around to his door, pulling it open. Professional courtesy, I told myself. Nothing more.

He stepped out, stumbling slightly. My hands moved automatically to steady him, catching his shoulders. The contact sent a jolt through my arms that I deliberately ignored.

"Careful there, hotshot." My voice came out rougher than intended.

"My hero," Elliot murmured, but the usual sarcasm was missing. Instead, his green eyes met mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "Always ready to save the day."

We stood there too long, my hands still on his shoulders, the night air thick with something I couldn't name. Didn't want to name.

"Jake?" His voice was quiet, uncertain.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you really here? Nina didn't need a sheriff for this."

The question hit too close to home. Why was I here? Why did this stranger's pain feel personal somehow?

"Just doing my job," I said, finally dropping my hands. The loss of contact shouldn't have felt significant. It did anyway.

"Bullshit." But he smiled as he said it, soft and knowing.

"Try to stay out of trouble for one night, alright?"

His laugh was warm, genuine. "Now where's the fun in that?" He swayed toward me slightly, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with Nina's whiskey. "Besides, trouble seems to find me just fine in this town."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's not such a bad thing." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Something flickered in his eyes - surprise, maybe, or recognition. For a moment, his carefully maintained facade cracked completely, showing something raw and honest underneath.

"Goodnight, Sheriff," he said finally, but my title had lost its mocking edge. Instead, it sounded almost like an endearment.

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