“Gilbert asked me to come back for a visit,” Tex told him.
Patrick threw him a look with a raised eyebrow. “Gilbert did, did he? That’s interesting. I didn’t think he got attached to any of his foster kids.” A slight edge of bitterness crept into his voice.
Tex shrugged, unemotional. “Neither did I. When I first got the message, I thought he must be dying or something.”
“Is he?”
“I don’t think so,” Tex said.
“So whydidhe want you to come back?” Patrick paused long enough to observe Tex a moment.
“I’m still not 100 percent sure.” Tex shrugged again. “But I didn’t have any other plans for the holidays, so I thought I’d take a walk down memory lane.”
“Are you sure this is the memory lane you want to walk down?” Patrick cast him another look.
“Believe it or not, out of all my past experiences, living at Gilbert’s place isn’t nearly the worst.” He pressed his lips together and raised his shoulders as if he knew it might sound unbelievable.
Chelsea knew what he’d been through in his childhood. And if living at Gilbert’s had been decent, then she couldn’t imagine what terrible would be like.
Gilbert had no love or affection for any of his foster kids. He’d been a drill sergeant with them, punishing them for the smallest violations. None of them ever had time to relax. They were always working, oftentimes doing things to help Gilbert make more money.
When he’d decided he wanted to start a drop shipping business, he’d used his foster kids as free labor to make it happen.
Chelsea found the man to be despicable.
Patrick raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like you have some stories to tell.” He sucked up a saline solution into his syringe and then began to irrigate her wound, holding a plastic container below her hand to catch the liquid.
She flinched as her cut stung. If he hadn’t been holding her wrist, she would have probably jerked her hand away.
“I know it doesn’t feel great, but I’ve got to clean this out,” Patrick murmured.
“I know,” Chelsea said through gritted teeth.
Tex threw her a half-amused look.
Then he quickly sobered as if remembering they were no longer friends. All the memories they’d had together meant nothing anymore.
Chelsea had to remember that herself. It would be way too easy to step back into the friendship they’d once had. A friendship she’d missed deeply for so long.
Now, she needed to protect herself.
Tex was only in town for a few days. Then he’d be gone again, working all over the country protecting the rich, the famous, and the powerful. At least that was her perception of his job.
But she saw his war-torn eyes. Not only war-torn from battles he’d fought in the military. But war-torn from things he’d experienced that had broken his soul. As a fixer, Chelsea wanted more than anything to help heal his wounds.
But she couldn’t. It was too personal. She had to stay in her lane.
“And the two of you . . . ?” Patrick’s question hung in the air.
Chelsea almost wanted to make a smart remark. But she didn’t.
“We happened to run into each other at Gilbert’s,” Chelsea explained. “Then Gilbert’s window broke and?—”
“His window broke?” Patrick paused.
“Someone threw a brick through it,” Tex said.
Patrick’s face turned a little paler. “Wow. I’m sorry to hear that.”