Page 70 of When We Are Complete

“That’s fine. I can wait. Why don’t you grab your meds and some clothes?” I clap a hand on his shoulder as I step inside, the house almost as cold as it is outside. “Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

While Joe packs, I take in the living room that still holds memories from Danny’s life—photos scattered on shelves, a few baseball trophies covered in dust. This place hasn’t changed much. Time has stopped here, a silent tribute to his son.

It stirs up something raw, my throat aching as I look at Danny’s graduation picture on the wall. Danny should be here. He’d probably be leading us through all this chaos, throwing out orders alongside Patrick with the kind of confidence that made him seem invincible.

Joe walks back into the living room with a backpack and catches me staring, and he smiles softly, an expression that gets swallowed by the next bout of coughing. “I’ve always loved that photo of him. I miss him so much.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Me too, Mr. Heart. Every day.”

Soon Joe’s ready to go, and a chill gusts through the house as I open the door. We step out, and Joe stumbles slightly, grabbing my arm for support as the wind swirls snow at our feet.

His breaths come shallow and raspy once we’re in my truck, a reminder of the toll that his lung cancer has taken. Joe had to stop work after his diagnosis, losing his insurance. But Harbor’s Edge rallied together at one of the Founder’s Day Festivals, and raised money for his treatment. The town has managed to keep him afloat, and he’s doing better. Still, he’s not the man he used to be.

Once I get him settled in the shelter, I glance down at the list of other residents I need to check on. There are a dozen names, and they blur together for a moment. The storm hasn’t even hit with full force yet.

I take out my phone and call Kelly, but there’s no answer. I wish she was here. I picture her fussing over the little things—making sure people have blankets, maybe even organizing pots of coffee. She’s always thinking of others, and it’s one of the things I love most about her. She doesn’t just care; she throws her whole heart into it.

I leave a voice message telling her I love her and asking her to call me, then glance back at my list. There’s a lot left to do, and people are counting on us to make it through this safely.

Sometimes our work as the Valiant Hearts is huge, filled with adrenaline—clearing debris after hurricanes, evacuating people as wildfires bear down, or combing through flooded homes to make sure no one’s left behind.

Those moments come fast and intense, leaving us running on pure instinct. But other times, it’s quieter. We’re knocking on doors, checking on our neighbors, and helping people like Joe get to a safe place to see out a storm.

As I drive, I picture Kelly bundled up in that old gray sweater she loves, maybe nursing a cup of tea, her hair falling around her face as she jots down notes. Thinking about her gives me more resolve to get through today, to be the person she sees in me—the one who keeps it all together, who’s able to fix things and be there, steady and dependable.

Chapter 39

Kelly

“Kelly, you really should stay here,”Nora says, her hands on her hips. She’s still wearing a robe over her pajamas, and thick fuzzy socks, her blond hair pulled back into a low ponytail. I can practically feel her eyes burning into me.

“Can’t,” I reply, already halfway out the door, pulling on my coat and jamming a beanie over my hair. “I’m needed there. I won’t be long, promise.” It’s a small misrepresentation of the truth. I’m the only one who needs me to go to work, because there has to be something I can do, something I’m missing that will save the festival.

“They need an event planner to handle a winter storm?” She’s not buying it, and I don’t blame her.

“I’ll be home soon.” I step all the way out and close the door before she can argue further, and head down the stairs to the front door of our apartment block, double tapping the bannister at the top of the stairs, pausing on the ninth with both feet, tapping again.

Through the walls, the low, constant roar of the wind shifts, its pitch rising and falling in eerie, unpredictable rhythms, as though what’s coming is alive, prowling. As soon as I step outside, the frigid air slaps me in the face, snow whipping against my cheeks.

My car takes a couple of tries to start, and the roads are already a slick mess of ice and snow. I slide more than drive to Town Hall, tires struggling for grip on a world fast turned gray and glassy.

I park right out front and hurry inside, my boots leaving wet tracks on the polished floor as I head toward my office. My thoughts jump in scattered bursts, grasping at half-formed plans and worst-case scenarios, each one slipping through my fingers before I can get a handle on it. What if I’ve missed something? What if there’s something I can do to turn this around?

“Kelly Charleston, what are you doing here?”

I turn my head to see the mayor looking right at me from one of the meeting rooms in full command mode, surrounded by representatives of various emergency response teams. I spot the sheriff with his distinctive silver hair and mustache, and give him a tentative wave. He nods back, serious as ever.

The mayor steps out of the room, clipboard in hand, and offers me a quick, assessing look. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Couldn’t stay away.” I try for lightness, though I can’t completely hide the fact my nerves are on edge. “I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to talk to you about the festival installations. Maybe some people could head out with me today, see if there’s anything else we can do—”

The mayor sighs, already looking weary. “You’ve put in so much work, and it’s not ideal, but our main priority has to be the town’s people. Shelters, power supply, safety measures—every available person is focused on that.”

I push down my frustration. “Right, of course. I just… if there’s any way, any extra hands, even just some additional tarping—”

She squeezes my shoulder lightly. “If we get a break, I’ll see if we can send someone to help cover the installations, but we’re stretched thin. So please assume we’re just going to have to deal with the fallout after the storm passes. You should go home.”

I’ve gone pale. “I will. I just need to get something from my office.”

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