Page 86 of Branded Hearts

“Thank you,” she says, her eyes glinting in the light. Is she... crying?

“Are you crying? What’s wrong?” I ask, moving to her in two strides, my eyes searching hers for any sign of distress.

“Nothing! Don’t get too close. I might infect you!” she says, stepping back, and it makes me uneasy for some reason.

“Amelia, I couldn’t give two fucks if you have a coldorfood poisoning. Why are you upset?”

She shakes her head before laughing softly. “I don’t… know. That was... that was so nice of you. To bring all these things.”

I furrow my brow, caught off guard. “Well, I—” Shit, I don’t even know what to say. It was just instinct to bring them; I wasn’t thinking much when I did it.

“Thank you, Brad.”

Fuck, I could kiss her right now. I like it when she calls me justBrad.

It’s different when she calls me Brad. The only other person who does is my brother, and it doesn’t evoke the same feeling. Amelia looks up at me, her eyes still shimmering.

“Would you like to stay for dinner? There’s more than enough soup to share.”

I hesitate for a moment, not because she’s sick, but because... should I?

Take a chance. Be selfish. Do something for yourself.

“Sure,” I say, finally deciding.

We just finished eating our soup, which was fucking phenomenal, if I say so myself. I’m not much of a cook, besides knowing the basics and how to throw a mean grill, but that was delicious. And I hate soup. Always have, since I was a kid. But sharing it with Amelia was nice.

We’re nestled on her small two-seater couch. I’ve discarded my boots, which sit beside the couch, and we’re both under the blanket—more so for her than me. It’s not freezing outside, so that means she’s probably fighting a temperature. I made sure she took a GastroStop, just in case. She hasn’t chucked up since I came, which is a good thing, I guess.

Friendsis playing on the TV, and Amelia’s soft laugh fills the room occasionally. It’s like music to my ears. This is nice. Comfortable.

Again with that word.

But it really is when I’m around her. I didn’t have the best day at work today, yet instantly, the sight of Amelia has lifted my mood, even if it’s just temporarily. My mind drifts back to work.

And what a fuck-around that was.

Dealing with a bunch of young men, armed, and with drugs intheir possession. We had a local anonymous tip-off about where this group had been hanging around, so Daniels, Reynolds, and I were sent off to handle it.

We cornered them in an alley, and things went south fast. One of the blokes pulled a gun, and suddenly, we were in a standoff. Daniels tried to talk them down, but it was like talking to a brick wall. Tensions escalated, and before we knew it, backup arrived just in time to defuse the situation. But not before a scuffle broke out. I copped a hit to the ribs—nothing serious, but enough to put me in a foul mood.

Daniels kept cracking jokes about it afterward, trying to lighten the mood, but I wasn’t in the mood for laughing. All I could think about was how close we came to something worse. The memory of the barrel pointed at us, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife; it all plays over and over in my mind. It’s not just the physical hit that stings; it’s the reality check that hits harder. Every time we have a close call, it wears on you. Makes you question why you’re doing this, why you put yourself in these situations.

I frown at the thought. It’s not just fear; it’s the constant grind of knowing that one misstep, one wrong move, could change everything. It’s the weight of responsibility, the knowledge that every decision you make could have life-or-death consequences. And sometimes, that weight feels unbearable. Daniels' jokes are his way of coping, but they fall flat with me. I can’t shake the feeling of how fragile it all is, how quickly things can spiral out of control. It’s a reminder that no matter how much we train, or how prepared wethink we are, there’s always an element of unpredictability that can turn everything on its head.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice breaks me out of my thoughts.

“Huh?” I ask, confused.

“You’re frowning,” she says, concern in her eyes.

“It’s nothing,” I say, downplaying my rampant thoughts.

“Don’t lie to me. What’s bothering you?”

“Just had a rough day at work.”

She watches me intently, not satisfied with my vague answer. “Could you elaborate, or is it confidential?”

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