Page 61 of Wine and Research
After turning for a quick glance at it, Jeremy faced her, his gaze soft. “My dad. I told you about him.”
Not exactly. She’d known he’d died in the line of duty, but not how or where. She’d foolishly assumed he’d been shot somewhere in Pennsylvania.
Served her right for assuming, and for not having her facts straight.
“Not that,” she said, her voice hoarse. Once again, Elle cleared her throat, then tugged free from his hold, suddenly too restless to sit. “I meant the boy,” she forced out, pushing to her feet to walk over and stare at Patrick’s smiling face.
That had been his new school picture, taken the September prior to the accident. She remembered her mother insisting he wear a nice button-down shirt for his first picture in middle school. Patrick had wanted to wear a T-shirt to be a cool sixth grader. Elle eyed the black T-shirt he wore underneath an open white button-down shirt with thin black stripes, and smiled. Hermother hadn’t been too pleased to find he’d unbuttoned his shirt for the photo, but Elle thought it was a good compromise.
Who knew he’d be gone two months later?
“Patrick Murphy? Yeah, it was sad,” he said quietly next to her, looking at the article. “Several people died that day.”
Blinking back more tears, she turned to him and nodded, then had to force out the words, “I know.”
His brows crashed together. “What do you mean?”
Moment of truth.
Just say it.
“Patrick was my brother.”
Jeremy’s eyes widened before a deeper frown returned. “You said you didn’t have any siblings.”
“I don’t. Not anymore.”
“It’s not the same, Elle.”
“True. It hasn’t been the same since he died,” she said, her gaze back on her brother’s photo, tears sliding down her face.
A strangled noise rumbled in Jeremy’s chest as he pulled her in close, and she slid her arms around him and held tight. “I’m so sorry, Elle,” he said after several minutes. “You’ve lost so much.”
The tears started to fall faster then, but she drew back slightly to meet his concerned gaze. “You’re not mad at me?”
“Mad?” His brows crashed together again. “God, Elle, no. Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“Because it was my brother’s fault that your dad died.”
There, she said it. She’d put it out there. Got it off her chest.
He sucked in a breath and cupped her shoulders. “Look at me, Elle.”
She stared at his throat, too afraid to see contempt in his eyes.
“Elle…look at me.”
Despite not wanting to, she found herself obeying, and the tightness in her chest eased at his warm, compassionate gaze.
“It was just an accident,” he said. “A horrible one, but still an accident. My dad died doing his job. One that he loved. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
Deep down, Elle knew this, but she’d carried the guilt long before she ever met Jeremy and Jenna. Long before coming to the Poconos.
“Promise me you’ll get that thought out of your head,” he said, leaning in to kiss her forehead.
She nodded but didn’t reply, because that promise was going to take a lot of time to deliver.
“I’m guessing this is the reason behind you wanting to honor the police through your series,” he said, nodding toward the article.
