She reached out, squeezing his arm. “I promise.”
He smiled. “Good. Now, go, before the nurses catch me flirting with you and revoke my pudding privileges.”
She laughed, wiped under her eyes, and stood. “Try not to charm your way into another bullet.”
“I never want to see the inside of a hospital again.”
She left the room with her chest tight and her heart heavier than before.
Buddy waited in the hallway, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. The man looked like he’d been constructed from worry and coffee.
“Any change since I saw him this morning?”
“Still cocky,” she said. “Still himself.”
“That’s something.”
“I could use some coffee, and I don’t care if it’s crap.”
“We can get some here.”
They walked toward the cafeteria, the sound of squeaking soles and rolling carts filling the hall. The hospital had that clean-but-tired look—fluorescent lights too bright over hallways too worn. When they reached the cafeteria, they grabbed coffee—and Buddy even managed to find almond milk, which was good enough—and locate a table in the corner.
Not exactly candlelight and wine, but it was private enough.
Buddy stirred his cup, eyes fixed on the swirl. “I’m scared,” he said finally. “Not easy for me to admit, but it’s the truth and you should know that.”
That caught her off guard. “Of what? The case?”
“That does concern me, but I’ve been dealing with danger my entire adult life.” He lifted his gaze. “For the first time since my marriage ended, I feel something real. And I can’t help the timing. The chaos. You, me—this. It was below the surface when I was working the Ring Finger case. I thought about you every time I came to town. Always thought about asking you to dinner or out for a drink. I just didn’t because I don’t know how to separate what’s happening in my head from what’s happening in my heart.”
She leaned forward. “I don’t understand.” For her, relationships weren’t complicated. Not even with Trent, especially not with Trent, and he was a man with a ton of baggage. Most people thought Trent was just someone with a chip on his shoulder. But he had deep emotions that stemmed from personal pain.
“There was a guy I worked with—Gino. Good agent. Smart. Funny. Married to a woman who lit up any room she walked into. Two kids who were as adorable as could be. He was investigating a cartel, one of those mid-tier traffickers with too much money and not enough conscience. Gino thought he was careful. But they found him. Broke into his house while he was out getting gas. His wife and kids never made it to morning.”
Fallon’s throat tightened. “Oh, God.”
“He never came back from that. Not really. And I watched it ruin him. That’s why I pushed Callie away. I thought I was doing her a favor.” He gave a small, hollow laugh. “Turns out, she didn’t need saving. She just needed someone who wasn’t already halfway gone.”
Fallon stared at the black liquid. “You ever stop feeling responsible? For everything and everyone?”
He met her gaze. “That’s an interesting question, and I could ask the same of you, especially about Tessa.”
Her chest ached. “Not sure I’ll ever be able to let go of all the self-blame.”
They sat there a moment, surrounded by the hum of vending machines and the clatter of trays. It reminded her of high school. Not the good parts, but the parts that haunted her dreams. It brought her back to the lonely days of sitting by herself. To all the kids whispering about what had happened. About her jacket being found by the marina. About how it could’ve—should’ve—been her.
“When Tessa disappeared,” Fallon said, “I thought if I could just understand what she went through, I could bring her back somehow. So, I started putting myself in bad situations. Hitchhiked once with a guy who could’ve been on every wanted poster in the state. Spent nights going to biker bars, known criminal hangouts in cities where I didn’t know the terrain, places chicks shouldn’t go alone, hoping something—someone—would happen. When it didn’t, I hated myself for wishing it would.”
Buddy’s jaw worked, but he didn’t interrupt. He was often good at listening.
“It took losing my parents to pull me out of that spiral. Grief on top of grief. You either drown, or you eventually learn to float.” She let out a breath. “Sometimes, I feel hardened by all of it. Like I’m too used to loss. Like I expect it. Or anticipate it.”
“You’re not hard,” he said. “You just know how deep the water can get.”
She smiled faintly. “That’s poetic.”
“Don’t tell Sterling. He’ll never let me live it down.”
