The vulnerability in Eden’s voice drew him closer to her. No one should have to face what she had, especially in a school.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Even though I pleaded with Dougie to put down the gun, he still shot two of his classmates. Tayla died in the hospital a few days later, but Jessie survived.”
Steve tightened his grip on her hand. “Trying to stop him was a brave thing to do.”
Eden gave a small, sad smile. “I didn’t feel brave. I was terrified. But the children needed someone to protect them.”
The raw honesty in her words struck a chord within him. She understood the kind of split-second decisions that could haunt you forever, the kind that had shaped his own struggles with PTSD.
Steve held her hand. “I’m sorry that happened.”
Eden nodded. “Whenever I see a little girl with blonde hair, I think of Tayla, of the nightmares Jessie must have. That’s why I couldn’t go back to teaching. I kept reliving the shooting. I felt... broken.”
Steve nodded, understanding more than he wished he did. “It’s how I felt after the bomb in Afghanistan. The noise and the chaos stay with you.”
They shared a silence that was comfortable but filled with the heaviness of what they’d experienced.
Steve looked down at his burger. “This might sound weird, but I’m hungrier now than I was at the food truck.”
Eden smiled. “It must have something to do with talking to each other.” She lifted her can of soda toward Steve. “To good friends who understand what we’re going through, and open hearts that don’t judge. And to Rex, a pint-sized wonder dog who looks after his dad.”
Steve looked down at Rex’s expectant face, then tapped his soda against Eden’s. “To good friends and a mischievous dog. The perfect combination.”
As they ate their burgers, Steve felt a sense of peace settle over him. With Rex beside him and the sounds of nature surrounding them, he felt connected to Eden in a way that was deeper than anything he’d experienced.
Today, he was grateful for the serenity of the lake, and the joy of sharing a meal with someone who understood him.
Chapter7
The clatter of tools and the murmur of conversation filled the old steamboat museum. Steve was working on one of the tiny homes, adding drywall to the living area.
Volunteers worked beside paid employees as they built homes that would provide safe and warm accommodation to the people who moved into them.
He still couldn’t believe a project that had started as a way to help the residents of Sapphire Bay could be so successful. Each week, they finished three homes, sending them to towns across Montana. There were always at least six homes under construction, and more being planned.
He looked over his shoulder when someone came into the tiny home.
Owen put down the box he was holding. “I know you’re superhuman, but holding a sheet of drywall in place and fixing it to the wall at the same time is almost impossible.”
Steve was grateful for his friend’s unexpected arrival. “I thought I’d make a start while Johnny replaces the battery on his drill.”
“How’s that working out?”
With a grin, Steve fastened another four screws in place. “Better now that you’re here.” He glanced at the box sitting against the far wall. “Please don’t tell me that’s the glass bowl you made for Dad.”
With the sheet of drywall not going anywhere, Owen stepped away from the wall. “Guilty as charged. Don’t worry. It wasn’t in danger of being broken.”
Steve was glad to see his friend didn’t tempt fate, though. Before he could pick the box up himself, Owen had it in his hands. “Your dad will love it.”
Steve put away his drill. “Come into the staffroom with me. I’ll look at it there.” His relationship with his dad was anything but easy. From a young age, his dad had taught him the value of hard work. They’d worked side by side in his dad’s workshop, creating simple pieces of furniture, laying the foundation for one of the few things that helped Steve deal with his PTSD. Which, in a funny way, was ironic.
Because, regardless of how many times he’d tried to explain to his father what was happening, he refused to believe Steve was suffering from any sort of trauma. It was easier for his dad to bury himself in work, preferring conferences and training workshops over spending time with his son.
Owen moved out of the way of a forklift carrying some timber frames. “I hear you went on a hot date last night.”
Steve’s heart pounded. It didn’t sound like something Eden would say, but if she thought having hamburgers from a food truck was hot, he’d take it. “Just to be one hundred percent clear, did Eden say it was hot?”
Owen frowned. “I haven’t spoken to Eden, but Daniella saw her at The Welcome Center this morning. She said the burgers were delicious and your company wasn’t bad either. I was being creative.”
