Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
After a text to Patrick finally went through, he picked up Emily. She was glad to escape Will. A mix of guilt and relief swallowed her as she stepped into the truck, leaving her ex irritatingly standing in the driveway of the house.
As they rumbled down the drive, she glanced back once, catching a final glimpse of Will.
With the fresh air rushing through the open window and Patrick’s quiet composure, it felt as if she was finally moving forward, not just through the wreckage of the storm, but out of something that, looking back with a clear head, had long been broken.
Patrick didn’t say anything about Will being in the driveway.
He didn’t say much at all, his expression unreadable.
Was he only picking her up out of duty because they’d made plans?
Did he want her there? From the way he reacted last night, it was pretty clear he didn’t want to be in the middle of things.
In the quiet between them, Emily turned her attention to the scene through the window. In the aftermath of the terrible weather, the area still bore the scars of high winds and storm surge. Side streets remained littered with fallen branches, shattered glass, and remnants of homes and businesses.
“The cleanup crews have been working round the clock in the sweltering heat,” Patrick finally said, rounding a corner. “I’ve got water bottles in the back to hand out, since they have limited access to clean water.”
“Okay.” Her elbow hung out the window as the warm breeze blew strands of hair across her face. While she wanted to explain what had happened between her and Will last night, she kept silent.
Patrick pulled to a stop along the side of the road. “We’ll start here.”
The air smelled of damp wood, salt, and gasoline. The constant hum of generators and chainsaws filled the background while workers moved methodically through neighborhoods, clearing debris and assessing damage. A few people stopped to wave at Patrick.
Despite the chaos, the crews operated as a tightly knit unit, each person understanding the urgency of their role, all of them working with the kind of precision that only comes from years of practice—they’d faced these storms before.
Local contractors and volunteers labored alongside utility trucks with out-of-state insignias.
Every action visibly contributed to restoring a sense of order and safety.
Emily hopped out of the truck and met Patrick at the tailgate. He opened his cooler, retrieved a couple of bottles from the ice, and handed them to her. Then he got his own.
“Anybody need free water?” he called, striding across the street toward a group clearing debris from a parking lot.
Emily followed his lead.
A couple of people stopped, clapped the debris off their hands, and met them happily. One of the men clapped Patrick on the back.
They continued passing out bottles. Once everyone there who wanted water had received one, they got back in Patrick’s truck and drove until they found the next cluster of people, where they made the same offer.
“I’m surprised Winston isn’t with us,” Emily said, making conversation. “I could see him enjoying this.”
“He wanted to come with me,” Patrick said as they drove. “I thought, too, it’d be a good job for him.”
“Why didn’t he come?” Emily asked.
“Julia convinced him not to when I told her you were coming. She said she’d rather I have some time to talk to you when I wasn’t preoccupied.” When Emily didn’t respond, Patrick continued. “How’s the ex?”
Her chest tightened at the mention of Will. “Just as much of a disaster as ever.”
Patrick nodded, his lips set in a pout, his wrist guiding the steering wheel as they made their way down the road. “I want to apologize for my…openness last night. I don’t want to create any extra stress.”
“You didn’t.”
“I know you’ve got a lot to deal with right now. You don’t need me adding another layer.”
“I don’t have ‘a lot’ to deal with, apart from the fact that Will drove here in Tyson’s car and is stuck here for the weekend.”
“Maybe it’s meant to be. You two will have time away from your lives to figure out what you really want to do.”
“What I want to do is kick him out of the house. He cheated on me. I can’t forgive him for that.”
“Your emotions are raw right now. You might not forgive him. But you won’t know until you two have some time.”
His words hit her with a unique blend of truth and discomfort, like someone gently pressing on a bruise she hadn’t fully acknowledged.
She wanted to believe she was done with Will, that her time here had removed any remaining attachment, but now doubt flickered at the edge of her certainty.
She didn’t want to forgive Will, didn’t think he deserved it.
But hearing Patrick’s words unsettled her.
Patrick was rational, thoughtful, and she trusted him.
Was she rushing toward something new just to outpace the old—the dreaded rebound? Or was this the clarity she needed?
He stopped at the next group of people and got out, tossing a few bottles to the workers.
Then he climbed back in and they were off once more.
As the truck rolled forward and the landscape blurred past the windows, she wrestled with the quiet truth: Healing wasn’t just about moving on.
It was about understanding who she planned to be.
In a very short time, her interactions with Patrick had begun to shape her.
Without even trying, he’d shown her what she should expect from someone and the kind of person she wanted to spend time with.
But just when she’d found him, she had to leave him.
Emily let the conversation go. Patrick didn’t offer anything else, and she didn’t bother to stand her ground—it wouldn’t matter if she did say something, given the situation. Instead, she focused all her energy on the people who worked so hard to make a difference.
Despite the crews’ obvious fatigue and the endless challenges she’d witnessed, there were moments of humanity that reminded her why the work mattered.
A homeowner offering coffee to workers at a table in his front yard, children waving from porches, and, one time, it was the simple nod of appreciation from a wearied worker when she handed him water.
This work wasn’t just about the physical recovery of the town, it was about helping a community stand strong.
And Patrick was right in the middle of it. She would’ve never guessed it early on.
When all the water was gone, Emily didn’t want to return to the beach house.
“It’s still early,” she said. “Is there any other way I can help today?”
“You don’t need to get back?”
She shook her head. That was the last thing she wanted.
Patrick eyed her, clearly thinking—debating? “How are your raking skills?”
“As good as they’ll ever be.”
He abruptly changed direction, the truck’s tires grinding in protest. With a wide arc, he maneuvered past piles of windblown trash and debris and headed in a direction she’d never been before.
The scenery evolved into a less-populated landscape, the beachy appeal of shops and vacation homes giving way to a more rural area.
Patrick took her down an extensive dirt road, into the woods. They bumped along until they arrived at a small cottage.
“Home sweet home,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.
The roof had a tarp protecting a large portion of it where shingles must have been torn off, and the yard was indistinguishable from the woods, due to fallen debris.
A few trees were uprooted, their exposed roots clawing at the earth like outstretched fingers.
The path leading to the cottage, probably once quiet and shaded, was nearly impassable, buried under leaves, branches, and soggy debris.
A portion of the fence enclosing the backyard was pinned to the ground by a large tree trunk, leaving a gaping hole.
“You’re planning to fix all this with a rake?” she teased.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward in that adorable way. “I’m giving you the rake. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“Sorry, but I’m not sure I can handle this with a rake.”
“Sure you can.” He pointed to a Bobcat bulldozer sitting at the edge of the property. “Just as soon as we clear it.” He shut off the engine and got out.
As he slid the cooler out of the bed of his truck and dumped the ice onto the ground, Emily put her hands on her hips to survey the damage in front of her.
“Where do you even start?” she asked, bewildered.
“At the beginning.” He tossed the cooler back into his truck and shut the tailgate. Then he nodded toward the Bobcat. “Follow me. I’ll show you.”
Before she knew it, she was climbing up into the small bulldozer.
The metal steps were slippery with damp leaves.
She gripped the side rail, and Patrick offered a steadying hand.
His strong grip kept her stable as she entered the cab, which smelled faintly of diesel and the outdoors. The seat creaked beneath her.
Patrick turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life, vibrating beneath her feet. With practiced effortlessness, he moved the levers, guiding the machine into the tangle of branches and wreckage that had consumed the yard.
The heavy bucket scooped up broken limbs and crumpled siding, the machine cutting a path through the chaos as if it had a mind of its own. He filled the bucket with the remains of the storm and, with a jerk, moved it to the side of the property and dumped it out.
“What’s that?” she called over the racket, pointing to a small shack of a building she couldn’t believe had survived in the high winds.
“That’s my fishing shed. It’s got all my gear in it.”
“You fish?”
“There’s nothing better than catching your own dinner,” he said loudly over the rattle of the engine.
“You look like the fishing type.”
He downshifted, the machine groaning. “There’s a type? What’s the fishing type then?”
“I’m not sure, but if there was one, you’d be it. Maybe rugged?”
The corner of his mouth twitched in that adorable way of his. “I’m not sure. Winston fishes with me. I’m less cowboy and more babysitter, but we get some great dishes out of it.”
She imagined him taking Winston into the shed, choosing just the right fishing pole, and their spending the day out on a boat together. The idea warmed her heart.
There was something calming in the rhythm of the task as he worked quietly beside her—destruction being undone, one load at a time.
The machine was too loud for any real conversation, and Emily was glad about that because she still wasn’t sure what she wanted to say to him.
So she allowed herself this moment to be next to him, to see how easily he was able to plow through the chaos and give it a semblance of normalcy again.
His mere presence doing the same thing for her.