Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Boston - one month later
Grant slid a fresh bottle across the table. “You look like you need something stronger than this.”
Rush lifted his head, squinting against the sickly green neon light buzzing in the window. The dive smelled like fryer grease and stale beer. The jukebox in the corner wheezed out Springsteen, and the floor was sticky with spilled beer under Rush’s boots.
He’d been in a hundred joints just like this one between deployments—cheap beer, cheaper whiskey, and a hum of voices that didn’t belong to him. He hadn’t belonged there either.
“Thanks.” He tipped the bottle to Grant in a mock salute. Old habits. “Been a long week.”
Grant took the stool next to him, loosening his tie. He looked as bone-tired as Rush felt. “Hell yeah, it has. How’s the first month treating you?”
Rush took a drink, letting the sour taste sit on his tongue. “Fine.” He shrugged. “It’s work.”
“Generally, that’s code for ‘it sucks.’ What’s the gig this week?”
“Corporate security detail.” Rush’s voice was flat.
He was flat. Jesus. He needed to get out of this place, but his townhouse was even worse.
He’d rented a sterile, modern box across from the river.
All white walls, granite counters, and not a damn thing that felt like him.
Riggs hated it too. He paced around the tiny postage stamp-sized yard, looking pissed.
Rush shook his head. “Spent forty hours standing outside a penthouse, making sure no one with the wrong suit jacket got past the front desk. It’s fine.”
Grant leaned back in his chair, giving him a long once-over. “Funny. You don’t look fine. You look about as happy here as a cat in a bath.”
Rush snorted, low and humorless. “I’m here, aren’t I?” He shoved the half-empty beer away and sat back, rubbing his neck.
At the far end of the bar, two women were already about two drinks past smart.
Rush had clocked them when he walked in.
It was hard not to. Young, laughing too loud, leaning into a couple of guys who were buying their drinks a little too quick.
They couldn’t be much older than Sarah, which put his hackles up immediately.
Every so often, they’d cut glances his way. He ignored them. The last thing he wanted was meaningless chatter with someone whose name he wouldn’t remember. Not when a pair of wide green eyes still haunted him.
One of them slid off her stool, drink in hand, and swayed closer. She leaned against the bar and smiled wide. “You guys look like you could use some company tonight. My friend and I would love to join you.”
Rush shook his head. “We’re all set.”
The woman’s smile dipped, and Grant added smoothly. “Appreciate it, though. Hope you two enjoy your night.”
She blinked uncertainly then shrugged and returned the smile before making her way back to her friend.
Grant eyed him. “Guess Boston really doesn’t do it for you, huh?”
Rush ignored that. “How’s life?”
Grant smiled faintly. “About the same. I’m working that triple homicide in Dorchester. Lots of late nights at my desk, and then that one phone call comes, and suddenly your adrenaline spikes and you’re chasing suspects down alleys.” He grinned. “That part makes up for the paperwork.”
“Yeah.” Rush grinned back. “That’s the fun part.”
“Come on, Rush, you’ve got a good gig. The money’s solid, good benefits, and nobody’s shooting at you. What more could you want?”
Rush stared into the amber bottle. What more could he want? He’d been asking himself that question since he’d packed up the last of his boxes and Riggs’s bed into his truck and left Northfield behind.
Grant let the silence stretch before leaning in.
“You could always go back. Theo said they still haven’t found a replacement for you.
” His eyes cut toward the two women still sneaking looks and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
“You could see if Lily’s moved on from your big dumb ass, or if she looks as sorry as you right now. ”
Rush shot him a lethal look. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Grant shrugged. “I spend my days reading people. From what I saw in that hospital room, you two looked like you had unfinished business.”
“We finished it,” Rush said broodingly.
“If it’s not Lily you’re running from, it’s the accident,” Grant said calmly, despite Rush’s scowl. “Don’t shoot the messenger. It’s one or the other to leave a good job like that. Your family’s there, Rush. People don’t just up and walk away from things that don’t matter.”
Rush didn’t answer, but Lily’s face rose up in his mind—her green eyes soft in ways he couldn’t understand, yet wanted anyway. The look on her face when she’d whispered I want this. So damn much.
“It’s her, isn’t it? Lily?”
Rush’s grip tightened around the bottle. “It doesn’t matter.”
“The hell it doesn’t. You’d sit through firefights steady as a rock, but one look from her and you didn’t stand a chance.” Grant shook his head. “Don’t sit here pretending Boston’s the answer when every part of you wants to be back there.”
“Even if I did, it wouldn’t change anything.” Rush blew out a hard breath. “I can’t give her what she wants.”
And there it was—haunting him again. Don’t feel too much. Don’t want too much. Don’t love too hard. That way, when it all went to hell, no one could say he’d failed them.
He hadn’t been strong enough to keep his distance from her. He’d just been a coward.
Deep down, he knew the truth. He loved her.
Not the easy kind of love that fit neatly into his life but the kind that got under his skin and stayed there, no matter how far he ran.
Jesus, but he loved that woman. A month had gone by, and he still woke up with her in his head, still saw her face every time he closed his eyes.
He missed her laugh—the way it came from her whole body. The smell of her hair when she curled into him. The way her voice softened when she said his name, like it meant something worth keeping.
Loving Lily wasn’t the weakness he’d told himself it was. It was the only thing that made him feel alive.
“You don’t know what you can give her until you try. What I do know is that sitting here in this city, wasting yourself on corporate gigs, isn’t it.”
“You speaking from experience?”
Grant’s eyes turned serious. “I am,” he said quietly. “I’m done here too. I’m moving back in the spring.”
“You going to give up detective work? I hear there’s a sheriff position available,” Rush said, aware of a bristling he had no right to feel about a job he’d given up.
Grant shrugged. “I’d like to keep doing what I do now, but I might have to take that position.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unless you want it back.”
Rush stayed quiet, and Grant went on.
“I’m missing out on everything I thought about constantly when we were deployed,” Grant said quietly.
“My family’s back in Northfield. I want to know my niece and nephews and actually be there for them.
I missed years with Lieren when she was in high school.
And Ford and Landon and Georgie––I don’t know how much longer we’ll have with her. I want to be there while we still do.”
Rush knew that ache. He’d spent the last month circling the same thoughts. Family. Pop. Rachel and Sarah. Babies. Lily. The image of her holding Mira had lodged itself in his chest like shrapnel—sharp and impossible to ignore. He wanted that too.
Grant tipped his beer in a mock salute. “Looks like we’re in the same boat.”
Rush’s jaw flexed, but this time he didn’t deny it. He couldn’t because Grant was right. “Ah, fuck.”
“‘Ah, fuck’ is right.”
Rush let out a long breath. For the first time in weeks, he let the truth settle. He was miserable. Not because of Boston but because of everything he’d left behind.
Lily in the hospital room, rocking Mira with tears on her cheeks.
Chloe’s wide blue eyes in her angel costume, singing again.
The accident had nearly broken him, and for months, he’d let the guilt define him.
Sitting here now, he finally admitted what he’d been too much of a coward to face—he hadn’t failed that night.
He’d saved Chloe. He’d done his job. It wasn’t enough to bring Caroline back, but maybe it was enough to stop punishing himself.
And Lily… Christ, it hurt to think about her, and the future she’d painted so vividly he could almost touch it. For so long, he’d told himself he couldn’t give her what she wanted—a family, a home to share, a love that didn’t walk away. The truth was, he wanted it too. He wanted it with her.
He couldn’t keep running away from his guilt. Or from her.
Grant checked his watch and tossed some cash on the table. “You’ve got a choice, Callahan. Stay miserable, or go home.”
“Yeah,” Rush said. This time it wasn’t a deflection. It was an agreement.
On his way out, he caught the bartender’s eye and jerked his chin toward the brunettes. “Might want to cut them off—and keep an eye on those two guys.”
The bartender gave him a pound. “On it, big guy. Appreciate it.”
Outside, the night air was sharp and cool, biting against his skin with the March chill still lingering. He pulled his phone from his pocket. His thumb hovered, heart pounding harder than it had in combat, but he knew what he had to do. What he wanted to do.
He hit Dial.
“Mrs. Whitmore? It’s Rush Callahan.” His voice was husky with emotion but steady. “About that dinner…”
When he hung up, he looked down the empty Boston street, the neon buzzing behind him. For the first time in months, he wasn’t running.
He was going home.