“I saw your car was still in the lot when I got off shift.” That familiar gravelly tone made something flutter in my stomach.
Even in my depleted state—running on fumes and stubborn determination—I noticed he was in his civilian clothes. Worn jeans that had seen better days hugged his long legs, and a faded gray t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the fabric soft-looking from countless washings. Not the crisp uniform of HCFD. He wasn’t here on duty or by accident. He’d come because he’d wanted to, because he’d seen my car and been concerned enough to check on me. The realization hit me like a physical blow, threatening what little composure I had left.
“Gillian?” He stopped a few feet away, giving me space.
I tried to summon some professional composure, the same controlled demeanor that had carried me through boardroom negotiations and high-stakes client meetings. But it was beyond my reach tonight, slipping through my fingers like smoke. Myeyes burned with unshed tears that had been building for hours, my hands trembled with bone-deep fatigue that went far beyond physical exhaustion, and the weight of everything—Doc’s declining health, my father’s crushing disappointment in my choices, the impossible responsibility of keeping the bar afloat—came crashing down at once like an avalanche I’d been trying to outrun.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, but the words felt foreign on my tongue, and my voice cracked on the second word like ice breaking under pressure. The lie hung in the air between us, transparent and fooling no one.
Diego’s dark eyes softened with understanding, and he took another careful step toward me, his work boots silent on the worn wooden floor. Then he stopped again, maintaining that respectful distance even though I saw the concern radiating from every line of his body. His hands hung loose at his sides, ready but not presumptuous.
“You don’t have to be fine.” Something about the gentle way he said it—like he was coaxing a wounded animal back from the edge of panic—broke the last fragile threads of my restraint.
A sob escaped me before I could stop it, raw and ugly in the quiet sanctuary of the saloon. I covered my face with my hands, mortified by the complete breakdown of my carefully maintained facade but utterly unable to stop the emotional dam from bursting. The tears I’d been holding back all day, all week, came flooding out with a force that left me gasping.
“Hey,” Diego murmured, his voice low and soothing as he finally crossed the remaining distance between us. The warmth of his presence enveloped me even before his arms did. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
Before I thought better of it, before my rational mind could reassert control and remind me of all the reasons this was a terrible idea, I moved toward him. I was desperate forthe comfort I’d been systematically denying myself, starved for human connection after days of trying to shoulder everything alone. Diego opened his arms without hesitation, and I fell into them like I was coming home, pressing my face against the soft cotton of his t-shirt as the tears finally came in earnest, soaking through the fabric to the solid warmth of his chest beneath.
CHAPTER 10
DIEGO
I didn’t know what I expected to find when I stopped by the bar this morning, but teary Gillian wasn’t it. I hadn’t been prepared for that storm of emotion, but when those first sobs broke through her careful composure, all I could do was hold on tight as she finally let herself have the cry she clearly needed.
Her body shook against mine with each ragged breath, her fingers gripping my shirt like she might float away if she let go. The force of her tears surprised me—not only their intensity, but how they seemed to come from somewhere deep inside, like a dam finally giving way. I wrapped my arms more securely around her, one hand moving to cradle the back of her head, my thumb brushing against the silky strands of her hair. Some protective instinct I’d buried years ago came roaring back to life, stronger than it had any right to be.
“It’s okay,” I murmured against the top of her head, knowing it wasn’t, but needing to say something. The words felt inadequate, but they were all I had to offer in this moment when everything felt like it was falling apart.
I understood this wasn’t something she allowed herself often. Hell, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Gillian cry—not real tears like this. Gillian Holliday didn’t break down. She powered through,chin up, shoulders squared, facing whatever life threw at her with a determined set to her jaw. That’s who she’d always been, even as a teenager—the girl with the plan, the one who never let anything stop her from achieving whatever goal she’d set her sights on. Seeing her like this, walls completely down and vulnerable in a way that made my chest ache, hit me somewhere deep I’d thought I’d locked away for good.
She smelled of coffee and a lingering floral scent that was probably her shampoo. The familiar scent triggered a flood of memories I’d kept locked away—summer nights by the creek, her head on my shoulder, the way she’d laugh at my terrible jokes. How her hair used to catch the sunlight like burnished copper.
I let my eyes close for a moment, breathing her in and allowing myself this stolen piece of the past. The years between us seemed to collapse, and for a heartbeat, I was twenty-four again, madly in love, and the world was full of endless possibilities. And even as I felt the twist of worry for Doc gnawing at my gut, even as I hated seeing her hurting like this, a part of me—the selfish, desperate part I tried so hard to ignore—was so damned glad to be holding her again. To have her seeking comfort from me, of all people.
Her breath hitched against my chest, and I tightened my arms reflexively, as if I could somehow shield her from whatever storm was brewing in her life. I’d spent four long years telling myself I was over her, that what we’d had was merely a summer thing, the kind of intense first love you’re supposed to outgrow and look back on with fond nostalgia. I’d convinced myself that the ache in my chest whenever someone mentioned her name would eventually fade, that I’d moved on as she had.
But standing here with her fitted against me like she’d never left, like no time had passed at all, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Whatever this was between us—this pull, thisconnection that defied logic and time—it had never really ended. Not for me. It had only been waiting, dormant but alive, for her to come home.
Eventually, her tears subsided. I continued holding her, one hand stroking her hair while she quieted against my chest. Her breathing steadied, though she didn’t immediately pull away. I wasn’t about to complain.
“Sorry about that,” she mumbled against my shirt. “Not exactly how I planned to start my day.”
“Don’t apologize.” I leaned back enough to see her face. “You want to talk about it?”
She pulled away slowly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. The fierce, composed Gillian Holliday I remembered was still there beneath the exhaustion, but vulnerability had cracked her armor. Her gaze bounced around the empty bar before coming back to me.
“My dad called.”
I nodded, having caught enough of the conversation to understand the gist. “I’m guessing he has opinions about Doc’s situation.”
“Opinions is putting it mildly.” She picked up her coffee mug, grimacing at what must have been stone-cold liquid. “He thinks Doc should sell the bar and ‘retire properly.’ As if any of this was ever about retiring. He’s never understood this place. To him, it’s just Doc’s midlife crisis that got out of hand. A ‘ridiculous endeavor.’”
“Those don’t sound like your words.” I followed her behind the counter as she dumped her coffee and poured a fresh cup.
“Direct quote.” She held up the pot, offering me some. I nodded, and she grabbed another mug. “The great Edgar Holliday can’t comprehend why his father would give up medicine to pour drinks for townies.”
The bitterness in her voice was sharp enough to cut glass. I accepted the mug she handed me, letting my fingers brush against hers. “Your dad always did have a clear vision of what success should look like.”
