Chapter 9 Ember
EMBER
The morning of the charity toy drive where I had to appear as the Hearthkeeper, I woke feeling anxious and overwhelmed, maybe a bit nauseous too.
I'd been hesitant all week about attending.
Nate said he would get me out of this, but after speaking with my neighbor, I realized maybe I didn’t want to bow out.
But staring at my face in the mirror and seeing the gaunt expression from lack of sleep, I was rethinking things.
I could stay home or call in sick.
And it would be easy to send Nate a message saying I couldn't make it and let him handle the event alone.
But I'd spent two years hiding after Brad, and I was done with it. I refused to let people back me into a corner anymore.
I wanted to be confident and live up to the honor of the women who'd gone before me, and I made the decision that even if I had to do it with my hands trembling and my gut churning, I would show up and represent women all over this city.
I finished my makeup, pulled my hair into a neat ponytail, and dressed in black pants and a burgundy blouse.
The outfit was professional and warm, appropriate for standing outside for several hours and hopefully nowhere near provocative enough to cause any ungracious remarks.
I grabbed my purse and headed for the door before I could change my mind.
The town square was already bustling when I arrived.
Volunteers in red aprons were setting up folding tables near the central fountain, arranging collection bins for toys and winter clothing.
A banner hung between two lamp posts that said, Christmas Committee Charity Drive - Supporting Local Families in Need. And a crowd was already starting to collect around the flutter of activity.
I spotted Nate near the main collection table, speaking with two volunteers, and the look on his face was serious.
He wore a white polo and tan slacks that made his butt look incredible, but while I was drooling, I also reminded myself where I was.
People were already talking enough about the situation and I didn't need to give them more fodder for their gossip.
Besides, nothing could ever happen between me and him.
As much as I enjoyed the thrill of it and the way he made me feel, I had to remain professional and put it behind me.
I had to think of my career and my future here in Boston.
When he saw me approaching, his expression softened briefly before returning to the professional demeanor I saw every day at work now.
We'd agreed after the gala photograph that we needed to maintain strict distance in public, no casual touches or private jokes.
Nothing that could be misconstrued or captured on camera.
What that boiled down to was the spark between us being snuffed out and a few minimal messages in the evenings.
"Good morning," I said when I reached the table.
"Morning." He gestured toward the bins. "We're expecting a steady flow of donations throughout the day. The volunteers will handle most of the sorting, but we need to greet donors and take photos for the press releases."
"Understood," I told him as I set my bag beneath the table.
The idea of photographs didn't sit well with me, but it wasn't really my call.
And these pictures would be with donors, not with Nate, so it lessened the anxiety surrounding things.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly, but he maintained his stiff posture and didn't even stoop to lean close.
"Sort of anxious, but I'll be alright," I said through my smile.
"I know I told you I'd get you out of this, but—"
"Hey," I said, turning to face him.
I didn't move closer, so if anyone was looking they'd just see two colleagues talking casually, but I did smile warmly. "I said I'll be alright. Besides… after talking to a few people in my building, I think I don’t mind as much."
His shoulders seemed to relax marginally, but he didn’t get a chance to respond as people started approaching the table.
The first donors arrived within minutes and every one of them wanted to chat about how good it was to give to those less fortunate.
I smiled at each of them, thanking them for their generosity and helping them unload their contributions.
The repetitive motion was soothing, and for brief moments, I could forget about the whispers and the cameras.
But the whispers were everywhere.
I heard them when I bent to organize toys in the bins.
Saw them in the way people glanced at me and then quickly looked away while snickering or scowling in disapproval.
It felt shameful for me to even exist, which was such a feeling of deja vu from my past.
Their expressions haunted me and reminded me of how awful it felt to simply exist.
Two women approached the table with bags of clothing, and I recognized them from the hospital cafeteria.
They worked in administration, though I couldn't remember their names.
One of them smiled at me, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Such a wonderful event," she said, setting her bag on the table. "You and Dr. Bradley make quite the team." The emphasis on the last word was subtle but obvious.
Her insinuation that more was going on behind the scenes was offensive and also made guilt coil around my conscience.
Because she was right—something was going on—but it was none of her business.
And it wasn't anything two normal adults should be ashamed of, anyway.
"We're happy to serve the community," I replied calmly, but my heart leapt into my throat.
"I'm sure you are." The other woman exchanged a glance with her companion. "It must be exciting, working so closely with the Dean of Medicine."
I forced myself to keep smiling. "It's been a great learning experience, being his assistant."
They lingered for another moment, clearly hoping I'd say more, before finally moving away.
I exhaled slowly and went back to sorting toys with shaking hands, but it ruffled my feathers.
Under any other circumstance that conversation would've been a joy.
Someone noticing my hard work and commending me?
I loved that sort of thing.
But they made it feel dirty and shameful just to work for Dr. Bradley.
Nate appeared beside me and said in a low tone, "Are you alright?"
"Fine," I said, but I didn't look at him.
"You don't look fine."
"I'm managing." I moved to the other end of the table, putting distance between us.
The gossip hounds would just love to see him comforting me, wouldn’t they?
But when I finally looked up at him, he seemed hurt by my pulling away.
I felt like I was living on a teeter-totter ready to fall off.
The morning dragged on.
More donors arrived, more toys and clothing were piled into the bins, and more whispers followed me wherever I went.
A photographer from the local newspaper showed up around eleven, snapping pictures of the event.
Every click of the camera shutter made my stomach clench.
I was in the middle of helping a family unload their donations from their Radio Flyer wagon when Nate approached with the photographer in tow.
"Ember, the newspaper would love to get a photo of us together with the collection bins," he said. "For the article they're running tomorrow." His use of my given name sent conflicting emotions through me.
I loved my name on his lips, but being too casual would appear that we were closer than we let on.
I looked at the photographer, then at the camera in his hands, and felt my chest tighten. "I don't think that's necessary."
Wasn't the shock of seeing one image of us in the tabloids enough for him?
"It's standard practice for these events," Nate said carefully. "Just a quick photo." He looked nervous, but there was no way he was feeling what I was feeling.
"I said no." The words came out harsh, but the way I was feeling, he was lucky I wasn't shouting.
I wanted to go hide from this.
I was overstimulated and out of control and I knew it.
The photographer looked between us, clearly uncomfortable, and Nate's jaw tightened. "All right," he said quietly. "We'll skip the photo."
Nate stood there watching the photographer walk away, and I felt awful immediately.
He'd been trying to fulfill his Lightkeeper duties, and I'd snapped at him in front of a reporter.
It was unprofessional and immature and backed up everything the busybodies in this town were saying about me.
As soon as the family I was working with walked away, I found Nate right at my side, beckoning me into a more private location behind a bush. "Ember."
"I'm sorry," I said before he could speak. "That was unprofessional. You were right, we should've taken the photo."
My throat felt constricted, but the only way to loosen it was to go home and hide.
"I don't care about the photo." He stepped closer, lowering his voice so passing families wouldn't overhear. "I care that you're clearly struggling and I don't know how to help."
"I'm fine." It was sweet of him to care, but there wasn’t anything he could do. I'd even seen therapists to no avail.
My ability to handle moments like this was broken a long time ago.
"Stop saying that." His voice was gentle but firm. "You're not fine. You haven't been fine since the gala photograph was published. Talk to me."
I looked away, focusing on the fountain in the center of the square.
Water trickled from the top tier into the basin below, and a few children had gathered around it to toss pennies and make wishes.
How awesome it would be to be carefree like that.
"I just hate the attention and the whispers…" My eyes welled up, but I blinked back the tears.
"You told me there was something from your past," Nate said, "but I don't think you told me everything. What else happened?"
I let my head drop and stared at my ballet flats.
Telling a new person about my old trauma felt like dragging my past into my present.
I hated it.
I didn’t want to remember it, let alone relive it.
But Nate seemed to genuinely care.
"My ex, Brad… He…" I was choked up. It took a few seconds to collect myself and continue. "He recorded us having… You know… doing… Sex," I said, and I thought I might vomit right there.
"In less than twenty-four hours, everyone had seen it. My roommate, my professors, people I'd never met. They all knew what I looked like naked. They all knew the most intimate details of my private life."
Nate's hands clenched into fists at his sides as his face darkened into a scowl.
"I tried to report it," I continued. "But honestly, fighting it would’ve been more humiliating and made the public damage worse and last longer."
"Christ, Ember. I'm so sorry," Nate said quietly.
I wrapped my arms around myself. "My friends stopped inviting me places. My family tried to be supportive, but I could see the disappointment in their eyes. My mother cried every time we talked. My father stopped looking at me directly."
The dam I built around that memory was crumbling and I felt on the verge of having another mental breakdown.
I wanted to move on, but it felt like the eternal splinter you can never dig out.
"So you changed your name," Nate said, and I looked up at him, shocked.
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"We run background checks on everyone before they're hired…" He grimaced. "I didn’t know anything about your past, though, I swear. And I'm so sorry that happened." He looked like he was in physical pain from not comforting me, but we were so exposed.
So when he pulled me against his chest, I stiffened for a moment, aware that we were still technically in public view, but his arms were strong and warm and I couldn't bring myself to pull away.
"No one will ever hurt you that way again," he said into my hair. "I promise you that."
"You can't promise that." My words were muffled against his coat.
"I can, and I am." He pulled back just enough to look at my face, his hands gripping my shoulders. "What Brad did to you was monstrous. He violated you in the worst possible way, and he deserves to rot for it."
The intensity in his voice made my chest ache.
I'd assumed this thing between us was purely physical.
Great sex with an attractive boss, nothing more complicated than that.
But the way he was looking at me now, the way he held me as though I was precious to him, suggested there was more to it. It felt like he genuinely cared.
"Why are you so protective of me?" I asked quietly.
He was quiet for a long moment as his eyes searched my face.
"Because you deserve to be protected and you've been hurt enough.
Ember, when I look at you, I don't see my assistant or my Hearthkeeper or any of the roles you've been forced to play.
I see someone so amazing she takes my breath way. You're worth fighting for."
His confession made my heart feel like exploding.
My body melted against his and I realized how risky it was to be seen like this after everything people were already saying.
"Nate…"
He leaned down and kissed me gently, and I accepted it, but not cautiously enough.
It was chaste and brief, but not short enough.
I opened my eyes and glanced over his shoulder toward the square.
And my heart stopped.
A woman stood on the sidewalk across the street, staring directly at us.
I recognized her immediately as one of the nurses who worked in emergency at the hospital.
Her expression was one of open shock, her mouth slightly parted and her eyes wide.
She'd seen us kissing, and it sent a swarm of dread down into my gut.
"Nate," I whispered.
"What?" He pulled back slightly, following my gaze.
If people didn’t suspect things before, they would once they got this woman's earful and then some.
I felt lightheaded from the sudden surge of adrenaline and clung to his arm.
"I think I need to go home," I told him, and he nodded, turning back to me. But his face was pale too.
It didn’t matter that he felt things for me and that this was more than just a physical urge for both of us.
If the community didn't agree with it, we'd never hear the end of it, and the gossip and slander would continue, and now we were only making it worse.