Chapter 14 Nate
NATE
Friday arrived with its usual exhaustion, and I found myself grateful that the week was nearly finished, as was the month.
Ember sat at the small conference table near the window, organizing the notes we'd need for tonight's hospital fundraiser.
She worked busily without looking up, but all I could think about was how things had changed.
She was pulling back from me slightly, seeming distracted and avoidant, not just professional.
And last week after sex, it was so strange the way she felt off and then fell asleep shortly after.
I was starting to think she was keeping something from me, but I knew she had so much on her mind already, and the last thing I wanted was to pressure her if she felt there was something she couldn’t talk to me about.
Watching her fidget with the paperwork while knowing we only had a short time before we had to go to tonight's event just made me more concerned.
She was agitated and restless.
I wanted to help her with that.
"Ember," I said, setting down my pen. "Are you feeling alright?"
She glanced up, startled, and offered a smile I'd seen a million times every time a camera was around. "I'm fine. Just trying to make sure we have everything ready."
"You seem distracted or upset."
"I'm not," she said quickly, then looked back down at the papers in front of her. "I promise, everything's under control."
I opened my mouth to press further when a knock sounded at the door.
Before I could answer, Thomas Reed stepped inside without waiting for permission.
Without Ember out at her desk, there was no screening my visitors or turning away unwanted pop-in guests.
And this one had a scowl on his face that rivaled the one I often saw on my father's face.
"Dr. Bradley," he said, nodding curtly. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
"Actually, you are," I replied, keeping my tone even. "We're preparing for the fundraiser."
"This won't take long." He glanced at Ember, then back at me. "But it does require a candid conversation." I could tell immediately what "conversation" he was wanting to have, and I just wasn’t interested anymore.
These people were as frustrating as my father. I was sick of listening to their rebukes and chastisement about "men my age" and "Ember's so young."
They were acting like having a young Hearthkeeper at my side meant I was marrying her, and while that thought had definitely crossed my mind, whose right was it anyway for them to judge me?
I gestured toward the chair across from my desk, though I didn't stand.
Tom seated himself and folded his hands in his lap, and I felt the tension in the room ratchet upward—the temperature, too, by several degrees.
"There's been talk," Thomas began, and the tone of his voice was nothing short of hostile. "Speculation regarding your relationship with Miss Harrison. The gossip has grown louder in recent weeks, and it's beginning to undermine the image we've worked hard to maintain."
I kept my expression neutral, though anger flared in my chest. "What gossip?"
"That the two of you are involved," Thomas said bluntly. "That this arrangement has become more personal than professional."
"And?" I folded my arms across my chest, daring him to continue.
The fact that I wanted to date Ember should hold no bearing on my position as Lightkeeper.
The only ones who could really make a move to resist me were the board members of this hospital, and only because she was my assistant. It would have nothing to do with town judgment or Ember's age.
"And it's causing concern," he said. "The Lightkeeper is meant to represent stability, tradition, and family values. The optics of your being seen with someone so young at your side aren't appropriate for the honorable position you hold."
"Let me be clear," I said as I leaned forward, and I left no room for confusion with my tone. "What I do in my private life is no one's business. Miss Harrison is my employee. She was placed in this role by the committee as a symbol for the community. Nothing more."
I emphasized those last words emphatically and then took a deep breath as I noticed Ember's head pop up before I continued. "If people choose to speculate beyond that, it reflects on them, not on me."
Tom studied me for a long moment, and I met his gaze unflinchingly.
He didn't seem happy, but thanks to Ember's research pointing me toward my actual responsibility to uphold, I no longer felt threatened by him.
Being stripped of the title would be humiliating, but losing Ember would be too painful to recover from.
I didn't care if Thomas Reed didn't like me or if he wanted me out.
All I cared about was the woman seated across the room and what she thought of me now.
"Well, then I assume you'll be handling your personal matters more delicately from now on?" He rose, tucking his tie against his belly before buttoning his suit jacket.
"I always have," I said coldly, and I wished he'd just leave.
He started for the door and said over his shoulder, "Then we have nothing further to discuss. I'll see you at the fundraiser this evening."
He left without another word, and the door clicked shut behind him.
I turned to Ember, expecting to see relief on her face, but what I found was worse.
She looked stricken, and her eyes brimmed with tears.
She had the papers organized, but she pushed them across the table toward me as she stood slowly.
"Ember," I said, standing and crossing the room toward her. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Don't lie to me."
She looked up, and the sadness in her hazel eyes made my chest ache. "You told him I was nothing more than your employee. You actually used those words—'nothing more.'"
"I had to," I said, strolling up to her, hoping to take her in my arms to comfort her. "He was fishing for confirmation. If I had said anything else—"
"I know," she interrupted, but her voice was shaky now. "I know why you did it. But it still hurt to hear."
"Ember—"
"I should go home," she said, and she turned away from me, taking her sweater from the back of her chair. "You have the fundraiser tonight, and I'll only make things worse if I'm there."
"You don't have to leave, please." I reached for her, but she was already moving toward the door.
"Yes, I do." She looked at me, and the resignation in her expression cut me to the quick. "I'll see you Monday."
She was gone before I could stop her, and I stood alone in my office.
I silently cursed Thomas Reed for his intrusion and myself for the words I had spoken.
Hurting her was the farthest thing from my mind or desire, but there was no taking the words back.
I sank into the chair she vacated, feeling sorry for myself and inwardly chastising myself for not being more sensitive.
In fighting for our right as a couple, I'd inadvertently pushed her away farther, and it stung.
The fundraiser began two hours later in the hospital's large conference room.
The board had gone to great lengths to transform the space into something luxurious, but without a date, it felt hollow and pointless.
As dean of medicine, however, I had an obligation to be here, and I walked in knowing I'd hate every second of it.
I couldn’t ignore Ember's absence, either. I tried, God help me, but conversations seemed shallow or meaningless.
Donors seemed to want to be charmed or dazzled, but I felt like the most uncharming and boring fool as I shook hands and forced myself through the motions.
It didn't feel right to have a good time knowing I'd hurt her and she was at home, probably crying.
No one mentioned her directly, but I saw the glances, the whispered conversations that ceased when I approached.
I was damned if I showed up with her and damned when I didn't.
The scrutiny was exhausting, and I found myself longing for the solitude of my brownstone.
Mr. Reed approached midway through the evening, carrying two glasses of scotch.
He handed one to me without comment, and we stood side by side, watching the crowd.
His chest was puffed out farther than normal, and his shoulders were squared.
As a public official in Beacon Hill, he was here only because it was the thing to do this weekend.
He had no affiliation with the hospital or intention to donate, just to spy on the happenings of the wealthy elite who could flag cash around.
Very presumptuous of him, considering he'd never been asked to be Lightkeeper.
I didn't have to ask why.
"The event's going well," he said, his tone lighter than it had been in my office.
"It is," I replied, though I found little enthusiasm for the observation. I was ready to go home as soon as I could slip out without being noticed.
"I'm glad we had that conversation earlier," Thomas continued. "It's important to maintain boundaries. The committee appreciates your professionalism."
I took a sip of the scotch, letting the burn distract me from the urge to tell him exactly what I thought of his interference.
Tom seemed to sense my mood and didn't press me hard.
I stayed silent because I knew if I opened my mouth, I'd say things I didn't mean, or maybe I did mean them but I just knew better than to talk like that.
After a few minutes, he excused himself to speak with a donor, and I was left alone again and saw my chance to slip away unobserved.
The hallway leading to the exit was dimly lit and blessedly quiet.
I had nearly reached the coat check when a voice called out behind me.
"Dr. Bradley."
I turned to find Robert Kline, one of the hospital board members, approaching with a half-drunk grin.
He swayed while he walked and offered a cocky expression, and I had never cared for him.
"Leaving so soon?" Robert asked, stopping a few feet away.
"It's been a long week," I said, allowing just enough exhaustion into my tone to send the message.
I didn't want to be here at all, and if a board member called me out on shirking my responsibilities, I was in trouble.
"I noticed Miss Harrison wasn't here tonight," Robert said, his smile widening. "Trouble in paradise? Or did you decide to stop playing Daddy Claus with her?"
It took every ounce of control I possessed not to respond in a way that would've been deeply satisfying but ultimately destructive.
I stared at Robert, my jaw clenched, and he had the audacity to chuckle.
The rage must've shown on my face because he started laughing harder. I could've decked his drunk ass.
"Just a joke, Doctor," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "No offense intended."
"None taken," I growled, but it should've been obvious how upset I was.
He turned and walked past me, disappearing back toward the ballroom, while I stood frozen in the hallway, my fists clenched at my sides.
His little nickname was just the tip of the iceberg. This "Daddy Claus" thing was out of control.
Tabloids, newspapers, hospital gossip ring…
People had dubbed me the insulting term because they saw me as old enough to be her father, but what was more insulting was that they didn't even take time to notice how very human and fragile either of us were.
And the protective urge I had in that moment showed me something with crystal clarity that I'd been dancing around for weeks.
I loved Ember Harrison with a ferocity that terrified me.
Everything about her was perfect and wholesome and good.
And I had hurt her.
I had dismissed her in front of Thomas Reed, prioritizing my reputation over her feelings, and sent her home alone while I attended an event that meant nothing without her.
The realization was both liberating and agonizing.
I wanted to go to her, to tell her everything, to lay my heart bare and beg her forgiveness. But she would probably just send me away.
I got my jacket and stepped outside into a stiff breeze that chilled me.
Thomas Reed had one thing right.
The Lightkeeper was supposed to be a man of honor, and I'd failed Ember in that one thing I had promised to uphold.
It was time I made sure she understood my true intention.
Because I refused to lose her.
They’d keep pressuring us, but I swore to myself, right then and there, I would find a way to make this work.
Even if it was the hardest, most humiliating thing I ever did.