Chapter 7
Ethan
Ethan sat behind the wheel, one hand resting on the gear shift, the other gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. The morning sun cut through the windshield, warming his face, but the chill of apprehension sat in his chest.
He cast a glance at his mom beside him. She sat upright, small hands folded neatly in her lap, her frail frame swallowed up in her sweater, but her expression was the picture of calm.
“Ready, Ma?” he asked, voice even.
She turned to him with a warm smile. “I was born ready.”
Ethan forced a smirk, but his stomach twisted.
God, go with us today, he thought as he pulled into the clinic parking lot.
The waiting room smelled of antiseptic and faintly of coffee, but all Ethan could focus on was his mother’s hand resting lightly on his arm as they waited for the nurse to call them back. She was too thin, her skin too pale, but she still held herself like a woman twice her size, carrying a quiet strength he both admired and feared.
When her name was called, she squeezed his arm.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go see what’s next for me.”
The doctor—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and an efficient manner—sat across from them, flipping through test results. The small room felt even smaller as Ethan sat beside his mom, his leg bouncing under the chair.
He didn’t miss the way his mom exhaled slowly, steadying herself.
“Well, Martha,” the doctor said, setting the papers down, “your last tests showed a slight progression. Nothing alarming yet, but I think it’s time we adjust your treatment.”
Ethan’s chest tightened.
His mom didn’t flinch. She nodded, hands folded in her lap. “What does that mean?”
The doctor’s expression was gentle but firm. “I’d like to increase the frequency of your infusions. It’s going to make you more tired, and you may experience more nausea, but I believe it will slow things down.”
Ethan clenched his jaw. He had done his research, had spent hours reading medical journals, patient forums, and anything he could get his hands on.
He cleared his throat. “Are we talking about an aggressive approach or a mild escalation?”
The doctor tilted her head slightly, studying him. “Somewhere in between. I’m considering weekly treatments for the next three months instead of every other week.”
Ethan inhaled through his nose. “And her body can handle that?”
His mom placed a hand on his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Sweetheart, I can handle it.”
He ignored the lump in his throat, nodding as he turned back to the doctor. “What about pain management? She’s been weaker lately, and she has had several rough nights this week. Do we need to adjust her pain meds?”
The doctor gave a reassuring nod. “We can modify her prescription to help with that. It’s not uncommon for pain in the joints to set in deeper at this stage, but we can improve her comfort.”
Ethan exhaled slowly, absorbing the information.
“Ethan,” his mom said softly, “you don’t have to do all the worrying for me.”
He turned to her, his tough exterior cracking just a little. “Someone has to.”
Her smile was warm but knowing. “I’m still your mother. I’m supposed to take care of you.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not how this works, Ma.”
She squeezed his fingers. “Maybe not. But I’ve been given more time, sweetheart. And I’m so grateful for that.”
Ethan swallowed hard, nodding once.
The doctor gave them a moment before continuing. “Martha, I want you to focus on rest, nutrition, and gentle movement when you can. This new treatment plan isn’t going to be easy, we’re not out of options.”
His mom nodded, hope never once leaving her face. “I trust you.”
Ethan studied her, feeling a mix of admiration and helplessness. She had been through hell and back, and yet she still sat here full of grace and optimism.
If she could be strong, so could he.
The walk back to the truck was quiet, but comfortable. His mom’s arm looped in his, her fingers feather-light against his jacket sleeve.
When they reached the passenger door, she turned to him. “I know today wasn’t easy for you.”
Ethan shrugged, unlocking the door. “Could’ve been worse.”
She chuckled, giving him a knowing look. “You remind me so much of your father sometimes.”
He smirked. “Because I’m handsome?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Because you carry the weight of the world and pretend like it’s nothing.”
Ethan stilled.
His mom reached up, cupping his face for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I love you, sweetheart. And I need you to promise me something.”
He swallowed thickly, bracing himself. “What?”
She held his gaze. “Promise me you’ll let yourself live, too.”
Ethan’s chest tightened, but he nodded. “I promise.”
She smiled, satisfied. “Good.”
He exhaled, shaking his head as he opened the door for her and reached in to get her stepstool so that he could help her up into his truck. “Let’s go home.”
Ethan adjusted his duty belt after getting his mom settled for the day, rolling his shoulders as he grabbed Ranger’s leash. The crisp late morning air filled his lungs as he stepped outside, Ranger trotting beside him with his usual keen alertness. The cruiser sat waiting in the driveway, freshly cleaned, just as he liked it.
With a few practiced movements, he opened the back door, and Ranger hopped up into his designated seat, his sharp eyes scanning their quiet neighborhood.
“Alright, partner,” Ethan muttered, buckling up as he slid behind the wheel. “Let’s go do some public relations.”
Ranger huffed in agreement.
Brookings had a small-town charm, and part of that charm was Misty Mountain Roasters, a locally owned coffee shop with a drive-thru that Ethan had been visiting since he was a teenager.
As he pulled into the lot, Ranger’s ears perked up, recognizing the turn.
“Oh, now you’re paying attention,” Ethan smirked. “I see how it is.”
Ranger wagged his tail, thumping it against the seat.
The drive-thru line was short, and when Ethan pulled up to the window, a familiar face grinned at him.
“Officer Williams!” Maya, the barista, leaned out, her eyes immediately shifting to Ranger. “And Brookings’ finest K9. Morning, boys.”
Ranger whined softly, nose twitching.
Ethan chuckled. “He’s been waiting for this all morning.” Handing her his debit card.
Maya laughed, handing Ethan his large black coffee before disappearing for a moment. When she returned, she held a small cup filled with whipped cream and returned his card.
“There you go, Ranger,” she cooed, handing it over.
Ethan took it and found a shaded parking spot in the lot, turning in his seat to face his partner. “Here you go, buddy. You’ve earned it.”
Ranger enthusiastically licked at the treat, eyes half-closed in sheer contentment.
Ethan watched him for a moment, then sighed. “Mom had her appointment today.”
Ranger paused for half a second, tilting his head as if actually listening.
Ethan rested his arm against the center console, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup. “It wasn’t… terrible. But it wasn’t good, either. The doc wants to up her treatments. More frequent infusions, which means she’s gonna be even more wiped out.” He stared at the coffee lid, his expression unreadable. “She took it like a champ. Like always. But… it’s getting harder to watch.”
Ranger licked the last of his treat, then pressed his nose against Ethan’s shoulder.
Ethan smiled faintly, rubbing behind Ranger’s ears. “I know, buddy. We just gotta keep showing up, right?”
Ranger huffed softly, the closest thing to a verbal agreement.
Most days on patrol were a mix of the mundane and the unexpected. Today, however, the town was slow, and Ethan welcomed it.
Morning Checks:
Drove through the harbor, watching the fishing boats prepare for the afternoon outing.
Stopped by a local school zone just as kids were getting dropped off, making sure people weren’t rolling through stop signs or speeding.
Did a routine pass through a few neighborhoods, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.
At a stoplight, Ethan glanced at Ranger. “Slow day, huh?”
Ranger just blinked at him.
Ethan chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Be careful what we wish for.”
Brookings was peaceful, but that didn’t mean people didn’t find ways to make dumb choices. Around ten in the morning, he got a call about a minor fender bender near the grocery store. By the time he arrived, both drivers were standing outside their vehicles, arms crossed, already in a full-blown argument about whose fault it was.
Ranger perked up, sensing the tension.
“Alright, folks,” Ethan said as he stepped out, his tone calm but authoritative. “What’s going on?”
Fifteen minutes later, after some de-escalation, license checks, and a lot of finger-pointing, Ethan had sorted it out. No injuries, just bruised egos and some paperwork to fill out.
As he handed one of the drivers their copy of the report, Ranger watched from the cruiser, ears flicking at every raised voice.
Ethan gave his partner a mock salute. “Good job supervising.”
Ranger yawned.
The rest of the day was spent doing rounds, checking in with local businesses, and grabbing a quick lunch at a sandwich shop.
At one point, a group of kids ran up to the cruiser in the park, their faces lighting up at the sight of Ranger.
“Can we pet him?” a little girl asked, bouncing on her toes.
Ethan grinned, glancing at his partner. “What do you think, bud?”
Ranger wagged his tail.
Ethan nodded. “Alright, one at a time. He’s working, but he loves attention.”
For the next few minutes, Ranger soaked up the love, his tail wagging as kids giggled and patted his fur.
Watching them, Ethan felt the weight on his chest ease just a little.
This was why he loved this job.
As the sun started to dip, Ethan made one final round through town before heading toward the station to check out for the night.
He glanced at Ranger. “Not a bad day, huh?”
Ranger let out a soft huff, stretching out in his seat.
Ethan smirked, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “Tomorrow will probably be chaos. Better enjoy the slow ones while we can.”
His thoughts drifted back to his mom, her strength, her optimism, and the weight of his own worries.
He reached over, scratching behind Ranger’s ears. “Guess we just take it one day at a time, huh, partner?”
Ranger tilted his head, then licked Ethan’s arm.
Ethan chuckled. “Yeah. One day at a time.”
And with that, he drove toward home, grateful for the quiet moments when they came.
The second Ethan stepped inside, Ranger was already gone, his tail wagging as he made a beeline for Mom.
“Hey, buddy, miss me.” Ethan called.
Ranger didn’t even acknowledge him—just pressed his big head against Mom’s lap, tail thumping softly as she scratched behind his ears.
“Yeah, yeah, I see how it is,” Ethan muttered, smirking.
His mom laughed, gentle but tired. “Oh, honey, he worked hard today. He deserves some rest.”
Ethan arched a brow. “I worked hard today. Where’s my unconditional love?”
His dad snorted from the couch, flipping through the newspaper. “Get yourself a tail and maybe you’ll get some.”
Ethan rolled his eyes.
His mom squeezed his hand as he passed. “Are you going out?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got a few more things to finish at Mr. Jensen’s place. Shouldn’t be too long.”
“Be careful,” she murmured.
He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Always.”
Ethan pulled into the now-familiar driveway. The house was quiet, the porch light already on, casting a warm glow over the front door.
He grabbed his tool bag, rolling his shoulders as he stepped inside.
The smell of fresh wood and sawdust lingered, mixing with something subtly masculine—leather, expensive cologne, maybe even a hint of old books.
It suited the house.
More importantly, it suited Mark.
Ethan ran his hand over the almost finished built-ins, admiring the clean edges and polished finish. Damn, they looked good.
He wasn’t one to brag on himself, but these? These were solid work.
A small pulse of pride ran through him.
Not bad, Williams. Not bad at all.
Chapter 8
Mark
Mark tapped his fingers against the smooth surface of his desk, staring at the clock. 6:45 p.m.
Leaving at seven isn’t exactly scandalous, he told himself. It’s still a full workday.
And yet, the moment he reached for his suit jacket, he heard the inevitable knock on his door.
Diana.
“Leaving early again ?” she said, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed.
Mark sighed dramatically, slipping his jacket on. “Yes.”
She arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “You? The man who practically sleeps here? I need to know what’s going on.”
He straightened his tie. “What, a guy can’t just… go home?”
Diana snorted. “A guy can — you don’t.”
Mark grabbed his briefcase, brushing past her. “Maybe I’m re-evaluating my work-life balance.”
Diana gasped, clutching her chest in mock horror. “ My God. Are you dying? ”
Mark smirked. “You’re hilarious.”
She followed him to the door, heels clicking. “Seriously, is it therapy ? Or are you seeing a doctor, is he finally removing the stick?”
Mark nearly tripped.
Diana smirked. “Gotcha.”
“Nothing is going on ,” he insisted.
“Goodnight, Mark ,” she called after him, voice full of amusement.
Mark pulled into his driveway, balancing a bag of takeout sushi on the passenger seat. He didn’t normally bring home dinner but tonight felt… different.
The soft glow of the living room lights spilled through the front windows, and as he stepped inside, the familiar scent of sawdust and freshly sanded wood hit him.
Looking at Ethan stand next to the built-ins, he noticed they were finally done.
Jessica would have loved them.
She had always wanted that extra space for books, had dreamed of this exact addition. The sunlight that poured into the room in the late afternoons would hit just right, making it feel warm and inviting—just the way she had always loved it.
Mark exhaled slowly, running his fingers in his hair. She would have been proud of this.
Then—
Ethan held out his screwdriver and started singing into it, at the top of his lungs. “ Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears… ”
Mark blinked, not understanding what was happening and smiling ear to ear.
Ethan turned around and saw Mark and jumped about six inches off the ground with a look of pure embarrassment and surprise on his face as the headphones flew off, clattering to the floor. For a second, he looked horrified. Then, he busted out laughing. A deep, unrestrained laughter.
Mark smirked.
He cleared his throat. “Impressive taste, Ethan.”
Mark watched as Ethan bent over, hands on his knees, shaking his head.
“Damn,” Ethan gasped between chuckles. “ Damn —I did not hear you come in.”
Mark, arms crossed, leaned against the wall. “So. 80s power ballads, huh?”
Ethan ran a sheepish hand through his hair. “What can I say? Classic pop rock is superior .”
Mark arched a brow. “You weren’t even born when that song came out.”
Ethan grinned, picking up his headphones. “No, but my mom was. She raised me right.”
Mark chuckled. “I’ll allow it.”
Ethan smirked. “Thanks, Dad. ”
Mark rolled his eyes, then held up the bag in his hand. “I grabbed sushi on the way home. Are you hungry?”
Ethan perked up instantly. “You got sushi?”
Mark smirked. “Is that a yes?”
Ethan pulled off his work gloves, already moving toward the kitchen. “ Hell yes. ”
Mark set the sushi containers down, watching as Ethan rubbed his hands together like a kid on Christmas morning.
“This is good stuff,” Ethan said, popping open the soy sauce packets. “Most of the guys at the station only go for burgers or pizza, but this ? This is my kind of meal.”
Mark grinned. “Then it’s a good thing I bought extra.”
Ethan snatched up a pair of chopsticks. “Didn’t peg you as a sushi guy.”
Mark poured some tea for himself. “Jessica loved it.”
Ethan slowed for half a second, glancing at Mark.
Mark met his gaze, surprised at how comfortable it felt.
Ethan nodded, something understanding and quiet in his expression. “Well. She had great taste.”
Mark smiled, but something in his chest tightened.
Ethan took a bite, then groaned in satisfaction. “Oh, man. You officially have my loyalty. This is so much better than station food.”
Mark smirked. “So, this is how I bribe you.”
Ethan pointed his chopsticks at him. “You could’ve just asked, but yeah, this works.”
Mark shook his head, amused.
And for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel strange to have someone here.
As they ate, conversation flowed easily.
Ethan talked about funny calls from the station, and Mark—against all odds—actually laughed.
But more than that?
Mark felt something shifting inside him.
He wasn’t sure what it was.
But when Ethan leaned back in his chair, grinning as he stole the last piece of ginger, Mark couldn’t bring himself to care.
Because for the first time in years , he wasn’t thinking about the past.
He was living in the present.
Mark leaned back in his chair, chopsticks resting between his fingers, as Ethan polished off the last piece of sushi.
Ethan sighed in satisfaction, stretching his arms before grabbing his napkin and wiping his hands. “That hit the spot. I’m officially adding you to my list of people who feed me well.”
Mark smirked, gathering up the empty containers. “A very exclusive list, I assume?”
Ethan chuckled. “Absolutely. My mom’s at the top, obviously. Then the local coffee shop barista who gives me pup cups for Ranger. And now you.”
Mark shook his head, amused. “I’m honored.”
Ethan leaned back in his chair, content but aware of the time. “I only have about twenty minutes left of work. Then I’ll clean up and get out of your way.” He shot Mark a smirk. “Miss Diana was very clear that I should not be here past eight.”
Mark rolled his eyes as he stood. “Of course she was.”
Ethan pushed his chair back. “I don’t mind following orders. She’s terrifying.”
Mark snorted, grabbing the dishes. “She is . I knew she was fierce but had no idea that she could intimidate law enforcement. But there’s no hurry. Finish up at your pace.”
Ethan tipped an imaginary hat. “Yes, sir.”
Mark smirked but said nothing as Ethan disappeared into the living room, rolling up his sleeves and grabbing his tools.
As Mark rinsed off the dishes, the faint sound of hammer against nails filled the quiet house.
For the first time in a long time…
The silence didn’t feel so empty.
Mark wiped his hands on a dish towel, the sound of Ethan moving around the living room fading into the background. The night had turned quiet, the house settling into a familiar stillness.
Then, Ethan’s voice called from the other room.
"Mark, come take a look at this."
Mark tossed the towel on the counter and headed toward the living room, expecting to see the finished built-ins, maybe a final walkthrough of the work Ethan had done.
Instead, he froze in the doorway.
The air left his lungs.
Every single one of Jessica’s books, the ones she had left in neat little stacks around the room, the ones he couldn’t bear to move for years, were now shelved.
Perfectly arranged.
Not by genre, or title, or author—but by color and size.
Exactly the way she always did it.
Mark’s mouth went dry.
How the hell did Ethan know?
His fingers twitched at his sides as he stared, his throat tightening. The sight of her books lined up in their proper place felt like a piece of her had been restored—not erased, not pushed aside, but honored.
Behind him, Ethan shifted, sensing the silence.
“I, uh—" Ethan cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind that I put the books up. I just… wanted you to see the finished product.”
Mark still couldn’t speak.
He traced the familiar spines with his eyes, memories flooding in. Jessica curled up in her chair, flipping through decorating books. Her laughing softly when he teased her for shelving by color instead of something logical.
“It makes me happy,” she used to say with a shrug. “Books should be beautiful, too.”
And now… they were.
Ethan shifted again, glancing toward the door. “Well, I should head out. It’s late—”
“Stop.”
Ethan froze mid-step, turning back, brows raised.
Mark’s own voice had startled him. His hands curled into fists as he struggled for words.
Why don’t I want him to leave?
He swallowed, exhaling slowly before meeting Ethan’s eyes.
“I have more work,” Mark said, his voice gravelly, uncertain. “Would you…be interested?”
Ethan’s expression softened, like he knew exactly what Mark wasn’t saying.
Then, that easy, his genuine smile appeared.
“Yeah,” Ethan said simply. “I’d like that.”
Mark’s chest tightened.
He nodded. “Good.”
Ethan picked up his bag, giving him a small salute as he headed for the door. “I’ll come over tomorrow night around seven, and you can show me what you want done. Sound good?”
Mark nodded and exhaled, his gaze drifting back to the books.
For the first time in four years, the living room felt like home again.