Chapter Twelve
Jasper
The first forty-eight hours after leaving Mercy Hospital proved considerably more frustrating than the injury itself. Pain medication helped, the shoulder repair appeared successful, and the doctors seemed pleased with early progress.
Unfortunately, none of those things changed the fact that simple tasks suddenly required far more effort than they had a week earlier.
Opening jars, carrying groceries, putting on shirts, and performing dozens of other ordinary activities became unexpectedly complicated when one arm was largely unavailable.
The situation would have been easier to tolerate if everyone around me had behaved normally.
Instead, Firehouse 99 collectively decided I was incapable of surviving independently.
The first indication arrived less than two hours after I returned home.
Cody appeared carrying enough groceries to survive a minor natural disaster, Ingrid arrived the following morning with prepared meals and strict instructions regarding recovery and Cole called twice during the first day, somehow managing to disguise concern beneath a discussion about departmental paperwork.
By the end of the second day, I’d accepted that arguing accomplished very little because nobody appeared interested in my opinion although they had heeded my warnings about staying for more than an hour at a time.
Aurora found the entire situation amusing.
"You realise they're doing this because they care about you."
I balanced the phone against my shoulder.
"They're doing it because they enjoy interfering."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"You're taking their side."
"I'm taking the side supported by evidence."
The conversation continued for several minutes before drifting toward easier subjects.
Since leaving the hospital, we had spoken multiple times each day.
Some conversations lasted only a few minutes while others stretched considerably longer.
The frequency should probably have surprised me.
Instead, it felt natural. Talking with Aurora had become one of the highlights of my day without either of us consciously deciding it should.
Three days after my discharge, she called during the late afternoon while I was attempting to prepare dinner one-handed.
"How attached are you to your current plans tomorrow night?"
I looked suspiciously at the sandwich ingredients scattered across the kitchen counter.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"Whether you're about to improve them."
"I am."
The certainty in her voice immediately made me smile.
"Go on."
"I'm cooking dinner."
"Congratulations."
"You're coming over."
The statement wasn't phrased as a question.
I leaned against the counter.
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"What if I already have plans?"
"You don't."
The confidence proved remarkably difficult to argue with.
"What if I do?"
"I’m reasonably sure you’re standing there making sandwiches for dinner because that’s all you can manage and I’m also sure you could do with a decent meal."
I stared at the phone.
"That's a little insulting."
"I’m guessing it's also accurate."
A laugh escaped before I could stop it.
"Possibly."
The discussion continued for several more minutes before I accepted defeat. Aurora informed me what time she expected me the following evening and disconnected before I could offer additional objections. She and Cody were becoming alarmingly similar in their ability to read me.
The following evening found me standing outside her apartment carrying a bottle of wine and wondering when exactly anticipation for a night out, or in this case—in, had resurfaced.
The shoulder injury prevented me from driving, so Cody had agreed to transport me with entirely too much enthusiasm.
After spending the short journey across town pretending he wasn't interested in my evening, he finally dropped me outside Aurora's building and drove away before I could threaten him about saying anything to our work colleagues.
Aurora answered the door almost immediately.
The smile that appeared when she saw me made the entire evening feel worthwhile before it had even begun.
She stepped aside to let me enter, and I found myself taking in the apartment for the first time.
The space reflected her in much the same way a person's books often did.
Everything felt organised without appearing rigid, comfortable without sacrificing practicality, and welcoming without trying too hard.
The aroma drifting from the kitchen immediately drew my attention.
"Something smells incredible."
She smiled.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
I glanced around.
"No Elyssa?"
Amusement appeared in Aurora's eyes.
"Elyssa informed me she had plans for the evening."
"Real plans?"
"Not remotely."
A laugh escaped me.
"How generous of her."
"She's very invested in other people's lives so I’ll get the twenty questions, or in her case one hundred and twenty questions, later."
"That sounds familiar."
Aurora pointed toward the dining table.
"Come and sit down before dinner gets cold."
Dinner exceeded every expectation. Aurora possessed considerably more talent in the kitchen than she admitted to, and the conversation flowed as easily as it always did.
We discussed books, school, Firehouse 99, and a dozen unrelated subjects while the evening gradually unfolded around us.
At some point I realized nearly three hours had passed without either of us noticing.
The comfort between us no longer surprised me.
If anything, it felt increasingly natural each time we were together.
Eventually the conversation drifted toward relationships.
The transition happened gradually enough that neither of us seemed particularly aware of it until we were already discussing subjects that were far more personal than anything we'd shared before.
Aurora swirled the wine in her glass for a moment before speaking.
"I've dated in the past in case you were wondering."
I looked toward her.
"Past tense?"
A small smile appeared.
"That's because it belongs in the past."
I waited.
"There were a few relationships over the years. Nothing terrible happened. Nobody cheated. Nobody broke my heart. Most of them simply reached a point where I realised I wasn't as invested as my partner at the time."
"That sounds unusually civilized."
"I know."
She laughed softly before her expression became more thoughtful.
"The truth is that I never really wanted anything serious."
The admission surprised me.
"You didn't?"
She shook her head.
"No."
I studied her for a moment.
"Why?"
Aurora considered the question before answering.
"I liked my life, my independence, making my own decisions, and I liked the freedom that came with not having to build my life around someone else's plans. Whenever relationships started moving toward something more serious, I usually found a reason to step back."
The honesty in her voice left little room for misunderstanding.
"What changed?"
Her eyes lifted to mine.
"You."
The answer caught me completely off guard. After everything we'd shared during the evening, hearing the words spoken aloud felt different somehow.
She smiled.
"Your turn."
I knew immediately what she meant but my past was something I’d never discussed with anyone. The conversation had been moving in this direction for most of the evening.
I set down my glass.
"There was someone."
Aurora's expression softened slightly.
"A serious relationship?"
I nodded.
"More than that."
She remained silent, waiting for me to continue.
"I was married."
Surprise crossed her face immediately.
"You were?"
I nodded.
"Her name was Rachel."
Even after twelve years, saying her name still carried a weight that never entirely disappeared.
I gathered my thoughts before continuing.
"Rachel and I met during our training. We spent the first six months arguing about almost everything."
Aurora smiled.
"Really?"
I nodded.
"Really."
"Somehow that wasn't the story I was expecting."
A laugh escaped me.
"Most people wouldn't have predicted we'd end up married."
"Eventually we stopped arguing long enough to realise we actually liked each other. We dated for a couple of years and got married when we were both twenty-one."
Aurora listened quietly.
"Rachel worked out of Station 101 assigned to Ambulance 91. Her regular partner was Matt Delaney. They'd worked together for three years and trusted each other completely."
I paused briefly before continuing.
"Twelve years ago, when Rachel was twenty-four and Matt was twenty-seven, they were dispatched to an apartment complex on the south side.
A woman was screaming that her six-year-old son had been shot and was dying.
Dispatch recognised the address immediately because the area had a history of violent incidents.
Rachel and Matt were instructed to stage nearby and wait for police backup before entering. "
"The dispatcher repeated the instruction several times, but Rachel and Matt believed a child was dying and they decided not to wait.
When police eventually entered the building, they found Rachel and Matt on the landing outside the apartment.
The father had already shot his wife and son before barricading himself inside.
When Rachel and Matt arrived, he shot both of them before fleeing the apartment. "
I drew a slow breath.
"The mother and child were already dead and the father was killed during a shootout with police several blocks away."
Eventually Aurora reached across the table and covered my hand with hers.
"I was twenty-four at the time, the same as Rachel."
I scrubbed a hand over my face and swallowed hard. My voice remained steady.
"The medical examiner discovered she was three months pregnant…I didn't know."
"No."
I looked down at our joined hands.
"I didn’t know until I received the medical examiner’s report."
Nothing either of us could say would change what had happened.
"I spent a long time just existing after that."
Aurora squeezed my hand gently.
"I can’t begin to imagine how you must have felt."
I shook my head.
"I don't think anybody really can. I went back to work because that's what people expected me to do. Everyone kept telling me time would help, and eventually it did. The problem was that helping wasn't the same thing as healing."
She listened without interrupting.
"I kept moving forward. I built a life, made friends but never allowed them to get close, and convinced myself I was doing fine. Looking back now, I think I spent twelve years avoiding anything that might matter enough to hurt me again."
I looked down at our joined hands for a moment before continuing.
"Most people probably thought I'd healed.
The truth is that after Rachel died, it felt as though the best parts of my life had burned away with her.
What was left wasn't nothing. I still had my job, my friends, and a reason to get out of bed every morning.
But for a long time my heart felt like nothing more than embers.
There was still some warmth left, but not enough to build a future around. "
My gaze lifted to hers.
"Then I met you."
Aurora squeezed my hand gently.
"Twelve years is a long time."
"It is."
"What changed?"
The question mirrored one I had asked her earlier.
My answer came just as honestly as hers had a few moments earlier.
"You."
For several moments neither of us spoke. Very little remained to be said after that.
Eventually Aurora stood and carried our plates into the kitchen while I gathered the wine glasses and followed more slowly behind her.
By the time everything had been loaded into the dishwasher, the intensity of the conversation had eased slightly, although neither of us seemed particularly interested in changing the subject.
Aurora topped up our wine and led the way into the living room. We settled onto opposite ends of the couch and continued talking. We talked about school, Firehouse 99, books, and the plans being neglected while recovering from our respective injuries.
As the conversation continued, Aurora shifted closer. When her hand settled over mine, I closed my fingers around it without hesitation.