Chapter 50
CHAPTER
FIFTY
ASPEN
By the fourth apology, I know I’m out of options.
No one can cover.
I stare at my phone for a long moment before I feel Emmett behind me.
I don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. It’s ridiculous how quickly I’ve learned the shape of his presence. The weight of his stare is heavy on my back.
I lock my phone and close my eyes. I was so sure I’d figure something out.
His arms surround me right there in the hallway. The fear from earlier is still there but now it’s clouded with grief and something else I can’t put my finger on. It’s unsettling and maybe that’s why I’m working so hard to stay.
“What time do you work?”
His tone catches me off guard. It’s like he’s outside his body, asking.
“Six.”
His arms tighten briefly before he lets me go.
I look up. His eyes are tired. The light that was there this morning around the campfire is gone.
It’s devastating but not nearly as much as when he steps back and puts physical distance between us.
Not because of what it does to me but because I can see him changing back to the man I first met right in front of my eyes.
“Enough time to grab your things before you have to leave.”
A lump forms in my throat.
“I’m coming back tomorrow after my shift.”
He shakes his head.
“You can’t.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “What?”
His jaw flexes.
For a second, he looks almost as confused by the words as I am.
“You’ll be coming off a twelve-hour shift. You’re not driving through the mountains on almost no sleep.”
The temperature in the hallway plummets. I wrap my arms around my middle.
“I’ll survive.”
Emmett sighs. “Aspen—”
“Emmett.”
His mouth closes. The sting of him shutting me out after yesterday is hot across my cheeks. And then his lips part again. “She’s worse than when I left. I couldn’t see it yesterday but Connie said as much this morning.”
This isn’t really about sleep or driving. It’s about fear.
“Emmett.” I say softly, reaching for him but he sidesteps me.
But before I can try again, the doctor steps out of Monica’s room.
She’s young and smiling sweetly as she props her glasses on the top of her head. Her gaze bounces between Emmett and I like she knows she’s interrupted something tenuous.
“Mr. Slate?”
Emmett straightens beside me. “Emmett,” he corrects.
“Okay. Emmett it is.” The doctor offers a sympathetic smile. “Do you have a few minutes?”
Every muscle in his body tenses as he scrutinizes the doctor. “Is she okay?”
“She’s resting right now.”
The reassurance doesn’t ease the tension in his shoulders.
“But?”
The doctor's expression softens.
“Not a but. I just wanted to talk through what happened today and what we’re seeing.” The doctor gestures toward a small consultation room across the hall.
Emmett’s jaw ticks.
“Go,” I tell him. “I’ll be right here.”
His eyes hold mine and there’s a second where I think he’s going to say or do something.
Instead, he nods and follows the doctor down the hall.
Leaving me standing in the middle of the hallway with no idea what to do next.
It’s a strange feeling.
Twenty-four hours ago, Emmett let me into the darkest parts of his life, and it cemented that the feelings I have for him run much deeper than something temporary. Now, I’m standing three doors away from him, unable to reach him.
Unable to fix this.
“Hard, isn’t it?”
I sniff back the tears that are right there, threatening to fall, and swipe the corners of my eye before forcing a smile and turning to find Connie standing in Monica’s doorway, watching me with a sad sort of understanding.
“What is?” I ask. I’m too in my own head to try to decode her meaning.
“Being on this side of it.”
My forehead creases.
“Loving someone but not being able to make it better.”
The words hit harder than I expect. I’m a nurse, trained to assess and intervene. My whole life revolves around finding solutions.
But there’s no medication I can give Emmett to ease his pain. There’s no treatment plan for his grief or fears.
There’s nothing to do except get through it.
Connie follows my gaze toward the consultation room.
God, I hope he’s okay in there. I should have gone with him.
“He let you meet Monica,” Connie says, interrupting my thoughts.
I look back at her.
“What?”
“That’s huge for him”
My brows pinch together. She’s not telling me anything I haven’t already figured out.
“She’s his heart,” Connie corrects softly. “And he’s spent years protecting her.”
The lump in my throat returns.
“He brought you into the part of his life he keeps the most guarded.”
“I’m honored he trusted me with it. Monica is lovely.”
“She is.” Connie’s smile is genuine. “Emmett learned too young that loving someone doesn’t mean you get to keep them.”
My chest aches because I know exactly how true that is.
“And he brought you anyway.”
She leaves the words hanging between us like she wants me to pick up the pieces.
“I just want to be there for him.” My eyes drift toward the closed door, again. They’ve only been in there for a few minutes, but it feels like forever. “However he’ll let me.”
Connie nods thoughtfully. “That’s the hard part—letting him decide how much he’s ready to let someone in.”
The truth of that settles heavily between us.
“Maybe he will. Maybe he won’t.”
The words hurt, because I can feel the shift that’s happened since the phone rang this morning. He’s not just worried about his grandmother, he’s rebuilding walls.
“But if you love him—and I think you do—just remember, there’s a difference between letting someone heal and walking away because healing is hard.”
I rub my sternum, my chest aching.
Giving up has never been in my nature.
“But how do you love someone who won’t accept it?” The question comes out quieter than I mean it to.
Connie leans against the wall, humming softly. “That’s the hard part.”
Not exactly the reassurance I was hoping for.
“You can’t force someone to believe they’re worth loving, Aspen.”
This woman knows Emmett better than most. If she’s going to listen, I’d be stupid not to ask her.
“Then what do you do?”
“You show up—tell them as often as they need to hear it, and give them the choice.”
She looks toward the room Emmett disappeared into.
“But at some point, they have to choose to believe you.”
Before I can respond, a call light flashes above a door down the hall.
Connie gives my arm a gentle squeeze.
“For what it’s worth, I think he’s closer than he realizes.”
Then, she leaves me standing there, with a truth I can’t make sense of.
I’m just a woman in love with a man who’s hurting.
And I have absolutely no idea how to make it better.
So I walk without a destination in mind. I just need air and space to think. Somehow, I end up behind the building, near the small pond outside Monica’s window, surrounded by benches and flowers.
The pond is still, the mountains reflecting back on the surface like nothing in the world has changed. It’s almost cruel how easily everything else keeps going.
Last night feels like a lifetime ago. The effects of the aurora are gone, so is the way Emmett was looking at me, like I was the first good thing the world had given him in years.
Let me be yours.
The memory wraps around my heart and squeezes. I know he meant it, because Emmett doesn’t give away pieces of himself he doesn’t mean.
And I think that’s the part that scares me the most.
Emmett would never set out to hurt me.
But I’ve gotten too comfortable convincing myself my needs can wait, adding more and more to my own shoulders because I want to be able to handle it all—keeping the peace in every part of my life. It’s easier that way—more convenient. But for who?
Jeremiah keeps crossing lines at work and I keep telling myself I'll deal with it later.
After this shift.
The next time he crosses a line.
My discomfort isn’t important enough to inconvenience anyone else, or that’s how I act. But that’s not true.
And I don’t want to love Emmett like that. Proving I can stay doesn’t mean he’ll let me.
Yesterday, I thought he would. But things were perfect then. In the light of reality, I’m not sure he’s ready for that.
Even if he meant every word—if he still doesn't know how to let himself have it or can’t overcome the fear, then what can we really have?
You can’t.
His words from just a little while ago were laced with the fear that holds him back.
My fingers trace along the edge of the bench.
I don’t need perfection, and I’ve never asked for easy.
I just want him.
But Connie’s right.
I can show up. I can tell him the truth. I can choose him every single day. I just can’t make him believe me.
“This is the best spot for thinking. Usually I have it all to myself, but it looks like you need it.”
The unexpected voice startles me.
I quickly wipe beneath my eyes before turning and smiling.
A man stands at the edge of the path, maybe about fifty. He’s short but broad with salt and pepper hair and a tan that tells me he probably spends a fair amount of time outdoors. He leans over the back of the wheelchair he’s pushing.
“Sorry.” He smiles kindly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s fine. I was getting dangerously close to overthinking.”
The elderly man in the wheelchair has his face tipped toward the sun, a blanket tucked carefully around his legs.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the man asks, turning the wheelchair to face the water and locking the wheels. When he’s done, he stands beside it, facing the same direction.
I look back at the pond.
“It is.”
“Mind if I join you?” He points to the iron bench.
“No, not at all.” I move to the end, making more room.
“Thanks.” He lowers with a groan. “These old knees aren’t what they used to be.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “You don't look old enough to complain about your knees.”
“Careful. Flattery will get you everywhere.”
A quiet laugh spills from my lips.
Laughing with a stranger feels cathartic somehow. Like a release valve opening after the last twenty-four hours.
He leans back against the bench, looking over the water.
For a few minutes, neither of us says anything—i’s surprisingly comfortable. Maybe because he doesn’t ask me what’s wrong.