Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
JARED
The couch feels wrong. Too short. Too empty. I stare at the ceiling, watching shadows from the dying fire dance across the exposed beams. Sleep refuses to come, my mind replaying our argument in endless loops.
Until the novelty wears off and you realize you're stuck on a mountain with a scarred ex-firefighter who doesn't know how to be what you need.
My own words echo in my head, revealing more truth than I intended. That's the real fear, isn't it? Not that Jennifer will leave, but that she should leave. That I'm not enough for her. That she deserves better than a broken man hiding from the world.
I rub my face, feeling the rough edges of my scar beneath my fingertips. Jennifer never shies away from touching it. Never pretends it's not there. She traces it with the same tenderness she shows the rest of me. Like it's just another part of who I am rather than a reminder of what I lost.
And how did I repay that acceptance? By walking away the moment she expressed her very reasonable fears.
"Idiot," I mutter to the empty room.
A soft noise from the kitchen startles me. I sit up, squinting through the darkness to see Aunt Mildred in her robe and slippers, filling the electric kettle.
"Didn't mean to wake you," she says without turning around.
"Wasn't asleep." I stand, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders against the chill. "Trouble sleeping?"
"Old age." She measures tea into a pot with practiced movements. "The body rests poorly when it knows its time is limited."
The casual reference to her mortality tightens something in my chest. I join her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter.
"Why are you down here?" she asks, finally turning to look at me. "Trouble in paradise already?"
I consider denying it, maintaining the happy couple facade, but find I don't have the energy for more lies. "Something like that."
"Hmm." She pours the boiling water into the teapot. "Your mother and father fought like cats and dogs the first year they were married. Your grandfather wanted to annul the whole thing."
This is news to me. My parents' marriage always seemed perfect in my childhood memories. "They did?"
"Oh yes. Your father was stubborn as a mule. Just like you." She fixes me with a knowing look. "And your mother was proud. Wouldn't back down when she thought she was right. I suspect your Jennifer has similar qualities."
"She's not really mine." The words slip out before I can stop them.
Aunt Mildred snorts. "Please. I may be old, but I'm not blind. That girl looks at you like you hung the moon. And you watch her every move like she might disappear if you blink."
Heat creeps up my neck. "It's complicated."
"Love usually is." She pours tea into two mugs, sliding one toward me. "What I can't figure out is why you're pretending to be married when you're so clearly in love with each other."
I nearly drop my mug. "What?"
"Oh, come now. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?
No wedding photos. No rings. The way you both tense up whenever I ask specific questions about your 'wedding day.
' The fact that she supposedly just moved here a week ago after being married to you for a full year?
" She sips her tea calmly. "I may be dying, but my mind is still sharp. "
I sink onto a bar stool, stunned by her perception. "How long have you known?"
"Since about five minutes after I arrived." Her eyes are shrewd over the rim of her mug. "The question is why the charade? Beverly mentioned something about you being married in her Christmas letter last year, but that doesn't explain why you're continuing the lie."
The jig is up. No point in further deception.
"Aunt Beverly lied to make you happy. She thought it would comfort you to believe I'd settled down.
" I stare into my tea. "When she told me you were coming to visit, that you were ill, I panicked.
Hired Jennifer to pretend to be my wife so you wouldn't be disappointed. "
"Hired her?" Aunt Mildred's eyebrows shoot up. "Like a prostitute?"
"What? No!" I sputter. "An arrangement. Financial compensation for two weeks of her time. It was strictly professional."
"Until it wasn't," she observes.
I nod, unable to deny it. "Until it wasn't."
She studies me for a long moment. "You love her."
"Yes."
"And she loves you."
"I thought so." I run a hand through my hair. "But she's worried we're moving too fast. That this is just holiday magic, not something real or lasting."
"And instead of discussing her concerns like a rational adult, you shut down and retreated to the couch." Her tone is dry. "The Calloway men and their emotional constipation. Some things never change."
Despite everything, I almost smile. "It's not that simple."
"It never is. But it's also not as complicated as you're making it." She reaches across the counter to pat my hand. "Do you want to know what I think?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"No." Her smile is brief but genuine. "I think you're both terrified. Her because of whatever hurt she's carrying from her past. You because you've been hiding on this mountain since the accident, convincing yourself you're better off alone."
The accuracy of her assessment is uncomfortable. "I'm not hiding."
"Please." She dismisses my protest with a wave. "You run a store in town but have employees handle all customer interactions. You build a life where you need no one. Even your rigid friend, Ridge, only sees you when you allow it."
"I needed space."
"Space, yes. Isolation, no. There's a difference." She fixes me with a penetrating look. "The fire took more than just your career, didn't it? It took your belief that you deserve happiness."
The truth of her words hits hard. After the accident, after Sarah left, I convinced myself I was better off alone. That I preferred solitude. But what if that was just fear? Fear of being vulnerable. Of being hurt. Of being left again.
"I don't know how to do this," I admit quietly. "I don't know how to be what she needs."
"Have you asked her what she needs? Or are you deciding for her?"
I have no answer for that.
"Jared." Her voice gentles. "That girl upstairs loves you. Not some idealized version of you. Not the man you were before the accident. She loves you, scars and all."
"But what if she's right? What if it's too fast? What if it doesn't last?"
"Nothing in life is guaranteed." She sets down her empty mug.
"I've outlived two husbands and a son. Buried friends and siblings.
Seen more loss than most. And I can tell you with absolute certainty that the only true regrets I have are the chances I didn't take. The love I was too afraid to pursue."
She stands, suddenly looking every one of her ninety-two years. "I'm going back to bed. But think about this, Jared. What's braver? Hiding on this mountain alone for the rest of your life? Or taking a chance on happiness, knowing it might not last forever, but would be beautiful while it did?"
She shuffles toward the guest room, then pauses at the doorway. "And for god's sake, fix things with that girl before Beverly arrives in the morning. She'll never let you hear the end of it if you mess this up."
The door closes behind her, leaving me alone with her words echoing in my mind.
What's braver?
I've never thought of myself as a coward. I ran into burning forests for a living. Faced death multiple times. Rebuilt my life after losing everything that defined me.
But Aunt Mildred is right. I've been hiding. Not just from the world, but from the possibility of love. Of connection. Of a future that includes someone else.
And I've been doing the same thing to Jennifer that Sarah did to me. Deciding what's best for her without giving her a chance to choose for herself. Making assumptions about what she wants, what she needs.
It's nearly four in the morning when I climb the stairs to our bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, a strip of moonlight spilling into the darkened hallway. I push it open gently, expecting to find Jennifer asleep.
Instead, she sits by the window, wrapped in a blanket, staring out at the mountains. She turns when I enter, her face pale in the moonlight, eyes red-rimmed from crying.
"I'm sorry," I say immediately.
"Me too." Her voice is rough. "I didn't mean to make you doubt us."
"I know." I move closer, stopping a few feet away, unsure of my welcome. "I overreacted. Shut down when I should have listened."
"I was scared," she admits. "Still am, a little. But not of being with you. Never that."
"Then what?"
"Of losing you." She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Of falling so completely only to find out it's not real. That it can't last."
"Why wouldn't it be real?" I take another step closer.
"Because real relationships take time. They're built slowly, with shared experiences and challenges overcome together. Yes, I’ve known you for most my life, but in reality, I've only known you as the man you’ve become for a few weeks.
" She looks up at me, vulnerable and honest. "At least that's what I've always believed. "
I kneel in front of her, finally close enough to touch. "Maybe we're the exception."
"Maybe." A small smile touches her lips. "I want to be."
"Me too." I reach for her hand, relief flooding through me when she doesn't pull away. "I'm sorry I walked away. It's what I always do when things get difficult. Retreat. Withdraw. Build walls."
"I know." She squeezes my hand. "I'm sorry I let my fears make you doubt how I feel. Because I do love you, Jared. More than I thought possible in the time we had."
"I love you too." I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. "And I want you to stay. Not just for now, but for as long as you want to be here. With me."
Her eyes fill with fresh tears. "Are you sure? It won't be perfect. I'll drive you crazy with my mess and my late nights and my tendency to use all the hot water."
"I'm counting on it."