Chapter 8 Ava #2
Later, after the tears had stopped and I'd washed my face and we'd both pretended I hadn't just fallen apart in his arms, Brian sat me down at the kitchen table.
"We're going to the police."
"And say what?" My voice came out tired, not sharp. I didn't have the energy for sharp."A man grabbed me and told me to recant? I didn't see his face. I can't prove anything. No evidence. No witnesses. Nothing."
"They need to know the threats are escalating."
"They already know. They're already investigating. This won't change anything except add another report to the pile."
Brian was quiet for a moment. His jaw was still tight, his hands still curled on the table like he was physically restraining himself from punching something.
"Then we change our approach."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, no more subway. No more walking alone." He leaned forward, his eyes intent on mine. "I drive you to work. I pick you up after your shifts. We vary the routes. Vary the timing. We don't give them a pattern to track."
"Brian, you can't—"
"I can." His voice was firm. "I have flexible shifts. I can adjust. And even when I can't, someone from the crew can. Shane, Garrett, Rodriguez—they'll help. They already offered."
"They offered?"
"After the break-in. I told them what was going on, and they offered." He reached across the table, his hand covering mine. "You're not alone in this, Ava. Stop trying to be."
I stared at our hands. His hands were warm, calloused from work, steady in a way mine hadn't been in weeks.
"Maybe I should just do it."
Brian went still. "Do what?"
"Recant. Say I misheard. Say it was drug babble, like he said. Make this all go away."
"Ava—"
"You've already done so much." I pulled my hand back, tucking it into my lap.
"You gave up your apartment. Your crew spent an entire day moving my furniture.
And now you're talking about driving me to work, rearranging your shifts, asking Shane and Garrett to—" I shook my head.
"This is my problem. My fight. I can't keep dragging everyone else into it. "
The words felt true even as I said them. I'd spent my whole life refusing to need anyone. And here I was, needing everything—needing Brian, needing his crew, needing protection I couldn't provide for myself.
It was too much.
"Maybe I should just let them win."
Brian was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentle but firm.
"You know what happens if you recant?"
I didn't answer.
"Kevin Lang walks free. His father buries this like he's buried everything else. And Derek Edwards' family spends the rest of their lives not knowing who killed their son." He leaned forward, catching my eyes. "You met them, Ava. In the ER. You looked that mother in the eye."
I closed my eyes. I could still see her face. The desperation. The grief. Please. We just need to know.
"If you recant, they'll never know. Kevin gets to keep living his life like nothing happened, and a seventeen-year-old kid stays dead in the ground with no justice." Brian reached across the table and took my hand again, gently, like he was asking permission. "Is that something you can live with?"
The answer was immediate. Visceral. No.
"I didn't think so." His voice softened. "And Ava—you're not dragging anyone anywhere. We're choosing to be here. There's a difference."
"But—"
"No buts. You think Shane offered because he felt obligated? You think Garrett—Garrett, who barely talks to anyone—said he'd help because he had nothing better to do?" Brian's thumb traced across my knuckles. "You're not a burden. You're family. And family shows up. That's what we do."
Something cracked open in my chest. The place where I kept all my walls, all my careful independence, all the years of convincing myself I didn't need anyone.
I looked up and met his gaze. Held it.
"Okay," I said finally.
"Okay?"
"Okay. You can drive me. We vary the routes, we take precautions." I took a breath. "I won’t recant."
Something fierce flashed across Brian's face. Pride, maybe. Or something deeper.
"That's my girl," he said quietly. Then caught himself, color rising in his cheeks. "I mean—"
"I know what you meant."
We sat there for a moment, hands still linked across the table, something unspoken humming in the air between us.
Everything changed after that.
Brian drove me to work every morning, timing his schedule around mine even when it meant getting up two hours early or staying up two hours late.
He varied our routes. Never the same way twice, never the same streets.
I didn't ask how he knew to do that. Some instinct born from years of running toward danger, I supposed.
Knowing how to read threats, how to stay unpredictable.
He walked me to the ER doors every shift.
Watched until I was inside. Until the automatic doors closed behind me.
And every night, no matter how long my shift ran, he was there in the parking lot. Waiting.
He texted constantly. Not smothering. Just present.
Brian
Hope it's a quiet shift.
Brian
Watson says hi.
Brian
He's lying on your pillow again.
Small messages. Proof I wasn't invisible.
He checked the locks twice every night. I could hear him from my bedroom. The click of the deadbolt. The rattle of the chain. The soft pad of his footsteps, a tell that he was checking the windows. Then his bedroom door closed, but not all the way.
I should have told him to stop.
I was Dr. Ava Rothwell. I'd put myself through medical school. Survived residency, survived losing patients, survived cutting my family out, and building something new. I didn't need anyone to protect me. I'd spent my entire adult life proving that.
But when Brian walked me to the ER doors, I didn't feel smothered. I felt seen.
When he was waiting in the parking lot after every shift, I didn't feel controlled. I felt wanted.
When he made sure I was never alone, I didn't feel weak.
I felt safe.
It was a dangerous feeling. The kind I'd spent my whole life avoiding.
My mother had been safe. Protected by my father's money, his connections, his name. And she'd become a ghost. A beautiful, empty woman whose entire identity revolved around a man who saw her as a possession.
I'd sworn I'd never be that.
But this was different. Brian wasn't trying to own me. He wasn't using protection as control.
He was just there. Steady. Present. Absolutely certain I was worth showing up for.