Chapter 32 #3
Kellen was beside me immediately, his arm steady under mine. "Come on, lightweight. Let's get you home."
The walk to his truck was a struggle. The alcohol seemed to hit me all at once, and my legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Kellen half-carried me across the parking lot, his strength surprising given his build.
"Waaait," I mumbled as Kellen helped me toward his truck, my words slurring together. "Soph … Sop... she didn't really double-schedule me, did she?"
Kellen didn't answer. He just kept steering me forward.
"She set this up," I continued, the pieces clicking together in my drunk brain. "She fucking … fucking … she knew you were gonna..."
"Get in, Dalton."
"She was worried about me?" The realization hit me like another shot of bourbon. "Jesus, Kellen, how bad have I been?"
"Bad enough," he said quietly, helping me into the passenger seat. "Bad enough that people who care about you started making plans."
The drive back to my apartment passed in a dizzying blur of streetlights and gentle motion. I must have dozed, because the next thing I knew, Kellen was helping me out of his pickup and toward my building.
"Keys," he said.
I fumbled in my pockets, eventually producing them with the kind of concentration that simple tasks required when you were this drunk. Kellen took them and unlocked the door, then helped me up the stairs to my apartment.
"Jesus, Dalton," he muttered as I stumbled on the landing. "I'm getting too old for this bullshit."
Inside my apartment, he guided me to my bedroom and helped me sit on the edge of the bed.
"Think you can manage from here?" he asked.
I nodded, though I wasn't entirely sure. "Thanks, Kellen. For everything."
"Don't thank me yet," he said. "Thank me when you fix what's broken."
He started to leave, then paused at the bedroom door. "I'm going to sleep on your couch tonight. Make sure you don't choke on your own vomit or something equally stupid."
"You don't have to — "
"Yeah, I do." He was already walking toward the living room. "Get some sleep, Jimmy. Tomorrow you start figuring out how to get your life back."
I lay back on the bed, still fully clothed, and closed my eyes. The room was spinning, but for the first time in weeks, the chaos felt manageable. Kellen had given me something I didn't even know I needed: permission to be human. Permission to fail without being destroyed by it.
And most importantly, permission to fight for the things that mattered, even when I wasn't sure I deserved them.
I woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a truck, then backed over for good measure.
Sunlight was streaming through my bedroom window with the kind of aggressive cheerfulness that seemed designed to mock the hungover.
My mouth tasted like something had died in it, and my head was pounding with the rhythm of my heartbeat.
But underneath the physical misery, I felt something I hadn't experienced in weeks: clarity.
From the kitchen, I could hear Kellen's voice, low and warm in a way I'd never heard before. He was on the phone.
"...yeah, he's still sleeping it off," he was saying. "Kid's been through hell... No, no, nothing like that. Just heartbreak and a case that went bad. You know how it is."
There was a pause, and I could hear the faint sound of a woman's voice responding.
"She's a firefighter," Kellen continued. "Strong, competent. Sounds like his kind of person, if he doesn't screw it up completely... Honestly, hon, she'd be damn lucky to have someone like him. If she doesn't see that, her loss."
Another pause, longer this time.
"Mmm. Yeah. Hey, did you remember to take your medication this morning?" His voice shifted, becoming gentler, more concerned. "Good. And yes, I'll pick up some milk on the way home. Do we need anything else? What? Nah, we're not out. I bought some yesterday. Check the cabinet above the stove."
I heard what sounded like warm laughter from the other end.
"I love you, too, beautiful," Kellen said quietly, the endearment sounding natural, well-worn. "See you soon."
I lay there for a few more minutes, processing what I'd heard.
Not just the phone call, but the warmth in his voice, the easy domesticity, the way he'd defended me to his wife.
After seventeen years of marriage, after everything that had hollowed him out, he still had that.
He was still capable of love, still capable of being loved.
And he thought I was worth fighting for.
I stumbled to the kitchen, drawn by the smell of coffee, and found Kellen sitting at my small dining table with a mug and the morning paper. He looked exactly the same as always; composed, unreadable, like he hadn't spent the previous evening getting me drunk and sharing his deepest traumas.
"Coffee's fresh," he said without looking up from the sports section.
I poured myself a mug with shaking hands, grateful for the caffeine and the excuse to avoid conversation until my brain started working again.
"How do you feel?" Kellen asked.
"Like I got hit by a truck."
"Good. That means you're alive." He folded the paper and looked at me directly. "You remember what we talked about?"
"Most of it." I took a sip of coffee, feeling it burn its way down my throat. "Thank you. For last night. For staying."
"Don't mention it." He stood and rinsed his mug in the sink with his usual methodical precision. "We need to get you back to your car. You ready to drive?"
I checked my internal systems — headache, nausea, but functional. "Yeah, I think so."
The drive back to the hospital was quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
Kellen pulled up next to my car. I climbed out of his Chevy, the morning air hitting me like a slap, and fumbled for my keys.
"Thanks," I said, turning back toward him. "For everything. I — "
"Don't mention it," he said, his voice returning to its usual flat tone. "Not a problem. Have a great morning, Jimmy."
I started to close his truck door, but before I could, Kellen caught it with his hand, looking at me with something I couldn't quite read.
"Hey. By the way."
"Yeah?" I asked.
"That firefighter of yours," he said, after a moment's pause. "She's worth fighting for. Don't let pride or fear keep you from at least trying."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"And Jimmy?" He used my first name again, and hearing it from him still felt like a gift. "You're a good nurse. Don't let this job make you forget that."
He nodded at me, released the door, and I closed it. Kellen drove off without another word, leaving me standing there in the parking lot with something I hadn't felt in weeks: hope.
I sat there for a moment, watching him disappear into traffic, then pulled out my phone. I scrolled through my contacts until I found the number I'd been avoiding for weeks.
Izzy.
My thumb hovered over her name, and for a moment, all my old fears came rushing back. What if she wouldn't see me? What if I'd destroyed things too completely to repair? What if I wasn't worthy of the love I'd thrown away?
But then I heard Kellen's voice in my head: You're a good nurse. Don't let this job make you forget that.
And underneath that, something else: She's worth fighting for.
I pressed the call button before I could change my mind.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
Then, just as I was about to hang up, she answered.
"Jimmy?"
Her voice was cautious, surprised, but she'd answered. That had to count for something.
"Izzy," I said, my voice rough with emotion and too much bourbon. "I know I don't deserve it, but... can we talk?"
There was a long pause, and I held my breath, waiting.
"Where?" she said finally.