Chapter 22
Will had been on the road for two days.
Two days of highway lines blurring together. Gas stations that all looked the same. Coffee that never quite did what it was supposed to. Sleep that came in short, shallow bursts and left him more exhausted than before.
He hadn't gone back.
Hadn't even considered it.
There was something in him that wouldn't let him.
Something restless. Unsettled. Like if he stopped moving, everything he was holding together would finally collapse in on itself.
He had called Emily once.
He hadn't known what to say when she answered.
For a moment, he had almost hung up.
But then she said his name.
Soft. Steady.
And that had been worse.
He tried to explain to her where he was going, why he left, and what he thought he needed to do.
The words felt wrong even as he said them.
Incomplete.
Like he was trying to explain something he didn't fully understand himself.
Emily hadn't argued.
Hadn't asked him to come back.
Hadn't cried.
That was what stuck with him the most.
Her responses were calm. Measured. Distant in a way that didn't come from anger but from acceptance.
She was already preparing herself.
Letting him go before he could fully say it out loud.
That realization had sat with him long after the call ended.
Heavy. Unavoidable.
"I'm sorry," he had said before hanging up.
She hadn't responded right away.
Then finally came her short reply. "I know."
That was it.
No accusation.
No pleading.
Just a very sad understanding.
And somehow, that hurt worse than anything else could have.
She was genuinely understanding.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road stretching endlessly in front of him.
He didn't know why she had chosen Parker to lean on through all of this.
But he was grateful she had because he knew Parker would take care of her.
That, he knew without question.
The memories of Parker were clear now.
Not fragmented.
Not uncertain.
Solid.
Parker was standing quietly beside him, Parker laughing at something stupid he had said. Shoulder checking him in passing. Watching his back without being asked.
Like a brother.
Not by blood.
But by choice.
That hadn't changed.
Even now.
Even after everything.
Parker didn't look at him like he was broken.
Didn't treat him like something fragile.
And more importantly, he didn't judge him.
Because anyone who had seen Chase and Aria together, really seen them, would understand.
There were some things you didn't walk away from.
Not even death could separate them.
Lately, he had been replaying the memories.
Over and over.
Not intentionally.
They just came.
Triggered by nothing.
Or everything.
A stretch of road. A certain kind of light. The way the air smelled right before the rain.
Sometimes it was small things.
Aria laughing.
The way her hand fit into his.
The warmth of her pressed against him in the quiet moments.
Other times, the memories would hit harder.
Stronger.
Like his chest couldn't quite contain it.
And without realizing it, he found himself comparing.
Not consciously.
Not like he was weighing one against the other.
It just... happened.
Emily felt steady, real, and present.
Something he could reach for and hold onto without questioning it.
She was calm in a way that grounded him. Predictable in the best sense. A place where nothing demanded more from him than what he could give.
She was a harbor.
Safe and constant.
But Aria...
Aria wasn't safe.
She wasn't calm.
She wasn't something he could place neatly into the life he understood.
She was... he exhaled sharply, shifting slightly in his seat.
She was everything his mind didn't know how to organize.
The pull toward her wasn't logical.
It didn't come with an explanation.
It came with intensity.
With heat.
With something that felt like an obsession buried so deep in his very soul that it bypassed thought entirely.
It unsettled him.
And drew him in at the same time.
There was fear there.
Not of her.
Of what she unlocked in him.
Of what came with her.
But beneath that fear, there was something stronger.
Something that didn't ask permission.
Didn't wait for him to figure it out.
It just existed.
And it kept pulling.
Like gravity, he revolved around her.
He tightened his jaw slightly.
Emily felt like something he had built.
Something real and good and worth protecting.
Aria felt like something that had always been there.
Something he had lost.
Something he had finally found again.
And didn't know how to hold onto without breaking everything else.
He exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking briefly to the side of the road before returning forward.
He had to find her.
Not because it was simple.
Not because it made sense.
Because there was no version of his life without her, of that he was certain.
No version of himself could move forward without facing her.
Without understanding what she meant to him now.
Not then.
Now.
The problem was that she didn't want to be found.
He had learned that the hard way.
Parker had given him a starting point.
Kentucky.
Ethan.
And Ethan...
Ethan had been exactly what Parker said he would be.
Solid.
Straightforward.
The kind of man who didn't ask unnecessary questions, but saw more than he let on.
Will had expected resistance.
Or at least hesitation.
Instead, Ethan had leaned back against his truck, looked him over once, and said,
"She doesn't want to be found right now."
Chase's jaw had tightened.
"I don't care."
That had earned him a faint, almost amused look.
"Yeah," Ethan had said. "I figured as much."
He hadn't tried to stop him.
Hadn't told him to turn around.
But he also hadn't made it easy.
"She's trying to breathe," Ethan added after a moment. "You go chasing her down like a man on fire, you're just gonna run her off further."
Chase had exhaled sharply.
"I just need to talk to her."
Ethan studied him for a long second.
Then nodded slightly.
"Yeah," he said. "You probably do."
A pause.
"But that doesn't mean she's ready to hear it."
That had stuck with him.
Now, as the road stretched endlessly in front of him, Will felt that truth settle deeper.
This wasn't just about finding her.
It was about what happened when he did.
Because for the first time since all of this began, he wasn't chasing a memory.
He wasn't chasing a past version of himself.
He was making moves to move forward with this new and flawed version of himself.
Messy.
Uncertain.
But real.
And whether she returned to him or kept walking away.
He knew one thing for certain.
He wasn't turning back.
He did not slow down until the road forced him to.
Gravel replaced pavement somewhere past the last gas station, the kind with a flickering sign and a single pump that looked like it had not been updated in years.
Ethan's directions had been simple. Too simple for how much weight they carried.
Follow the road until it feels like you have gone too far, like your lost. Then keep going. You're not lost, then you will pass old Kemp's gas station...
Chase tightened his grip on the steering wheel as the trees thickened on either side of him. Sunlight broke through in uneven streaks.
The farther he drove, the more removed everything felt.
Not empty.
Just distant.
His jaw flexed.
He did not know what he was going to say when he found her.
He did not know how she would look at him.
He did not know if she would even let him stay long enough to speak.
But he knew this.
Turning around was not an option.
Not anymore.
The road curved sharply to the left, opening just enough for the trees to give way to a clearing.
And then he saw it.
Water.
Wide and still, reflecting the sky like glass.
A small cabin sat off to the side, tucked just enough into the trees to feel private but not hidden. A porch wrapped around the front, two chairs angled toward the lake like they had been used recently.
His chest tightened.
Something about this place felt familiar in a way he could not explain.
Not a memory.
Not exactly.
Just recognition.
He slowed the truck to a stop and shut off the engine.
He stayed there for a moment, hands still on the wheel, eyes scanning the space like it might change if he looked too long.
Then he saw her.
Down by the water.
His breath caught.
She stood near the edge of the lake, barefoot in the grass, the hem of her skirt brushing just above her knees. Her hair fell loose down her back, catching the light.
She was not facing him, but she knew that he was there.
He knew she felt him.
The same way he had always felt her before he ever saw her.
He opened the door slowly and stepped out, boots hitting the gravel louder than they should have.
She did not turn.
Did not move.
Did not run.
That steadied something in him.
He stepped forward, gravel shifting beneath his feet, then onto the grass.
Closer.
Each step felt deliberate.
Like he was walking into something that could either ground him completely or break him open.
"Aria."
Her name left him without hesitation.
She inhaled. He saw it in the rise of her shoulders.
But she did not turn.
He stopped a few feet behind her.
Close enough to feel her presence.
Far enough not to touch.
"Something told me you would come eventually," she said.
Her voice was steady.
It was controlled.
He swallowed.
"Yeah. I needed to see you... talk to you."
She nodded faintly, still looking at the water.
"You always were a little stubborn."
He let out a quiet breath.
"That is one way to put it."
A moment passed.
Then she said it.
"You should not have followed me."
There it was.
Clear.
Unapologetic.
He felt it.
But he did not step back.
"I did not want to bother you."
Her head tilted slightly.
"Then why are you here?"
He took a breath.
"I needed to see you."
That made her shift just a little.
"That is not a reason to come here by yourself at a time like this."
"It is for me."
She let out a slow breath.
"That is not enough."
His jaw tightened.
"It is all I have right now."
That sat between them.
She turned.
And everything else faded.
Because she looked the same.
And not the same at all.
Her eyes met his immediately.
No hesitation.
No softness.
But not empty.
There was too much between them for that.
"You look worse," she said.
It was not cruel.
Just honest.
He huffed lightly.
"Yeah. It has been a rough couple days."
Her gaze moved over him, taking in the exhaustion, the tension, the lack of sleep.
Then back to his eyes.
"Why are you really here?"
No room to avoid it.
He stepped closer.
"Because I cannot move forward without you."
Her expression did not change
"That is not my responsibility anymore."
"I know."
"Do you? Because it feels like you are trying to make it mine."
He shook his head.
"I am not."
"Then what are you doing here?"
He ran a hand through his hair.
"I am trying to understand what is happening to me."
Her gaze sharpened.
"And you think I am the answer to that?"
"No. I think you are the reason for it."
She did not like that.
"You do not get to do that," she said.
"Do what?"
"Turn me into your solution."
"I am not."
"Yes, you are."
Her voice stayed level, but it hit harder than anything else.
"You are confused. You are hurting. You do not know who you really are anymore."
She stepped closer.
"And you think if you figure me out, us out, everything else will fall into place."
He held his ground.
"That is not what this is."
"Then what is it?"
He did not hesitate.
"I love you."
The words landed between them.
No warning.
Just truth.
She went still.
"That does not mean the same thing right now," she said.
That hit hard in the chest.
He swallowed.
"I know."
"Do you? Because saying that does not fix anything."
"I am not trying to fix it."
"Then what are you trying to do?"
He stepped closer again.
"I am trying to be honest."
Her jaw tightened.
"And what about Emily?"
He did not look away.
"I care about her."
"That is not what I asked."
"I know."
A moment passed.
"I love her," he said.
The words came slower.
Aria's eyes flickered.
"But it is not the same."
Her expression hardened.
"That does not make it better."
"I did not say it did."
"Then why say it at all?"
"Because it is the truth."
Her breath caught, but she steadied it.
"And what am I supposed to do with that?"
"I am not asking you to do anything."
"Then why are you here?"
He exhaled slowly.
"I needed you to hear it from me."
"Why?"
"Because I do not want you walking away thinking this did not matter anymore."
Her chest rose and fell.
"You do not get to decide that."
"I am not trying to."
"Then stop acting like you are."
He stopped.
Because she was right.
He dragged a hand down his face.
"I do not know how to do this," he admitted.
His voice was quieter now.
"I do not know how to stand here and be the man you knew. Because I am not him. Not completely. Yet here I am, hoping this version of me will be enough for you to want to know again."
Her eyes softened slightly.
"And I do not know how to be the man she loved either, because right now I am not who I was."
A breath passed between them.
"I am stuck somewhere in the middle of both."
Aria swallowed.
"I came here looking for you because you matter, Aria... to me."
His voice faltered just slightly before he steadied it.
"To Chase."
Her brow furrowed.
"What are you talking about... Will?"
He held her gaze, more grounded now than he had been since he arrived.
"Do not call me Will."
The words were quiet, but firm.
She stared at him.
"That is your name."
He shook his head slowly.
"No."
He took a step closer, measured and intentional.
"It is the name I lived under when I did not know who I was."
That made her pause.
"Then what do you want me to call you?" she asked.
"Chase."
He did not hesitate.
"Call me Chase."
She let out a small breath, disbelief flickering across her face.
"You do not just get to decide that."
"I do," he said quietly. "Because it is the only name that has ever meant something."
Her expression shifted.
"You know my mom did not name me," he scoffed.
"They had her so medicated in the hospital that she barely knew what was happening. When it came time to fill out my birth certificate, she had nothing. She had not even thought about it."
His eyes did not leave hers.
"My grandmother stepped in."
A small breath escaped him.
"She named me Chase. After my grandfather."
The words settled between them.
"That name was not given out of obligation. It was given because she cared enough to choose it."
Aria said nothing.
"Will is who I became when everything else was gone," he said.
His voice steadied.
"Chase is who I am."
He held her gaze, not asking, not pleading.
Just standing in his messy truth.
And now there was no distance left to hide behind.
No other name to soften the truth between them.
Only him.
Chase.
Exactly as he was. Broken, weary, and more than a little sad.