Chapter 23
Emily stood near the edge of the bed, a half-packed suitcase open in front of her, clothes folded too neatly for hands that had been shaking just moments before. She paused, staring down at the last few things scattered across the mattress.
His things.
Her fingers hovered over one of his shirts before she picked it up slowly. It still smelled like him, faint but there. Clean. Familiar. Comforting in a way that made her chest ache.
She pressed it lightly between her hands, her eyes closing for just a second.
"I thought this was mine," she whispered.
Not the shirt.
The life.
The future.
Him.
Her throat tightened as she folded it carefully, more carefully than she needed to, and placed it in a separate pile.
Not in her suitcase.
She couldn't take it with her.
That didn't feel right.
Nothing about this felt right.
The phone rang.
The sound cut through the room, sharp and sudden, making her flinch.
Her eyes dropped to the nightstand where her phone was charging.
Will.
Her chest seized.
For a moment, she just stared at it.
It rang again.
And again.
Her hand moved before she could stop it, grabbing the phone and bringing it to her ear.
"Hello?"
There was a pause on the other end.
Then his voice.
"Emily."
Soft.
Careful.
Cautious.
Like he didn't know what he was allowed to say anymore.
Her grip tightened on the phone.
"Where are you?" she asked.
Straight to it.
No softness.
No pretending.
A breath on the other end.
"I'm on the road."
Her stomach dropped.
Of course he was.
"Going where?" she asked, even though she already knew.
Another pause.
"Emily..."
That was all it took.
She closed her eyes.
"You went after her."
Not a question.
A statement.
"I needed to," he said.
The words were quiet.
But they landed heavy.
She nodded to herself, even though he couldn't see it.
"Yeah," she whispered. "I figured."
Silence stretched between them, but it wasn't empty. It was full of everything they both knew and neither of them wanted to say.
"I didn't want you to hear it from someone else," he continued.
"I appreciate that," she said.
And she meant it.
That was the worst part.
She meant it.
Her eyes drifted around the room, landing on the empty spaces she had already cleared. The life they had built here was disappearing piece by piece, and he wasn't even there to see it happen.
"I'm packing," she said quietly.
Another pause.
"For what?"
"To go home."
That word felt strange now.
Home.
Where was that, really?
"I think that's a good idea," he said.
That broke her heart into.
Her lips parted slightly, but nothing came out at first.
"Yeah," she whispered. "I think so too."
He said her name again.
Soft.
Like he wanted to say more.
Like he didn't know how.
"I'm sorry," he said.
And there it was.
The thing she had been waiting for.
Dreading.
Expecting.
She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the phone.
"I know."
Her voice didn't shake.
She did not let it.
"I hope you find what you're looking for," she added.
The words surprised even her.
But they were honest.
Because she did.
Even if it broke her.
"I don't know what I'm going to find," he admitted. "If she will even see me."
"No," she said softly. "But I think you already know what you're hoping for."
He didn't respond.
He didn't have to.
"I'm not angry," she said after a moment.
That was important.
"I don't want you to think I am."
Another pause.
"Emily..."
"I'm just..." Her voice faltered for the first time. "I'm just done fighting for something that isn't mine."
That was it.
That was the truth.
It settled between them.
Heavy.
Final.
"I loved you," she said.
Past tense.
Deliberate.
"I still do. But I'm not going to stand in the middle of something I was never meant to be in."
His breath hitched slightly on the other end.
"I never meant to... I didn't know this was going to happen."
"I know," she cut in gently. "I know you didn't. Look, don't worry about it.
I will be continuing to stay with your friend Parker until I can get an affordable flight home.
I have packed my things and will leave the room keys with the concierge until you get back.
.. I know why you need to do this. I promise I really do understand. "
And she did.
That was what made this so much harder.
"I'm going to hang up now," she said.
Not rushed.
Not cold.
Just... decided.
A long pause.
"Okay."
She pulled the phone away from her ear.
Hesitated for half a second.
Then ended the call.
The room felt heavier after.
Not quieter.
Just... heavier.
Emily stood there for a moment, staring at nothing.
Then everything hit.
Her knees gave slightly as she sat down on the edge of the bed, the phone slipping from her hand onto the comforter.
"He's not coming back," she whispered.
Her face crumpled as the first sob broke free.
It came out sharp, uncontrollable, like it had been building for far too long.
Her shoulders shook as she bent forward, her hands covering her mouth, but it didn't stop anything.
It just kept coming.
Everything she had held in.
Everything she had tried to manage.
Everything she had refused to admit.
"I knew," she choked out. "I knew this was going to happen."
But knowing didn't make it easier.
A knock sounded at the door.
She barely heard it.
Then again.
More urgent.
"Emily."
Parker.
She tried to steady her breathing.
She failed.
"Come in," she managed.
The door opened quickly, and he stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding her.
Everything in his expression shifted.
Concern.
Frustration.
Anger that wasn't directed at her, but burned just beneath the surface anyway.
"Hey," he said, crossing the room in a few quick steps.
He crouched in front of her, his hands hovering before settling gently on her arms.
"What happened?"
She shook her head, tears still falling freely.
"He called," she whispered.
Parker's jaw tightened instantly.
"And?"
"He went after her."
The words broke apart as they left her.
That was all he needed.
His expression hardened for just a second before he forced it back down.
"I'm sorry," he said.
And he meant it.
"I knew," she repeated. "I knew he would."
Her voice cracked again.
"I just didn't want to admit it."
Parker exhaled slowly, his grip on her arms steady.
"That doesn't make you wrong for staying."
"It makes me stupid," she said.
"No," he said firmly. "It makes you human."
She let out a broken laugh.
"I was already losing him," she said. "I just kept pretending I wasn't."
Parker didn't argue.
Because he had seen it too.
"I'm going home," she said after a moment, wiping at her face.
His head lifted slightly.
"No."
"I need to not be here in this mess anymore," she said.
She gestured around them.
"This life isn't mine. "
Parker leaned back slightly, dragging a hand down his face.
"You still don't have to go home, you can stay," he said. "Stay with me."
She looked at him.
Shaken.
"I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not," he said immediately.
"You are just too nice to admit it."
"I am so not as nice as everyone thinks I am."
He held her gaze.
"Stay. Just for a few days. You don't have to figure everything out right now."
Her chest tightened.
"I don't want to sit here and watch him choose her."
"Then don't," he said.
"Stop putting yourself in a position where you're waiting on him to decide your life."
That hit.
She looked down at her hands.
"I thought I had already decided it," she admitted quietly.
Parker's voice softened.
"I know."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"Just... stay," he said again. "Let me help you. Let me be your friend."
That broke her all over again.
This time, she didn't fight it.
Parker pulled her into him as she leaned forward, her face pressed into his shoulder as the sobs came harder now.
"I've got you," he murmured.
And for the first time since the call, Emily stopped trying to hold herself together.
Parker POV
He did not like the way she looked when she agreed to come with him.
Not because she said yes.
Because of how she said it.
Quiet. Worn down. Like she had nothing left in her to argue with anything anymore.
That scared him more than the tears.
Anyone could cry.
Crying meant something was still fighting its way out.
This...
This felt like she was starting to shut down.
And Parker had seen that before.
In men who came back from things they should not have survived.
In people who stopped feeling because it was easier than carrying everything at once.
He was not going to let that happen to her.
Not if he could help it.
The drive to his place was quiet, but not uncomfortable.
He kept his hands steady on the wheel, eyes on the road, checking on her without making it obvious.
She sat in the passenger seat, turned slightly toward the window, her arms wrapped loosely around herself. Not tense. Not guarded.
Just... small.
That did something to him.
He did not like it.
Not one bit.
He had always known Emily as composed. Put together. Strong in a quiet, steady way.
Seeing her like this felt wrong.
Like something had been taken from her that she did not deserve to lose.
He tightened his jaw slightly.
He was not angry at her.
Not even a little.
He was angry at the situation.
At the timing.
At the fact that she had walked into something she never had a fair shot at.
And most of all...
At the fact that she had loved someone who did not know how to hold onto her the way she deserved.
He exhaled slowly, forcing that edge down.
She did not need his anger.
She needed steady.
They pulled into his driveway just as the sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting everything in that soft, golden light that made even the simplest place look like it meant something.
His house, a two story farm style, sat back just enough from the road to feel private.
Wide front porch. A few Adirondack chairs. A swing off to one side that he barely used.
Inside, it was clean. Organized, but not stiff.
Lived in. A home, not a house, as his mom always said.
Inside, there were a couple of worn leather chairs.
A couch that had seen better days but was comfortable as hell.
Books are stacked on a side table instead of being lined up neatly on his bookshelf.
It was his.
Simple.
Solid.
He parked and cut the engine, glancing over at her.
"You good?" he asked.
She blinked like she had to come back to the moment.
"Yeah," she said quietly.
He nodded once.
"Alright."
He got out first, circling around to her side without thinking about it. Opened the door. Gave her space to step out.
She did.
Slowly.
Taking in the place like she had seen it before, but was looking at it differently now.
That made sense.
Everything probably felt different right now.
He grabbed her bag from the back without making a big deal out of it and headed toward the door.
"Come on," he said, keeping his tone easy. "Let's get you inside."
The moment she stepped through the door, something shifted in her expression.
It was subtle.
But he saw it.
Her shoulders dropped just slightly.
Her breathing evened out.
Not completely.
But enough.
He set her bag down near the couch, watching her as she turned slowly, taking everything in.
"This place," she said softly.
He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms loosely.
"What about it?"
She let out a small breath.
"Every time I come here, I feel like this."
He raised a brow.
"Like what?"
She hesitated.
Then said it anyway.
"Like I can breathe and I don't know, relax."
That hit him harder than it should have.
He covered it with a faint smirk.
"Yeah, well," he said. "I like to think I've got good taste."
That pulled the smallest hint of a smile from her.
It did not last long.
But it was there.
Real.
He took that as a win.
She walked a little farther into the room, her fingers brushing lightly along the back of the couch like she was grounding herself.
"It almost feels like home," she added quietly.
He tilted his head slightly, watching her.
"Well," he said, the words falling out without thought, "it could be."
She paused.
Turned to look at him.
He held her gaze, and a small, nervous smirk appeared on his lips.
"Careful," he added. "If you start calling this place home and leaving your shit everywhere, I might start charging you rent."
For a second, she just stared at him.
Then...
A breath of a laugh.
Soft.
Surprised.
"Is that your way of inviting me to stay?" she asked.
"Maybe," he said. "Depends on how good of a roommate you are."
She shook her head slightly, that faint smile lingering just a second longer.
"You're ridiculous."
"Yeah," he said. "I've been told that before."
The moment eased.
Not gone.
Not fixed.
But lighter.
And that was enough for now.
He pushed off the wall and nodded toward the hallway.
"Guest room's still yours," he said. "Nothing's changed."
She nodded, but did not move right away.
Instead, she looked around again.
Like she was trying to decide if she was allowed to feel comfortable here.
If she were allowed to settle, even temporarily.
Parker watched her closely.
Carefully.
He did not push.
Did not rush her.
Just stayed there.
Present.
"You don't have to figure everything out tonight," he said.
Her eyes flicked back to him.
"I know."
"Good."
A pause.
Then, softer, he added. "You're safe here."
She nodded slowly.
"I know," she said again.
And she meant it.
He watched her head down the hallway, her steps still a little uncertain but steadier than they had been before.
Only once she disappeared into the room did he let out the breath he had been holding.
His hands dropped to his hips as he stared at the floor for a second.
He meant what he said.
She was not leaving.
Not yet.
Not while she was like this.
If she went home right now, she would be surrounded by people who loved her, sure.
But they would not see her the way he did.
They would not catch the small things.
The quiet shifts.
The moments where she might start slipping.
He would. He was trained to.
And he was not going to let her go through that alone.
Not if he could stand between her and it.
A few minutes later, she came back out.
Changed into something more comfortable.
Still tired.
Still hurting.
But a little more grounded.
She leaned against the doorway, watching him.
"Thank you," she said.
He shrugged lightly.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do," she said. "You didn't have to do this."
"Yeah," he said. "I did."
She studied him for a second.
Like she was trying to understand something.
Then she stepped further into the room.
There was a pause.
Not awkward.
Just... open.
Like something was about to be said.
Parker felt it.
He straightened slightly.
"Hey," he said, voice quieter now.
"What do you actually want, Emily?"
The question landed.
Not harsh.
Not demanding.
But real.
She blinked.
Caught off guard.
"I don't know," she admitted.
"Yeah," he said. "I figured as much, and that is okay... You do not have to have it all together right now, and I want you to understand that."
He held her gaze.
"But I think it's time you start figuring out what you want and what makes you happy... really happy."
Her chest rose slowly.
Fell.
She looked down for a moment.
Then back at him.
"I thought I knew," she said quietly.
His expression softened just slightly.
"Do you want to tell me everything?" he asked. "Get it out there. Start the process of healing?"
She hesitated.
Not because she did not want to.
It would be real.
Shared.
Final.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides as she took a breath.
"Okay," she said.
Parker did not move.
Did not interrupt.
He just listened.
"I met him at the hospital," she began.
Her voice was steadier now.
"I was working in physical therapy at the time. Mostly routine cases. Post-surgical recovery, long-term rehab, that kind of thing."
She glanced down for a moment, then back up.
"And then one day... everyone started talking."
Parker tilted his head slightly.
"Talking about?"
She let out a small breath.
"Like gossip, but not really. More like... no one quite knew what to do with what they had just been handed."
Her gaze drifted slightly, like she could still see it.
"There was this man. No name. No history. No records. He had been found in... conditions no one really wanted to describe out loud."
Her throat tightened just a little.
"Severe trauma. Malnourished. Physically broken in ways that were going to take months, maybe years, to repair."
Parker's jaw tightened.
He did not interrupt.
"They were saying his recovery would be long. Complicated. That whoever took him on would have to dedicate most of their time to just him."
A faint, humorless smile touched her lips.
"No one wanted to volunteer for that."
That said, everything it needed to.
"He would interfere with their schedules. Their other patients. Their progress metrics."
She shook her head slightly.
"And I remember standing there thinking... how is that even a question?"
Her eyes lifted to Parker's again.
"I had just finished with a few long-term patients. I had openings. Time. Space."
A small pause.
"And he didn't have anyone."
That part sat heavier.
"So I asked about him," she continued. "Went looking through his chart. What little there was of it."
"What did it say?" Parker asked quietly.
"Not much," she said. "Vitals. Injuries. Observations."
A breath.
"And one note."
She swallowed.
"Subject is responsive, but guarded. Limited verbal communication. Signs of severe PTSD and memory loss."
Parker's chest tightened slightly.
He could picture it.
Too clearly.
"I went to see him that same day," she said.
Her voice softened without her meaning it to.
"And when I walked into that room..."
She paused.
Searching for the right words.
"He looked like someone who had been through something no one should ever survive."
Parker did not miss the way her voice shifted.
Not pity.
Something deeper.
"He was alert," she said. "Aware. Watching everything. Like he didn't trust anything in that room."
A small breath left her.
"But he was in pain. You could see it. Not just physically."
Her fingers tightened slightly.
"There was this moment... where he tried to sit up on his own. Just to prove he could, I think."
She shook her head.
"He couldn't."
A beat.
"And he wouldn't ask for help."
Parker exhaled slowly.
That sounded about right.
"I remember thinking..." she said, quieter now, "if I walk out of this room, he's going to keep fighting everything by himself."
Her gaze met Parker's.
"And I couldn't do that."
"So you took him on," Parker said.
She nodded.
"Yeah."
A faint smile touched her lips, softer this time.
"At first, he barely spoke to me. Just answered what he had to. Short. Controlled."
She glanced down.
"But he showed up."
That mattered.
"Every session. Every exercise. Even when it hurt. Even when I could tell he was exhausted."
Her voice warmed just slightly.
"He never once quit."
Parker leaned back slightly, arms resting loosely on his knees.
"Sounds like the Chase I knew."
She nodded.
"Yeah. I guess it does."
A small pause.
"Somewhere along the way... we started talking more."
Her expression shifted.
Not lighter.
But warmer.
"Not about anything important at first. Just... small things. Music. Food. Things he liked."
She let out a soft breath.
"Things he didn't remember, and the things that still felt familiar."
Parker watched her carefully.
"And you became friends."
"Yeah," she said.
Her voice softened again.
"Friends first."
That mattered.
"It took nine months before I saw his face."
Parker's brow lifted slightly.
"Nine months?"
She nodded.
"Reconstructive surgeries. Healing. They kept everything covered for a long time."
A small pause.
"And I didn't mind."
She smiled shyly.
"I wasn't there for that."
Her gaze dropped briefly.
"I was there because he needed someone."
She looked back up.
"But then one day... the bandages came off."
A breath caught in her chest, even now.
"And I remember just..."
She shook her head slightly, almost embarrassed.
"I was stunned."
Parker's mouth twitched faintly.
"Stunned?"
She let out a quiet laugh through her nose.
"He was... beautiful."
She shook her head again.
"Not in a polished way. Not perfect."
Her voice softened.
"Rugged. Strong. The kind of face that looks like it's lived through something."
That made her blush to say.
"And I hated myself for noticing," she added.
Parker frowned slightly.
"Why?"
"Because he was still healing," she said. "Still figuring out who he was. Still in pain."
Her voice tightened.
"And the last thing he needed was me... catching feelings."
A pause.
"But I did anyway."
Honest.
Simple.
Real.
Parker shifted slightly, watching her closely now.
"What about him?"
She hesitated.
Then smiled faintly.
"He noticed."
That caught Parker off guard.
"Yeah?"
She nodded.
"One day after a session, he just... looked at me."
Her voice softened again, pulled back into the memory.
"And he said, 'You don't have to pretend if you like me, that would be okay.'"
Parker huffed quietly.
"That sounds about right."
She smiled just a little.
"I asked him what he meant."
A beat.
"And he said... 'I know you're trying not to make things harder for me. But I don't want you to treat me like I'm broken all the time.'"
Her chest rose slowly.
Fell.
"And that's when everything shifted." Smiling, she added. "We started going out after that."
"Slow at first. Careful."
Her expression softened.
"But it was... good."
That word carried weight.
"Really good."
Parker felt something tighten in his chest.
Because he could hear it.
This wasn't something she imagined.
This was real.
"He chose me," she said quietly.
Not defensive.
Just honest.
"He didn't have a past to go back to. No memories, just a blank slate."
A pause.
"So we built something from nothing."
Her voice trembled slightly now.
"And it mattered."
Parker nodded once. "I know it did."
She swallowed hard.
"He told me once..." she said, her voice dropping, "that I needed to be prepared."
Parker's brow furrowed.
"For what?"
"That one day... it might all come back."
That shifted the air.
"And if it did," she continued, "he didn't know who he would be when it happened."
Her eyes met Parker's.
"He told me I had to promise him something."
"What?" Parker asked quietly.
Her voice softened.
"That we would always do what was best for each other."
A beat.
"Not what was easiest. Not what we wanted in the moment."
Her throat tightened.
"But what was right?"
She paused before adding.
"His doctors kept telling us that lost memories were tricky and could slowly return, or just hit all at once... never come back at all."
Parker sat there for a second, letting that settle.
Then he exhaled slowly.
"And what now?"
Her eyes dropped.
Then lifted again.
Now there was no softness left.
Just truth.
"Now I think I'm keeping that promise," she said.
Her voice broke slightly.
"Even if it means letting him go."
Parker did not speak.
Because there was nothing he could say that would really help in that moment.
At least nothing she was ready to hear yet.