Chapter 24
Aria's POV
She should have said something.
That was the first thought that came to her after he told her to call him Chase.
Not confusion.
Not shocked.
Not even the way her chest had tightened when he said it.
Just that.
You should have said something.
But she hadn't.
She had just stood there.
Looking at him.
Trying to figure out what she was supposed to do with the man standing in front of her.
Because he wasn't the man she lost.
And he wasn't a stranger either.
He was something in between.
And that...
That was the part that confused her the most.
Aria turned her gaze away from him, back toward the water, but it didn't help.
She could still feel him behind her.
Close.
Present.
Real.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides as she tried to steady herself.
She had spent days preparing and running from this very moment.
Days telling herself what she would say if he showed up.
How she would handle it.
How she would stay strong?
How she would not fall apart the second she saw him.
And she hadn't.
Not outwardly.
But inside...
Inside was a mess.
Because she loved him.
God, she loved him.
That had not changed.
Not when she buried his empty coffin.
Not when she found out he was alive.
Not when she realized he didn't remember her.
Not even now.
But loving him and accepting this version of him...
Those were not the same thing.
"You shouldn't be here."
Her voice was quieter this time.
Less sharp.
Still firm.
She heard him shift behind her.
"I know."
That surprised her.
She turned slightly, just enough to look at him again.
"Then why are you?"
Because that was the question.
The real one.
Not the one she had asked before.
This one mattered.
He didn't answer right away.
And that told her everything.
He didn't know.
Not fully.
"I'm not someone you come to when you don't know what else to do."
"I know that," he said.
"Do you?"
She held his gaze.
Because she needed him to understand.
"I'm not your clarity," she continued. "I'm not your solution. And I'm definitely not something you get to figure out at the expense of someone else... at the expense of me."
His jaw tightened.
"This isn't about..."
"Yes, it is," she cut in.
Not louder.
Just sharper.
"It's about you standing in the middle of two lives and expecting one of them to wait while you decide which one you want."
That landed.
She saw it.
Felt it.
Good.
Because she needed him to feel it.
Even if it hurts.
Her chest tightened.
Because she was not just saying this for him.
She was saying it for herself.
Because if she didn't...
She would cave.
And she couldn't.
Not like this.
Not when someone else was standing on the other side of it.
Emily.
The thought alone made something twist inside her.
She didn't know her.
Not really.
But she knew enough.
Knew that she had been there when Aria couldn't be.
Knew that she had loved him when Aria thought he was gone forever.
Knew that she had built something real with him.
And that mattered.
Even if it hurts.
Even if a part of her wanted to pretend it didn't.
"I stayed," Aria said suddenly.
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Chase stilled.
"I stayed right where you left me."
Her voice softened, but not in a gentle way.
In a raw way.
"I didn't move on. I didn't even try to."
She swallowed hard.
"I loved you. Only you. The entire time."
There it was.
The truth she had not said out loud yet.
It sat between them now.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
"And you..." her voice faltered just slightly, "you lived an entire life with someone else."
She hated how that sounded.
Hated the edge in it.
Hated that it felt like an accusation.
Because she knew he hadn't done it on purpose.
He hadn't chosen that.
He hadn't known.
And still...
It hurt.
God, it hurt.
She looked away from him again, her jaw tightening as she tried to hold herself together.
"That's not your fault," she said quickly, almost like she needed to correct herself before he could.
"I know that."
Her fingers curled tighter.
"I know what you went through wasn't something you chose. I know you didn't wake up one day and decide to forget me."
Her voice dropped.
"I can't even begin to imagine what that must have been like for you."
That part was real.
Honest.
There was no anger in that.
Only sorrow.
But then...
"I just..." she exhaled shakily, "I don't know how to stand here and pretend that it didn't happen."
Silence followed.
Not empty.
Just full.
Full of everything neither of them could fix.
A part of her, a very small, ugly, honest part of her, wanted to hurt him.
Not physically.
Not even intentionally.
Just...
Even the scale.
Make him feel even a fraction of what she had felt.
Make him understand what it was like to be left behind.
To be forgotten.
To be replaced.
The thought hit her, sharp and sudden.
And she hated it.
Immediately.
Her stomach turned.
"No," she whispered under her breath.
Chase's brow furrowed slightly.
"What?"
She shook her head quickly.
"Nothing."
Because she would not be that person.
She would not take her pain and turn it into something cruel.
He had already suffered enough.
More than she could ever comprehend.
Nothing she did could match that.
And she didn't want to try.
But that did not make this easier.
It did not make her softer.
It did not make her ready to face him yet.
"I'm not making this easy for you," she said finally.
Her voice was steady again.
Grounded.
"I'm not going to."
He held her gaze.
"I didn't expect you to."
"Good."
A small pause.
"Because you don't get to walk back into my life and pick up where we left off."
His expression didn't change.
But something behind his eyes did.
"I know that too," he said.
She searched his face.
Trying to see if he really understood.
Or if he was just saying the right things.
"I don't know you," she said.
That one hurt to admit.
"But I also don't not know you."
Her chest tightened again.
"And that's... so very confusing."
She took a slow breath, steadying herself.
"I loved Chase," she said quietly.
Her eyes stayed on his.
"And I love you."
That was the truth she could not deny.
Even now.
"But I don't know if I can love you the same way."
There she had said it.
She had drawn the line.
The boundary.
She had acknowledged her fears.
Her throat tightened as she added softly,
"And I don't know if that's fair to you."
Or to her.
Or to Emily.
So she did the only thing she could.
She held her ground.
Even when every part of her wanted to step forward instead.
Even when loving him would have been easier than questioning everything.
Even when letting him back in would have felt like coming home.
Because this... him... that was not home anymore.
Not yet.
And maybe...
Not ever again.
The space between them stretched again.
Not as sharp as before.
Aria let out a slow breath, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer before she turned slightly toward the cabin.
She didn't want to end it like this.
Not yet.
Not with everything still sitting between them, unsaid.
Unfinished.
"You want to come inside?" she asked.
Chase studied her for a second, like he understood exactly what that invitation was and what it wasn't.
Then, just barely...
He winked.
"Sure," he said. "You got a Coke on the rocks?"
For a split second, Aria just stared at him.
And then it hit.
That was the stupid, ridiculous joke they had used over and over for years.
Her breath caught, and something in her chest cracked open before she could stop it.
"You remember that?" she asked, the surprise clear in her voice.
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"Apparently."
It wasn't said with confidence.
Not fully.
But it was there.
Real.
And God...
That shouldn't have meant as much as it did.
But it did.
Because that wasn't something someone told him.
That wasn't something written down in a file or explained by a doctor.
That was theirs.
A small, insignificant thing that had lived only between the two of them.
And he remembered it.
Her guard didn't drop.
Not completely.
But it shifted.
Just enough.
"Yeah," she said, clearing her throat slightly. "I think I can manage that."
She turned toward the cabin, walking ahead of him this time.
He followed.
The door creaked softly as she pushed it open, stepping inside.
The air inside was cooler, carrying that familiar scent of wood and Pine-Sol
She moved automatically, heading toward the kitchen.
"I hope you're not expecting anything fancy," she called over her shoulder. "My bar is a little limited."
"I think I'll survive," he replied.
His voice was quieter now.
Not because he was unsure.
Because he was taking it in.
Aria grabbed two glasses, her hands moving on muscle memory as she filled one with ice and poured soda over it.
She had done this a hundred times before.
For him.
With him.
The familiarity of it made her chest tighten again, but she pushed through it.
She turned, holding the glass out to him.
"Coke," she said. "On the rocks."
He took it from her, his fingers brushing hers for the briefest second.
That small contact sent something through her that she wasn't ready to deal with.
So she stepped back.
Put space between them again.
He didn't comment on it.
Just took a sip.
Then paused.
His eyes moved slowly around the room.
Taking in everything.
The worn couch.
The old wooden table.
The framed pictures on the wall.
The fireplace.
Something in his expression changed.
It was a subtle recognition.
He lowered the glass slightly, his brow furrowing.
"This place..."
Aria stilled.
"What about it?" she asked carefully.
He took a slow breath, his gaze moving across the room again, more focused now.
"I've been here before."
Her heart skipped.
"Yes," she said quietly. "You have a lot."
He shook his head slightly, like he was trying to sort through something just out of reach.
"No, I mean..."
His eyes landed on the far wall.
On the picture.
The one she hadn't taken down.
Him.
Younger.
Standing between his grandparents.
Smiling.
Carefree.
Whole.
His breath caught.
And this time, a tear escaped his right eye.
"This is..." he said slowly.
The words came together piece by piece.
"My grandparents' cabin."
Aria didn't move.
Didn't interrupt.
She just watched him.
He stepped further into the room, his eyes tracing over everything like he was seeing it for the first time and remembering it at the same time.
His chest rose slowly.
Fell.
Then he sighed.
"I used to come here," he said, more to himself than to her.
"In the summers."
A pause.
"With my grandfather."
Aria's throat tightened.
Because that was not something she had told him.
Not something anyone had told him.
That was him coming home.
And he was finding his way back on his own.
She gripped the edge of the counter behind her, steadying herself as she watched it happen.
Watched him piece something together that had been broken for so long.
And for the first time since he showed up, she felt something she hadn't let herself feel yet.
Hope.
The moment he stepped into the cabin, something shifted.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
It hit him all at once.
The air felt different in here. Thicker. Familiar in a way that did not come from being told, but from knowing.
His grip tightened slightly around the glass in his hand as his eyes moved across the room again, slower this time.
Not searching.
Recognizing.
The couch.
Worn in the same places.
The table has a slight nick along the edge, a nick he had tried to hide from his grandmother with a marker so she would not be mad at him for cleaning fish on her kitchen table again.
The old lamp in the corner that leaned just enough to notice if you were looking at it from the right angle.
The lamp had been one of many thrifted items his grandmother had procured for this rustic cabin, which she loved more than the Victorian-style house his grandfather had built her in town.
His chest tightened.
"I love it here," he said, more to himself than to her.
And then it came.
Not a full memory.
Not clear.
But pieces.
Flashes.
Warm air.
Laughter.
A deeper voice, older, steady, calling his name from outside.
"Chase, you gonna help me or just stand there lookin' lost?"
His breath hitched.
He blinked hard, his hand coming up to his forehead like he could hold it together before it slipped away.
It didn't disappear completely this time.
It lingered.
Different than before.
Not gone.
Just... out of reach.
He exhaled slowly, grounding himself in the present.
The cabin.
The room.
Her.
He stepped further in, his boots slower now, more deliberate as his gaze landed on the wall.
The picture.
He moved toward it without thinking.
His fingers hovered just above the frame before he picked it up.
The picture had been taken when he was young, maybe even a teen.
Standing between two people, he felt in his chest before he could fully remember their faces.
His throat tightened.
"That's my grandfather," he said quietly.
His thumb brushed over the image.
"And my grandma."
He swallowed.
He lowered the picture slightly, his gaze unfocused for just a second as something else pushed forward.
A hospital room.
Bright lights.
Too bright.
A woman lying in a bed, barely conscious.
Voices around him.
Not his.
Doctors.
Nurses.
The memory snapped into place just long enough to feel real.
And then it loosened again.
Not gone.
Just not whole.
Chase let out a slow breath, his hand tightening slightly around the frame before he set it back down.
He turned back toward her.
And that's when the other memory hit.
Smaller.
Lighter.
But just as sharp.
The glass in his hand.
Cold.
Condensation slipping against his fingers.
He looked down at it.
Coke.
Ice.
A faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth before he could stop it.
"You used to hate this," he said, glancing up at her.
Her brows pulled together slightly.
"What?"
He lifted the glass slightly.
"The ice."
Another flicker.
Hot summer air.
This same porch.
Her sitting in one of those chairs, legs tucked up beneath her.
Him handing her a drink.
She takes a sip.
Immediately makes a face.
"This is too cold, my teeth hate when it's that cold, you know that."
He laughs.
"It's just Coke."
"It's Coke on the rocks," she says like it's offensive. "A lot of rocks... take some of the ice out, please?"
"You're dramatic."
"And you're ruining perfectly good soda."
The memory sharpened.
Her grabbing the glass from him.
Setting it down hard.
"I refuse to drink this."
He leans back, smirking.
"Fine. More for me."
A pause.
Then...
She slides the glass back toward herself.
"Actually... I'm gonna drink it just to prove a point."
"What point?"
"That I can suffer through it better than you."
He laughs.
"That's not the flex you think it is."
Back to now.
Chase let out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly.
He lifted the glass again, studying it like it meant something more than it should.
"You used to say it was wrong to add more than half a glass of ice to any drink," he added. "That Coke wasn't supposed to be watered down with ice."
A faint pause.
"Then you'd drink it anyway just to argue about it."
The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly.
"You always had to win."
The memory settled differently than the others.
Not painful.
Not heavy.
Just... theirs.
He looked back at her fully now.
Not searching.
Not questioning.
Seeing her.
"I can't believe I could forget this place," he said quietly.
His voice was steadier now, but there was something underneath it. Something unsettled. Something that did not sit right in his chest.
Aria didn't miss it.
"Yeah," she said, her voice calm but edged with something sharper. "It must be hard to forget this place... and the people who made it so special."
A pause.
"But somehow you did."
The words landed.
Not loud.
Not cruel.
But they cut deeper than anything she had said so far.
Her eyes didn't leave his.
"I'm so sorry," she added. "I don't know why I said that."
Chase didn't respond right away.
He couldn't.
Because there was nothing to argue.
Nothing to defend.
She wasn't wrong.
His grip tightened slightly around the glass in his hand as he looked down at it, watching the ice shift with the movement.
"I didn't choose to forget," he said finally.
Not defensive.
Not sharp.
Just... honest.
"I know," she replied immediately.
Too quickly.
Like she had already had that conversation with herself a hundred times.
"I know you didn't."
A beat.
"But it doesn't change the fact that you did."
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he turned slightly, putting a small bit of space between them.
Not to leave.
Just to think.
This was the part he didn't know how to fix.
Didn't know how to answer.
No explanation made it better.
No reasoning that took away what she felt.
"I wake up every day knowing I lost so many memories that I may never fully remember," he said quietly.
His voice dropped slightly, more raw now.
"I know there was a life. I know there were people. I know there was you."
He looked back at her.
"And I hate that I don't have it the way I'm supposed to."
That was the truth.
Unfiltered.
"I hate that I have to stand here and learn you all over again when I should know every nuance about you."
His jaw tightened.
"I hate that I can see what you mean to me without understanding why it feels the way it does."
A breath.
"And I hate that it hurts you."
Aria's expression softened.
Not completely.
But enough.
Because she believed him.
That was the problem.
She believed him.
And it would have been easier if she didn't.
"But you still lived a whole life without me," she said quietly.
There was no edge now.
Just truth.
"You loved someone else."
There it was.
The part neither of them could avoid.
Chase didn't look away.
"I did."
The words came out steady.
No denial.
No excuses.
"I didn't know you existed," he added.
"I know."
Her voice didn't waver.
"And that's the only reason I'm standing here having this conversation with you."
That hit.
Because she meant it.
If he had chosen that life knowing she existed...
She wouldn't be here.
He understood that.
Completely.
Silence stretched between them again.
But it wasn't empty.
It was full of everything they couldn't undo.
Everything they couldn't fix.
Everything they had to face anyway.
Chase looked around the cabin again, slower this time.
More aware.
More grounded.
"This place..." he said, almost to himself. "It meant something before I even knew it did."
His eyes shifted back to her.
"And you did too."
A pause.
"I just didn't have the pieces to understand it."
Aria swallowed.
Because that was the part that hurt the most.
Not that he didn't feel anything.
But how he totally forgot what he felt the most about.
"You don't get to come back into this and expect it to feel the same," she said.
Her voice was steady again.
Grounded.
"I'm not expecting that," he replied.
"Good."
A beat.
"Because I can't. I mean, I care for you... I still love you, and that will never change, but it's different now, like you are, and it may never be that same kind of love again."
Chase nodded once.
"I know."