Chapter 33
Chase woke before the sun.
Not because he wanted to.
Because his body still had not figured out that being home meant safety.
The room sat dark around him.
Quiet.
Still.
The faint outline of unfamiliar furniture blurred in the soft gray shadows of early morning.
Guest room.
Aria's house.
Not captivity.
He knew that.
Logically but still his body had already decided sleep was over.
He stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
The house sat quiet around him.
No movement.
No voices.
Just the distant sound of rainwater dripping somewhere outside and the occasional groan of old wood settling.
His chest felt tight.
Not panic.
Not exactly.
It was like somebody had cracked him open yesterday and forgotten to put all the pieces back where they belonged.
PTSD.
Identity disruption.
Trauma.
Survival.
All the words.
Clinical words.
But somehow hearing them out loud made things feel more real.
More permanent.
He rolled over.
Glanced at the digital clock.
5:12 a.m.
Too early for normal people.
Not for him.
Not anymore.
Sleep had become something fragile.
Temporary.
Unreliable.
He sat up slowly.
Ran a hand down his face.
And immediately noticed it.
The folder.
Still sitting on the dresser where he had dropped it yesterday.
Naomi's neat handwriting visible across the front.
Grounding exercises.
Memory tracking.
Nervous system regulation.
He stared at it.
Honestly?
He wanted to ignore it.
Pretend none of yesterday happened.
Pretend somebody hadn't professionally confirmed that his brain was basically held together with proverbial glue and duct tape.
But...
No.
If he was serious about getting better...
About getting back to himself...
About maybe, somehow, earning another chance with Aria...
Then he had to try.
Even if trying felt stupid.
He stood slowly.
Pulled on a shirt and some jogging pants before reaching for the folder.
He quietly stepped into the hallway taking in the other bedroom doors still closed checking to ensure the others were still asleep inside.
Because if he was going to embarrass himself doing breathing exercises, he preferred privacy.
The back porch door creaked softly when he opened it.
Cool morning air hit immediately.
Rain had stopped sometime overnight.
Everything outside looked damp and silver in the early dawn light.
The yard stretched wide and quiet.
Trees dripping softly.
Mist hanging low across the grass.
The old porch boards creaked beneath his bare feet.
Cold but grounding.
He sat down in one of the chairs.
Coffee steaming in his favorite mug beside him.
Opened the folder he stared.
"Five things you can see."
He frowned immediately.
Seriously?
This felt ridiculous.
Still...
He tried.
"Tree."
His voice sounded rough from sleep.
"Chair."
Pause.
"Grass."
This was dumb.
"Fence."
He exhaled sharply.
"Bird feeder."
There.
Done.
Happy now?
"Four things you can feel."
He sighed.
"Cold."
A pause.
"Wood."
His feet shifted slightly against the porch.
"A breeze."
He looked down.
"Fabric."
God.
This felt embarrassing.
Like he was pretending or acting. He rubbed a hand over his face.
"This is stupid."
"Only if you're doing it wrong."
He nearly jumped.
His head snapped toward the doorway.
Aria stood there.
Barefoot.
In one of his old oversized sweatshirt.
Hair messy from sleep.
Still so achingly beautiful while being tired looking.
Coffee mug in one hand.
Watching him with an expression somewhere between amusement and concern.
Chase looked at her for a second longer than he meant to.
God, she looked unfairly beautiful in the mornings. Even exhausted.
Even emotionally wrung out.
The oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder was faded with age, sleeves swallowing her hands halfway, the hem brushing against the tops of her bare thighs. His sweatshirt.
An old college sweat he vaguely remembered owning before deployment. One he had forgotten existed until he walked into the laundry room yesterday and nearly got knocked sideways by the sight of it folded over the dryer.
He remembered her stealing it.
Or at least he remembered pieces, small fragments.
Laughter.
Her curled up beside him on a couch.
Cold hands on his abs beneath that shirt as he wore it.
Her saying she liked the way it smelled.
The memory came fast and soft enough not to hurt.
Just enough to ache.
He cleared his throat.
"You trying to scare me to death?"
Her mouth twitched faintly.
"You were doing breathing exercises like somebody held you hostage."
The irony of that sentence settled strangely between them.
Her expression shifted almost immediately.
Subtle.
Regret.
Because sometimes they still accidentally stepped into landmines neither of them meant to touch.
He saved her from it.
"I think Naomi already established I'm terrible at therapy."
That got the ghost of a smile out of her.
Small, tired, and still beautiful.
"You're skipping steps."
He glanced down at the folder.
"I'm literally following instructions."
"No," she said softly, stepping fully onto the porch, "you're speed running it so you can say you tried."
That sounded unfortunately accurate.
She sat in the chair beside him, curling one leg underneath herself.
Close enough that he could smell her shampoo.
Something soft.
Familiar.
Dangerously familiar.
Steam curled from her coffee mug into the cold morning air.
For a second neither spoke.
The world still looked half asleep.
Mist hung low over the yard, wrapping around the trees. Rainwater still dripped lazily from the roof. Somewhere farther off, birds had started waking up.
The whole world felt softer this early.
Like maybe broken things got permission to rest for a little while.
Aria glanced toward the worksheet in his lap.
"You stopped at four things."
He sighed dramatically.
"Because it feels stupid."
Her brows lifted.
"It's neuroscience."
"That somehow sounds worse."
That actually pulled a quiet laugh out of her.
Not forced.
Real.
Soft.
And God.
Something in his chest squeezed painfully around the sound.
Because he missed that.
Missed her laughing.
Missed feeling like he knew how to exist around her.
Missed not feeling like every moment required careful emotional navigation.
She reached over without thinking and grabbed the papers lifting them and lightly tapped the paper against his chest.
"Try again."
The gesture was automatic.
Familiar.
So familiar it made both of them pause.
Because once long ago this would have been normal.
Easy.
Now every accidental touch carried weight.
Her hand pulled back first.
Too quickly.
Retreating.
Guarded again.
He pretended not to notice.
Mostly because he was trying very hard not to notice how badly he wanted to reach for her hand, taste her lips and the coffee that now flavored her tongue.
"This feels ridiculous," he muttered.
Aria lifted her coffee.
"You played football."
He frowned.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"You let grown men slam into you at full speed for fun."
A pause.
"Breathing exercises were part of you training, something you did to recenter yourself when your temper was close to boiling over and now it's where your dignity draws the line?"
He stared at her.
Then shook his head.
"That was rude."
"That was accurate."
He exhaled something dangerously close to a laugh.
God.
There she was.
The version of her that teased.
The version that looked lighter.
For half a second, it almost felt normal.
Almost.
Then she nodded toward the worksheet again.
"Come on."
A beat.
"Five things you can see."
He sighed loudly enough to make a point. "You're really committing to this."
"You paid good money for therapy."
His brows lifted.
Her expression shifted immediately.
Tiny.
Guarded.
Distance slipping back into place.
"Semantics."
There it was.
The retreat.
The invisible wall.
Still there.
Always there now.
Not cruel.
Just careful.
He swallowed around the strange ache that caused.
Then looked back out at the yard.
"Tree."
A pause.
"Fence."
"Already used fence."
He looked at her.
"You're grading me?"
"Yes."
"That feels hostile."
"You're avoiding."
He looked away again.
Damn.
She knew him too well.
He exhaled slowly.
"Tree."
"Different tree."
"You're insufferable."
"And yet here I am."
Something about the sentence settled strangely between them.
Because she was.
Still here.
Still trying.
Still helping.
Even after everything.
His throat tightened unexpectedly.
He looked back down at the page.
"Fine."
A pause.
"Bird feeder."
"The porch."
"Fog."
He looked farther out.
"That ugly garden gnome."
Aria blinked.
Then turned toward the yard.
"You leave Gerald alone."
He stared.
"...Gerald?"
"Yes."
"You named the creepy gnome?"
"He has personality."
"He looks haunted."
"He looks distinguished."
He snorted before he could stop himself.
Actually snorted.
And for a second... a real second something loosened inside him.
Because God.
This felt familiar.
Fighting over stupid things.
Morning coffee.
Her defending ridiculous stuff.
Then a flash came quick.
Sharp.
Her younger.
Standing in a tiny apartment kitchen.
Hair messy.
Holding a spatula like a weapon.
Defending something equally stupid.
"You cannot throw away Carl."
"Carl is moldy."
"He's decorative!"
"What kind of psychopath decorates with mold?"
The memory hit hard enough to stop him cold.
His expression shifted immediately.
Aria noticed.
Of course she noticed.
"What?" she asked quietly.
He blinked once.
Still halfway there.
"Carl."
Her brows pulled together.
"...What?"
"The mold."
His voice sounded quieter now.
"You kept mold in our apartment."
Recognition hit her face instantly.
"Oh my God."
Then she laughed.
Really laughed this time. Warm and unfiltered.
"You remembered Carl?"
"He was disgusting."
"He was a science experiment."
"He was growing legs."
"He had sentimental value."
He shook his head slowly.
"No sane person says mold has sentimental value."
The smile stayed on her face longer than usual.
Long enough that something inside Chase almost forgot to hurt.
It changed her whole face when she smiled like that.
Softened the exhaustion.
Pulled warmth back into features grief had hollowed out over the years.
For one dangerous second, he could almost pretend none of this had happened.
That they were just... them again.
Just a couple of kids playing house too young and too broke.
Sneaking around and fighting over stupid things.
Loving each other in secret because life had not been kind enough yet to let them do it openly.
Aria shook her head, laughing softly into her coffee.
"You were so dramatic about Carl."
"He was mold."
"He was art."
"He was fungus."
"He had character."
"He was disgusting."
That made her laugh again.
Quieter this time.
The sound settling warm into the cool morning air.
God, he missed that. Missed making her laugh. Missed hearing her laugh because of him. Missed not feeling like every conversation had landmines buried underneath it.
She looked down into her mug, still smiling faintly.
"You threatened to call the CDC."
His brows furrowed.
"That sounds reasonable."
"No," she said immediately. "Because you also threatened to burn the apartment down."
He paused thinking.
Then he smiled,
"...Okay, that actually sounds more like me."
"Very much you."
Silence settled between them again.
Easy silence.
The kind that existed between people who had once known every version of each other.
Morning mist curled softly through the yard.
The sky had begun lightening, pale silver stretching through the trees.
Birds were louder now.
The whole world slowly waking around them.
And then...
Without warning...
Another memory.
Stronger this time.
Quick but detailed.
Aria.
Standing barefoot in a tiny kitchen wearing that same sweatshirt.
Hair tied messily on top of her head.
Arguing with him while stirring ramen noodles because neither of them had enough money for groceries.
"You can't keep buying football tape and protein powder."
"It's called priorities."
"Your priorities suck."
"You still love me."
A pause. Her smiling so hopelessly in love.
"Unfortunately."
The memory hit harder than the first.
Not painful exactly.
His expression shifted again.
And Aria saw it immediately.
Her smile faded slightly.
"What?"
He looked down at his coffee.
Trying to catch it before it slipped away.
"You."
Her brows pulled together.
"What about me?"
"The apartment."
He frowned slightly.
"The ramen being all we had to eat and me buying football tape and protein powder."
Her face changed instantly.
Recognition.
"You remembered that too just now?"
His hand rubbed absently over his chest.
"Bits."
Quiet.
Confused.
"Not everything."
Her expression softened.
Careful now.
Hopeful in a way she seemed afraid to except.
"God," she muttered quietly. "We were so broke."
That got the ghost of a smile from him.
"You used ketchup packets for spaghetti once and it was awful."
She looked offended immediately. "I was being resourceful."
"You stole those packets."
"I borrowed them permanently."
He shook his head slowly.
"You committed condiment crimes."
She pointed toward him with her mug.
"You ate the spaghetti."
"Against my will."
"That is not how I recall it."
His laugh came easier this time.
Still small, still tired, but real and somehow that terrified her.
Because for a second... a real second this felt normal.
Easy like before.
Like before war.
Before grief.
Before Emily.
The realization settled heavily into her chest.
Because hope for her had become dangerous.
She knew better than anyone what happened when she let herself believe too much.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the mug.
And just like that her walls came back.
Subtle.
Almost invisible.
But there.
Chase noticed immediately because of course he did.
The shift in her posture. The way she leaned back slightly. The emotional retreat. He hated how quickly he had learned to recognize it. Like learning weather patterns. Like trying to predict storms.
His throat tightened.
He wanted to say:
"Please don't go."
Wanted to ask why every good moment between them seemed to scare her.
But honestly?
He already knew.
So instead he looked back down at the worksheet.
Trying.
Trying not to ruin this.
Trying not to push.
"Okay," he muttered quietly. "Five things I can hear."
Her attention flickered back toward him.
The smallest hint of surprise there. Because he was still trying.
Even after getting frustrated.
He shifted in the chair slightly.
"Birds."
A pause.
"Wind."
He listened harder.
"Dripping water."
His eyes flicked toward her.
"Coffee mug."
One brow lifted.
"You can hear coffee mugs?"
"You tapped it like six times with your nails."
She looked mildly offended.
"I was thinking."
"You think aggressively."
That got another tiny smile.
God, he missed this.
"Your breathing."
The sentence settled between them.
Unexpectedly intimate.
Not flirtatious.
Not intentional.
Just honest.
Her expression shifted.
Something vulnerable flickering briefly across it before she looked away.
The porch suddenly felt smaller somehow.
Chase swallowed.
Damn it he was still messing things up.
"I mean..."
"No," she said quietly.
Too quickly.
Then softer:
"It's okay."
Silence again.
The kind neither quite knew what to do with.
Then finally she nodded toward the worksheet.
"You skipped smell."
He looked relieved for the save.
"Rain."
"Good."
"Coffee."
She nodded once.
"Wet grass."
"Okay."
He frowned slightly.
"Bacon?"
Her mouth twitched.
"That'd be Parker."
Right on cue the back door suddenly swung open hard enough to make both of them jump.
Parker stepped out looking like sleep had personally offended him.
Messy hair.
Wrinkled shirt.
Barefoot.
Holding an entire skillet.
He stopped mid step.
Looked between them.
Then slowly narrowed his eyes.
"Well, This feels suspiciously domestic."
Aria rolled her eyes immediately.
"Good morning to you too."
Parker looked between them again. Really looked. Chase sitting on the porch with Naomi's folder in his lap. Aria curled up beside him in an oversized sweatshirt that very obviously belonged to Chase once upon a time.
He made a face. "Oh, wow."
He pointed vaguely between them with the skillet.
"Did I walk into emotional healing?"
"Go away," Aria muttered.
"That sounds like a yes."
Chase surprised himself by smiling.
Parker stepped fully onto the porch, cool morning air immediately hitting him.
The skillet steamed faintly in his hand.
Bacon.
Definitely bacon.
"I leave y'all unattended for one night and suddenly we're having porch coffee like a Nicholas Sparks novel."
"Nobody invited you," Aria said.
"I live here emotionally."
"You absolutely do not."
He ignored her completely.
Instead looking toward Chase.
"You okay?"
The question came quieter.
Real and less joking.
Chase hesitated he honestly thought about lying, then decided he was getting tired of pretending.
"Trying."
Parker nodded once.
Like that answer made sense.
Like maybe trying was enough right now.
His attention dropped toward the folder.
"Oh God."
He winced dramatically.
"You actually started therapy homework?"
Chase looked offended.
"Naomi said I should."
"She also probably said don't eat gas station sushi, but I assume we're all capable of independent thought."
"It's grounding exercises."
Parker visibly shuddered. "Sounds terrible."
Aria looked smug.
"Don't let him fool you he was complaining."
"Because it feels stupid," Chase muttered.
Parker pointed the skillet at him.
"You got kidnapped by war criminals and forgot your whole identity."
A pause.
"I think breathing weirdly on a porch is probably the least embarrassing thing that's happened to you."
Chase stared at him flatly.
Aria snorted into her coffee.
Actually snorted.
Then immediately looked horrified she had.
But it was too late.
Parker gasped dramatically.
"Oh my God."
He pointed at Chase.
"I made her snort."
"I hate both of y'all."
"No, you don't."
Parker leaned against the porch rail.
And for a second, a real second something felt normal.
Then Parker looked toward the yard.
Brows lifting.
"Wait."
He pointed.
"Is Gerald back?"
Aria straightened immediately.
"He never left."
Chase looked between them slowly.
"You both know Gerald?"
Parker looked personally offended.
"Brother."
A pause.
"Gerald has seen things."
"He's haunted," Chase said.
"He's seasoned," Aria corrected.
"He looks like he owns cursed antiques."
Parker nodded seriously.
"That's fair."
Then without warning something shifted in Chase.
A strange pull.
Familiar.
Fast.
Another memory.
Brighter than the others.
Not fragmented.
It was all three of them on this porch.
Summer years ago.
Parker was much younger, louder and drunk.
Trying to grill burgers and nearly setting the entire deck on fire.
Aria screaming:
"You cannot use lighter fluid like that!"
Parker yelling back:
"I know what I am doing! I am a man... I can grill without a woman telling me how to do it."
Chase laughing so hard he nearly dropped his beer.
Her sitting beside him.
Tucked against his side.
Stealing fries off his plate.
The smell of citronella candles.
Music playing softly.
Her head on his shoulder.
Warm.
Safe.
Home.
The memory landed so suddenly it physically stole his breath.
He went still.
Parker noticed first.
"Hey."
Immediate concern.
"You good?"
Chase blinked once.
Trying to hold onto it.
"This porch."
Aria straightened slightly.
"What about it?"
He looked around slowly.
Like seeing it differently.
"You almost burned it down."
Parker froze.
Then looked horrified.
"...You remember that?"
"You nearly killed everybody."
"It was one accident."
"You sprayed half a bottle of lighter fluid onto active fire."
Aria stared.
"Oh my God."
Her hand covered her mouth.
"You remembered our one and only barbecue night."
Parker looked emotional for exactly half a second before covering it with offense.
"Okay first of all."
He pointed at both of them.
"Barbecue Night sounds way less cool than what happened."
"What happened was negligence," Aria said.
"What happened was freaking awesome."
"What happened," Chase muttered, "was you almost catching your eyebrows on fire."
Parker gasped.
"You promised never to bring that up."
And for the first time since coming home Chase laughed.
Really laughed hard enough that all three of them paused.
Because it had been awhile.
A long while.
The sound faded too quickly.
But the warmth stayed behind.
Aria looked at him quietly over the rim of her mug.
Something complicated moving across her face.
Hope.
Fear.
All tangled together.
Because there he was.
For a second, a real second there he was.
The man she lost.
The man who used to sit right here laughing with Parker.
Teasing her.
Making promises about forever like forever was guaranteed.
Parker, oblivious to the emotional spiral happening beside him, lifted the skillet.
"Anyway."
He looked between them.
"I made breakfast because therapy burns a lot of calories."
Chase frowned.
"That's not medically accurate."
"No?" Parker shrugged. "But bacon fixes most emotional problems."
Aria stood slowly. "You cannot medically prescribe bacon."
"I absolutely can."
Then he pointed directly at Chase.
"And after breakfast?"
His expression shifted slightly.
More serious now.
"You and me are talking."
Chase's brows pulled together.
"About?"
Parker answered simply, "The truth."
"What truth?" Chase asked.
Parker hesitated.
Looked briefly between both of them.
Then back at Chase.
"The kind nobody likes hearing."
A pause.
"The kind somebody should probably say anyway."
He rubbed the back of his neck once before motioning toward the house with the skillet.
"C'mon."
A pause.
"Hard conversations deserve bacon."
"That feels questionable," Aria muttered.
"That sounds like a you problem."
The back door creaked open again.
Warmth spilling out immediately.
The smell of coffee and breakfast wrapping around them as they stepped inside.
The kitchen still carried that lived in feeling Chase had been quietly noticing since coming here.
Nothing was too fancy.
Nothing overly polished. There were cookbooks stacked crookedly near the stove. A bowl of fruit beginning to turn questionable. Magnets cluttering the refrigerator holding up a multitude of photos.
Little pieces of life. Pieces of her. Pieces of him too.
Or at least...
Pieces of the him he was trying desperately to remember.
He paused for half a second near the refrigerator.
There was an old faded photo of Aria, Parker and him standing on that very porch years ago.
Younger and laughing.
His arm wrapped around her waist.
Something tightened painfully in his chest.
Because God, he had lived an entire life he could barely touch.
"Sit down before the eggs get cold," Parker called.
Breakfast happened quietly. There was bacon, eggs, toast and more coffee.
Aria correcting Parker twice for overcooking something.
Parker ignoring her entirely.
Chase sat quieter than usual.
The rain had completely stopped now.
Morning sunlight beginning to break through the clouds outside in pale streaks.
Parker stood suddenly collecting plates.
He looked toward Aria casually saying. "You should probably go get ready."
Her brows lifted immediately. "That sounds suspiciously like a order to leave Parker."
"It's a man talk."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You're both emotionally incompetent men so maybe a woman is needed."
"That feels rude," Parker said.
"But accurate," Chase muttered.
Her gaze flicked between them.
Suspicious.
Protective.
But eventually she stood with a sigh.
She then pointed at both of them. "No emotional stupidity."
"That is wildly vague," Parker replied.
"It's intentionally vague."
Then her attention landed on Chase for a second longer.
Something softer there.
Guarded.
But softer.
"Don't let him stress you out."
Parker looked offended.
"I am delightful."
"You're exhausting."
Then quietly she leaned down and whispered to Chase:
"I'll be downstairs in a bit."
The sentence shouldn't have felt intimate but somehow it did.
Because lately every tiny thing did.
Every soft moment.
Every normal thing.
He nodded once.
"Okay."
And then she was gone.
Her footsteps disappearing upstairs.
Silence settled behind her.
Parker waited.
Until they both heard the faint sound of the shower upstairs.
Only then did his expression change.
The humor disappeared.
Chase noticed immediately.
"There it is," he muttered quietly.
Parker leaned back against the counter.
Crossed his arms.
"You ain't gonna like this."
Chase sighed. "So you have warned me twice now."
"Yeah." A pause. "Probably because I am about to get super serious."
Something uncomfortable settled low in Chase's stomach.
Parker looked down briefly.
Thinking through how to say this.
Because no version of this conversation ended easy.
"While y'all were at therapy emotionally imploding..."
Chase rolled his eyes tiredly. "Can you not say it like that?"
"No." A beat. "Anyway."
Parker worked his jaw slightly.
"I had somebody look into New Zealand."
That made Chase straighten.
Immediately.
"What about it?"
Parker exhaled slowly.
"How you got there." A pause. "What happened after Afghanistan."
Something cold moved through Chase.
Because honestly, he still did not fully understand that timeline himself.
Just pieces.
Fragments.
Pain.
Darkness.
Fear.
Parker continued carefully.
"You got moved."
The words struck a chord.
"After the attack."
"Moved where?"
"Multiple places."
A pause.
"Bad people doing bad things."
Chase's jaw tightened immediately.
Something ugly flickered briefly behind his eyes.
Memory threatening.
Parker noticed.
Kept going carefully.
"Eventually somebody dumped you near a fishing port outside Auckland."
Silence stretched.
Then Parker continued his tone noticeably quieter.
"That's where Emily came in."
Chase looked down.
Something complicated moving through his chest immediately.
Guilt. Sadness. Affection. Pain.
Parker rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
"Brother..." A pause. "There's something you need to know."
The kitchen suddenly felt smaller.
"What?"
Parker held his stare.
"When y'all got together..."
Another pause.
"There was concern."
Chase frowned.
"What kinda concern?"
Parker exhaled once.
"Professional concern."
The room went quiet.
Chase already looked like he knew where this was headed and he didn't want to hear it.
"She was your therapist," Parker said carefully.
"Physical therapist," Chase corrected automatically.
"Still your provider."
That landed harder than expected.
Parker continued gently.
"Apparently somebody reported it."
Chase's expression shifted.
"...Reported what?"
"The relationship."
Heavy silence followed.
"There was a review board."
Parker watched him carefully.
"A committee. They looked into the ethical concerns."
Another pause.
"And nothing happened."
Chase frowned harder now.
"Why?"
Parker's jaw shifted.
"Because a few of Emily's friends sat on that board."
That came across ugly, real ugly.
"They pushed it through. Said you were cognitively functional. Said you could consent. Said it developed naturally."
Chase sat completely still.
Too still.
Processing.
Or maybe unraveling.
Because suddenly...
Things looked different.
The hospital.
The recovery.
The closeness.
The way she helped.
The way he leaned on her.
The way she slowly became everything.
His entire world.
Because he had no one else.
No context. No history. No memory.
God, he rubbed a hand slowly over his face.
Naomi's words echoed.
Ethical imbalance.
Vulnerability matters.
"She loved me," Chase said quietly.
The sentence sounded conflicted.
Like he hated needing to say it.
Parker nodded immediately.
"I think she probably did in her own twisted way."
A pause.
"I ain't calling her evil."
Another pause.
"But loving her patient was crossing a line, but having her friends cover for her to do so was also super illegal."
Chase looked exhausted suddenly. Older somehow.
"I didn't know."
The sentence came out quiet.
Painfully quiet.
"I know."
Parker's voice softened.
"Brother, I know."
Silence stretched again.
Then finally, Chase looked toward the stairs.
Toward where Aria had disappeared.
"She's filing something, ain't she?"
Parker hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Yeah, we both are."
Another silence.
Long.
Complicated.
Parker watched him carefully.
Waiting.
Bracing.
Because honestly?
This could go a lot of ways.
And when Chase finally spoke his voice sounded tired.
Heartbroken.
But certain.
"I haven't wanted to hurt Emily." A pause. "God knows I've hurt her enough."
His throat tightened. "With the divorce."
Walking away. Choosing someone else. The guilt had sat ugly.
"But..." He swallowed hard.
Something new was settling into place.
"What she did wasn't okay."
The words felt awful leaving his mouth.
Because saying it somehow made it real.
Made everything messier.
"She shouldn't have... we met when I was her patient and she became my one constant when I had no one else and now that I think about it maybe that was her plan all along."
He paused while looking around the room trying to focus on anything other than Parkers concerned face.
"When I didn't know who the hell I was. She helped me to create my whole new identity and maybe she molded me into the man she wanted because as I get to know the real me more I see that me and that man are truly nothing alike at all."
Parker stayed quiet.
Listening.
"I owe Aria better than this."
His jaw tightened.
"She spent years fighting for me."
Another pause.
"Even when the forced her to bury me."
God.
That sentence still wrecked him.
"And I can't keep standing in the middle anymore."
His eyes dropped briefly.
"If Aria feels like she has to do this... if you both have already started the process."
A pause.
"Then I will back you both one hundred percent."
Pain flickered across his face.
Real grief.
Real guilt.
"Not Emily."
Another long silence.
Then quietly he added.
"The only way forward..."
He exhaled hard.
"...is making sure there ain't a door left open to go backward."
Parker stayed quiet for a long moment.
Listening.
Really listening.
The kitchen suddenly felt heavier somehow.
The coffee had gone cold.
Breakfast plates sat half forgotten on the table.
Outside, morning had finally settled fully over the yard, pale sunlight stretching weakly through clouds that had not quite decided whether they planned to stay.
And Chase...
God.
Chase looked tired.
Not physically.
Soul tired.
Like every truth being dragged into the light was costing him something.
Parker leaned back against the counter slowly.
Crossed his arms.
Thought carefully before speaking.
Because this mattered.
"You know," he said quietly, "at first?"
A pause.
"I defended her too."
Chase looked up.
Brows pulling together slightly.
Parker shrugged once.
"I did."
A beat.
"She loved you."
The words came blunt.
Honest.
"I saw it."
Another pause.
"She was heartbroken."
"And hell, brother..."
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
"You were alive and able because of her."
That truth mattered too.
No matter how complicated everything got.
"But," Parker said firmly, "that was before I had all the facts."
The room settled quieter.
He shifted his weight.
Jaw tightening slightly.
"Before I knew there was a damn ethics review."
"Before I found out people raised concerns."
"Before I found out her friends helped sweep it under the rug."
Another pause.
"And before I really sat and thought about what your situation actually looked like."
Chase stayed quiet.
Listening.
Parker gestured toward him.
"You didn't know who you were. You had no memory, no family, no history and no way to even understand what had been taken from you."
A pause.
"And instead of protecting that, instead of trying to help restore that."
His jaw flexed.
"She crossed the line."
Plain.
Firm.
No hesitation.
"She was supposed to help you recover, she was not supposed to become your whole world. Not become the person shaping your whole identity while you were vulnerable enough to cling to whoever made you feel safe."
Parker exhaled hard through his nose.
"And brother?"
His voice softened slightly.
"She may have loved you."
Another pause.
"But she absolutely used your situation unfairly to her advantage."
The truth landed ugly.
Heavy.
"She had access to you when nobody else did. She stole years with you. Years Aria cannot get back. Years Aria spent grieving. Searching. Fighting. Refusing to believe you were gone."
His jaw tightened again.
"And whether she meant to or not?"
A pause.
"She helped keep you from getting back to your wife."
That one landed hard.
Hard enough Chase physically looked away.
Because God.
He had not thought about it that way.
Not fully.
But hearing it said aloud...
It sat ugly in his chest.
Not because he hated Emily.
Because he didn't.
Not really.
But because maybe...
Maybe now he was starting to really see that what had happened had not been fair to him.
To anyone.
Especially Aria.
Parker sighed.
"I ain't saying she's completely evil."
The sentence came tired.
"I think she genuinely loved you."
A pause.
"But loving somebody doesn't make what she and her friends did okay."
Another pause.
"And people who love somebody can still do selfish shit."
The kitchen grew quiet again.
Morning light catching across the table.
Dust drifting slowly through the air.
Finally, Chase rubbed a hand over his face.
Slow.
Heavy.
"I feel bad."
The honesty sounded miserable.
"God..."
His voice dropped quieter.
"She will lose everything."
Parker nodded once.
"I know."
Another pause.
"But so did Aria."
That landed immediately.
Because yeah.
She had.
More than anyone.
Parker's voice softened.
"And the difference here is that Emily made her choices while Aria never got a choice."
Silence.
Heavy silence.
"She spent years loving a ghost."
Another pause.
"And then she got you back just to find out somebody else had you tied around their finger."
Chase shut his eyes briefly.
God.
That sentence hurt.
Because it was true.
Painfully true.
"And now?" Parker continued quietly.
"She's still helping you. Still showing up. Still trying while never being as cruel as others would have been to Emily... as she every right to be."
Parker crossed his arms again.
"So yeah."
He nodded once.
"You're both probably gonna feel bad."
"Hell, I feel bad."
A pause.
"But sometimes doing what's right feels awful."
His tone hardened slightly.
"Because Emily has to know what she did was wrong. Not morally gray. Wrong plain and simple. She crossed a professional line. She took advantage of a situation you never should've been in. And then let people cover for it."
Another pause.
"If nobody says something?"
He shrugged lightly.
"What stops it from happening again?"
The question sat there.
Ugly.
Necessary.
Chase stared down at the table for a long time.
Thinking.
Turning it over.
Every piece.
Emily.
Aria.
The years.
The vulnerability.
The guilt.
The grief.
Finally, he exhaled hard.
Slow and tired.
"You know what the worst part is?"
Parker stayed quiet.
Waiting.
Chase's jaw tightened.
"A part of me still wants to protect her."
The confession sounded ashamed.
Like he hated himself for it.
"Because she was there."
A pause.
"When nobody else was."
His throat tightened.
"But..."
He swallowed hard.
Something new settling into place.
Painful.
Necessary.
"What she did wasn't okay."
The words came firmer this time.
More certain.
"And I can't keep standing in the middle."
His eyes flicked briefly toward the stairs.
Toward Aria.
"If Aria feels like this is what needs to happen..."
Another pause.
"And if y'all already started the process..."
He nodded slowly.
Then quieter:
"I'll back it."
Real grief flickered across his face.
Real guilt.
But certainty too.
"Not because I wanna hurt Emily."
A pause.
"But because she should've known better."
Another long silence.
Then quietly he exhaled shakily.