Chapter 34
Aria stood upstairs in the bathroom longer than she needed to.
The mirror had fogged halfway from the shower she had barely paid attention to.
Steam still curled softly through the room.
The scent of lavender soap lingered in the air.
And still she stood there.
One hand resting against the counter.
Hair damp.
Mind somewhere else entirely.
She didn't know how she knew what Parker was up to only that she knew he was telling Chase about Emily and he was trying to spare her the fallout.
Quickly she dressed and with her hair still damp from the shower she rushed back downstairs.
The second she came back down the stairs.
She could instantly see something in Chase had shifted.
Not dramatically.
Not enough that anybody else might catch it.
But she caught it.
Of course she caught it.
She had loved him long enough to know the difference between silence and thinking.
Between distance and grief.
Between guilt and surrender.
And this?
This had felt like surrender.
Like something heavy inside him had finally settled into place.
It should have made her feel relieved.
Instead, it scared her.
Because every time he felt familiar lately, hope came crawling back in.
And hope had teeth.
Hope had already ruined her once.
And her chest squeezed painfully.
Because God.
She had missed hearing him laugh.
Missed hearing normal.
Missed hearing anything that sounded remotely like life.
For years.
Years.
She had sat alone imagining what his laugh sounded like so she would not forget.
And now he was here with her again.
Breathing. Healing. Broken. Different yet still somehow hers.
The house felt quieter now.
Like something important had already happened while she was upstairs.
Parker stood near the front door.
Keys in hand.
Jacket half zipped.
And Chase...
Chase stood near the kitchen counter, one hand braced against the edge like he had been standing there thinking for a while.
Too quiet.
Too thoughtful.
It was like somebody had finally forced him to deal with something hard and necessary.
She knew Parker.
Knew the timing.
Knew the careful way he protected people.
And she knew without anybody saying a word he had told him.
About Emily.
About the complaint.
About the investigation.
About all of it.
And somehow now Chase looked older.
Sadder.
But clearer.
Like confusion had finally started hardening into understanding.
Parker looked up first.
Immediately clocked her expression.
The way she was trying to casually assess emotional damage without looking like she was assessing emotional damage.
"You look suspicious," he said.
She narrowed her eyes immediately.
"You look guilty."
"That a bit of a dramatic assessment."
"I think I hit the nail on the head."
Parker snorted softly.
Then glanced toward Chase once.
Something quiet passing between them.
A big brother showing support and love.
Then Parker crossed the room and clapped Chase lightly once on the shoulder.
"Brother," he said quietly.
A pause.
"Don't screw this up."
Chase gave a tired exhale through his nose.
"That feels like a threatening statement Parker."
"It's supposed to."
Then Parker turned toward her.
And something in his expression softened immediately.
He motioned subtly toward the front door.
"Walk me out?"
Her brows lifted.
Suspicion immediate.
"What did you do?"
"Rude of you to assume I did anything."
"That wasn't a denial."
Parker sighed dramatically.
"You wound me."
Still, she followed because of course she did.
The front porch felt warmer now.
The morning had fully stretched around them.
Clouds had broken apart overhead.
Rainwater still dripping lazily from the roof.
Parker shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
Then looked at her.
Really looked at her.
And immediately saw it.
The fear.
The hope she was trying not to feel.
The emotional exhaustion she wore like second skin now.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
She crossed her arms loosely.
"I don't know."
Honesty, and he had been expecting it because she was always a little too honest for her own good.
His expression softened.
"That's perfectly okay."
Silence stretched for a second.
Then he sighed.
"You know..."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"You don't gotta keep protectin' everybody from your feelings."
Her brows pulled together immediately.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," he said carefully, "you're real good at making sure everybody else gets grace."
A pause.
"Even when you don't give yourself any."
That hit.
Because God.
Wasn't that true?
"You're allowed to love him and still be pissed at him."
The words landed harder than expected.
She looked away.
Toward the yard.
Toward literally anything else.
"I am pissed," she muttered quietly.
"Yeah," Parker said gently."I would never know it because you keep apologizing for it."
Unfortunately his assessment was true.
"You're allowed to defend your husband."
The word husband settled somewhere tender.
Messy.
Complicated.
Painful.
"You're allowed to be angry and you're allowed to hate what happened."
A pause.
"You're allowed to yell at your husband too."
That almost pulled a laugh out of her.
Almost.
"He's been through enough."
Parker sighed softly.
"There you go again."
"What?"
"Protectin' everybody but yourself."
He shrugged lightly.
"Chase losin' his memory ain't his fault."
Another pause.
"But the hurt?"
His voice softened.
"That part still belongs to you."
God.
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
Because nobody had really said that before.
Nobody had given her permission to stop feeling guilty for the resentment.
For the jealousy.
For the absolute satisfaction she had felt but had hidden when Emily lost him too.
"You don't gotta punish yourself for feelin' what anybody would feel," Parker added quietly.
She knew he was right.
Because maybe she had been punishing herself.
For not being endlessly understanding.
For not forgiving fast enough.
For still hurting.
For still grieving.
For still being so damn angry.
Her eyes dropped.
Quiet.
"Do you think I'm making this too hard on him?" she asked softly.
Parker answered immediately.
"No."
Firm.
No hesitation.
"I think life made this hard."
A pause.
"And I think y'all are both trying."
Another pause.
"Messily."
That got the tiniest laugh from her.
Broken around the edges.
"Messily sounds right."
He bumped her shoulder lightly.
"You got this."
Then softer he added.
"Just don't stop lettin' yourself try too."
He started toward his truck.
Then paused.
Turned back once.
"Oh."
A pause.
"He knows."
Her chest tightened immediately.
"What?"
"About Emily and the complaint, the ethics board... All of it."
She went still.
Completely still.
"...And?"
Parker held her gaze.
"He understands."
A pause.
"He ain't mad."
Another pause.
"If anything?"
His expression shifted slightly.
"He's mad at himself."
God.
That somehow hurt worse.
Parker sighed softly.
"He's trying, Aria."
A beat.
"And you have got to stop being scared every time things start feelin' normal."
And then he was gone.
Leaving her standing there.
Heart entirely too full.
Entirely too terrified.
Because normal with Chase was the thing she wanted most and feared the worst.
The second she stepped back inside, her phone rang.
She almost ignored it.
Honestly?
She wanted one day.
One day where life stopped asking things from her.
One day where she could sit still long enough to figure out what the hell she was doing.
But the screen lit up again.
Memorial Hospital.
She sighed.
Of course.
"Hello?"
"Nurse Hale?"
The charge nurse sounded stressed.
Which usually meant disaster.
"We are so sorry to ask, but we're dangerously short staffed today."
Aria closed her eyes briefly.
Already knowing where this was headed.
"Two of our nurses called out sick. Dr. Patterson got pulled into emergency surgery and we're slammed."
A pause.
"Is there any way you could come in? Even for a partial shift or just a few hours?"
Aria glanced toward the kitchen.
Toward Chase.
Still standing there quietly thinking.
And selfishly for a second she wanted to stay with him.
Wanted to sit in this weird fragile thing they were trying to rebuild.
Wanted one normal day.
But hospitals didn't care about emotional crises.
People still got sick.
They still needed help, still bled, still coded and still died every minute of the day.
And Aria had never learned how to say no to people who needed her.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "I'll be there."
By the time she hung up, Chase was looking at her.
Concern immediately there.
"You okay?"
She rubbed lightly at her forehead.
"Memorial's short staffed."
His expression shifted immediately.
"You have to go in."
Not a question.
A knowing.
She nodded.
"For a little while."
A pause.
"Supposedly."
They both knew that meant absolutely nothing.
Hospital time had its own rules.
A six-hour shift became twelve.
Twelve became sixteen.
Neither said it.
Chase nodded at once with a quiet understanding.
"Okay."
And somehow that hurt a little.
Because old Chase would have argued.
Told her no.
Made her stay.
Made her rest.
This Chase seemed to understand responsibility and sacrifice.
Another difference between them.
The hospital felt exactly the same.
Which somehow made everything worse.
Bright lights.
Fast footsteps.
Coffee gone cold before anyone had a chance to drink it.
Controlled chaos.
Machines beeping.
Phones ringing.
Lives changing.
The world moving forward whether your personal life imploded or not.
People had clearly heard.
Of course they had.
Hospitals were basically giant rumor mills disguised as healthcare.
Nobody said much at first.
But people looked.
Too long.
Too carefully.
The awkward sympathy looks.
The curious looks.
The:
We know something happened but don't want to ask looks.
A nurse stopped her near the station.
Eyes hesitant.
"Hey..."
A pause.
"It's good to have you back."
Aria gave the professional smile.
The one she wore like armor.
"Good to be back."
Which wasn't exactly true.
But easier to say than the truth.
Then came the nosy ones.
Because there were always nosy ones.
One doctor she barely knew lingered too long in the breakroom.
"So..."
An awkward pause.
"I heard your husband is finally back... alive."
Trailed off.
Waiting.
Fishing.
God.
She hated this.
How exactly was she supposed to explain:
My husband came back from the dead with severe trauma and another wife?
Like that sounded remotely sane.
"It's complicated," she said simply.
Professional smile.
Boundary up.
"I'm not really ready to talk about it."
The message landed.
Mostly.
Another nurse caught her later.
"...Wait, weren't you the nurse whose husband came back from the dead?"
Aria blinked once.
Slowly.
"Yes."
Technically.
"No."
Currently.
"Like I told the others."
A tight smile.
"It's complicated."
Then she changed the subject.
Redirected.
Focused on patients.
Rounds.
Charts.
People who needed her.
Because medicine always made sense.
Broken bones had plans.
Illness had treatment.
Grief?
Love?
Marriage?
None of that came with instructions.
By the time evening came, she was exhausted.
Feet aching.
Emotionally drained.
Coffee cold.
Lunch forgotten.
Again.
All she wanted was quiet.
Maybe takeout.
A shower.
Sleep.
The sky had already begun darkening by the time she pulled into the driveway.
She unlocked the front door quietly.
And immediately she noticed that something felt different.
The house sat dimly lit.
Warm.
Quiet.
Not silent exactly.
Soft music drifted faintly from upstairs.
And then...
She smelled it.
Food.
Real food.
Something warm.
Savory.
Garlic.
Butter.
Rosemary.
Something simmering.
She blinked once.
Slowly.
Because that was weird.
Really weird.
Chase couldn't cook.
He must have ordered out.
Aria stood there for another second.
Keys still in her hand.
Purse hanging from her shoulder.
Trying to process the fact that something smelled...
Like genuinely good.
Her brows pulled together immediately.
Because again Chase could not cook.
At all.
College Chase once managed to burn ramen noodles.
Ramen noodles.
Something she still maintained should have been scientifically impossible.
He had also somehow nearly set off the smoke alarm making grilled cheese.
Twice.
She kicked off her shoes slowly.
Still staring toward the kitchen.
"...Parker?" she called cautiously. Thinking maybe he had dropped by with takeout.
Nothing.
Only soft music.
And the faint sound of something clattering lightly against a pan.
Then Chase's voice came from the kitchen.
"Kitchen!"
A pause.
Then louder:
"Also before you panic... nothing is actively on fire."
Her mouth twitched despite herself.
She sat down her keys and purse before heading up the stairs for her shower.
She was still functioning on pure muscle memory.
Work first.
Shower.
Comfort clothes.
Survive the day.
Only the second she stepped into her room.
She stopped.
Completely.
Because...
What?
The lamp beside the bed glowed warm.
Soft.
Comforting.
The room looked...
Prepared.
Her favorite oversized sleep shirt sat folded neatly on the edge of the bed.
Fresh from the dryer.
Beside it lay her favorite worn sweatpants and the ridiculously soft socks she only wore after terrible shifts.
The ones Chase used to jokingly call her "depression socks."
Her chest tightened immediately.
She stepped farther inside.
The bathroom door sat cracked open.
Warm light spilling through.
Steam curling softly out.
And immediately her throat tightened.
No.
No way.
The towel warmer glowed softly.
Already on.
Her towel warming inside.
Steam drifted gently from the bathtub.
The lavender candle.
Her candle.
Lit quietly beside the sink.
The expensive one she only burned after shifts that emotionally wrecked her.
The water already run.
Just liked she did it for herself.
Not too full. Not too hot.
Exactly how she loved it.
Her hand moved slowly toward the counter.
And there folded neatly beside the sink was a note.
Messy handwriting.
Different now.
A little shakier.
But familiar enough to ache.
You looked tired this morning.
Figured maybe this still helped.
Don't judge the cooking.
— C
God.
Her throat tightened immediately.
Because nobody knew this.
Nobody.
Not Parker.
Not Naomi.
Not Emily.
This was theirs.
Something private.
Small.
Intimate in a way nobody else would understand.
It was something he had done for her when they were younger working multiple part time jobs.
This was their marriage plain and simple.
Her fingers tightened around the note.
Because somehow he had remembered.
Maybe not consciously.
Instinctively.
He remembered how to care for her and that scared the hell out of her.
Hope whispered dangerous things.
Things like:
Maybe he's coming back.
Things like:
Maybe this could still work.
Things like:
Maybe you didn't lose him entirely.
She did not know if her heart could survive believing that again.
Her eyes burned unexpectedly.
"...You idiot," she whispered quietly.
Affection tangled painfully with grief.
Because this felt natural and easy.
Downstairs something clattered loudly.
Then Chase was muttering:
"Aw hell."
A pause before he spoke voice raise so she could hear him.
"...Okay maybe judge the cooking a little."
And despite herself Aria laughed.
A real laugh.
Small.
Tired.
But real.
She had missed this.
Missed him.
Missed the feeling of somebody quietly taking care of her when she forgot how to take care of herself.
She bathed and changed quickly.
Pulled on the sleep shirt.
The sweatpants.
The socks.
Before she made her way downstairs.
And stopped dead in the doorway of the kitchen.
Because...
What the hell.
Chase was cooking.
Actually cooking.
Competently.
Like he was stirring something on the stove while chopping vegetables competently.
A timer going.
Bread in the oven.
Actual organization happening.
She stared.
Openly.
Suspiciously.
"You," she said slowly.
Chase glanced over his shoulder.
Sleeves rolled halfway up.
Hair slightly messy.
Dish towel over one shoulder.
And somehow looking ridiculously domestic.
His expression shifted immediately when he saw her.
Something softer there.
"Hey."
Then he noticed the clothes and her still damp hair.
And immediately looked awkward.
Almost nervous.
"I, uh..."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Hope that didn't weird you out?"
God.
That gesture.
So familiar.
Her chest betrayed her again.
"You made me a bath," she said quietly.
Like she still couldn't fully believe it.
He looked back toward the stove briefly.
Then shrugged once.
Trying for casual.
"You always hated people talkin' to you after bad shifts."
A pause.
"You used to just wanna decompress first."
"You remembered that?" she asked quietly.
His jaw shifted slightly.
"More like it was instinctive before it was a clear memory."
A pause.
"I just suddenly thought it was something I should do and then while I was doing it the memories came back to me."
He frowned.
That somehow wrecked her more.
Because some part of him still remembered loving her this way.
Then her eyes narrowed.
Suspicious again.
"...Why does it smell good?"
He blinked.
"What?"
"You."
She gestured vaguely toward the stove.
"You couldn't cook."
Offense immediately crossed his face.
"Okay rude."
"You burned ramen."
"That happened one time."
"Three."
He pointed at her accusingly.
"You swore never to bring that up."
"You almost killed us with noodles."
"That's just you being dramatic."
"That's not what the fireman said."
Chase froze.
"...There was a fireman?"
Aria folded her arms immediately.
"Oh, there was absolutely a fireman involved."
His brows pulled together.
"Okay, in my defense..."
"There is no defense."
"There were extenuating circumstances."
"You once poured extremely hot grease down the sink and melted out pipes."
"I was nineteen."
"You were stupid."
"I was ambitious."
"You caught dry noodles on fire."
His face shifted into immediate offense.
"Allegedly."
"Chase."
"You weren't there."
"I literally lived there."
"That feels circumstantial."
And God the way he said it.
The little sarcastic tilt in his voice.
The familiar stubbornness.
It hit something painful and warm inside her all at once.
Because there he was.
Not fully.
Not perfectly.
But pieces.
Pieces of the man she loved.
Standing in her kitchen arguing over burnt ramen like no time had passed at all.
He turned back toward the stove, stirring something carefully.
Now that was different.
Because Chase never stirred things carefully.
Old Chase cooked like cooking personally offended him.
Maximum chaos.
No measurements.
No patience.
Usually one small kitchen fire.
"You still haven't answered my question," she said slowly.
He glanced back.
"What question?"
"How are you cooking?"
He paused.
Actually paused.
Like he hadn't really thought about it.
Then shrugged lightly.
"... I can cook now."
"That's awesome."
"That feels rude are you being rude?"
"Maybe a little but I blame the shock."
His mouth twitched up in a smile.
Then he gestured vaguely toward the stove.
"Turns out life can sometimes teach us weird skills."
The sentence landed oddly.
Not painful exactly.
Just...
Complicated.
Because there it was again.
Will.
The years she missed.
The life he lived without her.
The things somebody else got to teach him.
But then he looked awkward suddenly.
Rubbed the back of his neck.
"I remembered what you liked."
The sentence came quieter.
Careful.
Like he wasn't sure how much he was allowed to say following that awkward reveal.
Her chest tightened immediately.
"What?"
"The food."
He nodded toward the pot.
"I don't know why."
A pause.
"Just kinda..."
He frowned slightly tapping the side of his head with his finger.
"Came back."
Her throat tightened.
Dangerous.
This was dangerous for her because right now hope was standing in her kitchen stirring dinner.
She looked away first.
She needed distance and fresh air.
Needed literally anything besides the feeling crawling up her chest.
"That smells suspiciously good," she muttered forcing herself to stay put.
His expression shifted instantly.
Tiny victory.
"Well..."
He gestured toward the stove.
"I figured after a twelve hour shift you probably deserved something better than cereal."
Her breath caught a little.
That was such a Chase thing to say.
Old Chase had always taken care of her like that.
Quietly.
Without fanfare.
Like loving her was practical.
Like care looked like remembering the little things.
Food after hard shifts.
Heating her towel.
Charging her phone because she forgot.
Putting gas in her car.
Small things.
Marriage things.
Her fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the counter.
"You remembered the towel warmer," she said quietly.
He stilled.
Just slightly.
Then nodded once.
"Felt familiar."
His voice lowered.
"Like something I used to do."
You did.
God.
You did.
Every bad shift.
Every hard day.
Every time life got too heavy.
And suddenly... the kitchen felt too small.
Chase looked back at the stove quickly.
Maybe because he felt it too.
Maybe because he didn't know what to do with it.
"So," he said, clearing his throat.
Trying for lighter.
"Before you judge me professionally..."
He pointed toward the stove.
"...you wanna taste test?"
And without thinking... without even realizing she was doing it, she moved.
Walking to his side.
He lifted the spoon automatically.
Held it toward her without thinking.
Like muscle memory.
Like he'd done it a thousand times.
It felt devastatingly intimate.
Neither moved for a second.
The kitchen suddenly too quiet except for the low simmer of dinner.
Then quietly, almost awkwardly he muttered:
"...Right."
And started to pull the spoon back.
But Aria before she could think better of it reached forward.
Took the spoon gently and after blowing on it she pulled it into her mouth and tasted it.
Silence.
Chase watched her carefully.
Way too carefully.
He looked nervous.
"Okay," she admitted quietly.
A pause.
"I hate this."
His brows lifted immediately.
"That bad?"
"No."
She looked at him accusingly.
"That good."
A beat.
"...I hate that for me."