Chapter 41
The rest of the work week passed in small moments.
Not dramatic ones.
Not life changing ones.
Just quiet little things that somehow started stitching something fragile back together between them.
The kind of moments that would have looked ordinary to anybody else but felt strangely monumental after everything they had survived.
Like Chase waiting up for her after late shifts even when exhaustion sat heavy on him, pretending he "wasn't tired anyway" while sitting on the couch with his laptop open and whatever documentary he swore he wasn't going to watch quietly playing in the background.
Or Aria coming downstairs in the mornings to find coffee already made because somewhere along the way he had started remembering how she liked it again, too much creamer, one sugar, he always made it early enough that it had time to cool because she always forgot to let hot coffee cool and drank it too fast.
There were dinners eaten at the kitchen island while Chase half listened to frustrating conference calls and Aria vented about impossible patients and dramatic coworkers.
Nights where they ended up sitting too close on the couch without acknowledging it.
Small touches that seemed to happen more naturally now, her fingers brushing absentmindedly through his hair while he worked, his hand settling automatically against the small of her back when they moved around each other in the kitchen. Tiny things. Familiar things.
Naomi's homework, annoyingly enough, had been working.
Aria caught herself noticing it.
The moments fear interrupted.
The moments she pulled back.
Like Thursday evening when Chase had woken from a nightmare, screaming loud and breathing heavy, his shoulders tight with so much tension that she knew he had gone somewhere awful in his sleep again.
The old version of herself might have frozen, unsure if touching him would make things worse, afraid of saying the wrong thing.
Instead, now she reached for him without overthinking.
No fear.
Just instinct.
Her fingers running through his hair and over his face.
"Hey," she had whispered softly. "You're okay."
He had gone still for a second.
Then turned toward her and without saying much of anything he had tucked himself closer.
Like he trusted her to hold the pieces together when things got bad.
By Friday evening, something between them felt easier.
Like both of them had stopped walking on eggshells with each other quite so much.
Which was exactly why Aria stood in the kitchen Saturday morning trying not to look nervous while stuffing sandwiches into a cooler like she hadn't completely overcommitted emotionally to this plan.
The sun had barely climbed over the trees outside yet, warm streaks of gold spilling through the kitchen windows while she double checked sunscreen, towels, drinks, snacks, bug spray, extra clothes, and approximately six things they probably didn't actually need.
Because apparently anxiety packing was her personality now.
The kayaks were already loaded.
The picnic blanket folded.
The cooler packed.
Everything ready.
All she had to do was convince Chase to go.
When she had told him her idea Friday night he had some reservations about the idea.
However, by night he had agreed to go but only because he did not want to disappoint her.
Now as the time to leave drew near he was second guessing the decision and she didn't know why.
Upstairs, she heard the bedroom door open followed by his heavy footsteps as he moved back towards his room.
Then silence.
"Chase?" she called.
Nothing.
She frowned.
"Chase?"
A longer pause.
Then she heard his say in a strangely despondent tone.
"...I don't think this is a good idea."
She blinked, immediately confused.
"What isn't a good idea?"
His voice came quieter this time.
Even more despondent sounding than before.
"The lake."
Aria turned slowly toward the stairs.
"What do you mean the lake? Chase, I don't understand what's wrong with going to the lake, you love it there?"
Another pause.
And suddenly, something in his tone shifted.
His tone was hesitant and uncomfortable.
"I just..." he exhaled quietly. "I don't know if this is a good idea."
Now she was fully confused.
"You?"
She leaned against the counter slightly.
"The man who used to practically live on the water?"
Still nothing.
Then finally: "It's not because of the water."
Her stomach dropped a little.
Because suddenly, she knew what he meant.
She just hadn't thought about it until now.
"You haven't really..." he stopped himself. Started over. "Seen me."
Her chest tightened.
"Chase..."
"I mean really seen me."
His voice stayed calm, but she could hear it there now.
The vulnerability.
The discomfort.
He came downstairs still dressed in his t-shirt and lounge pants. His body was tense with anxiety.
"The legs don't count I am used to people seeing those scars," he said quietly. "I know you saw all those scars when I was in the hospital gown."
Silence stretched.
"My chest and back are the worst... people stare enough when it's just my legs but when they see my chest and back... they are shocked or worse."
God.
Something about the way he said it, so matter of fact, so been there done that.
Like he had already accepted peoples behavior in reaction to his scars.
Made something ache in her chest.
"I just..." he exhaled hard. "I don't want your first reaction to seeing them to be in public."
And suddenly, the weekend stopped being about the lake for a minute.
It became about Chase.
About the way he saw himself now.
About all the things captivity had apparently stolen that she hadn't even thought to grieve yet.
Because somewhere between surviving and coming home, he had stopped seeing himself the way she did.
He looked down for a second, jaw shifting slightly like he already regretted saying any of this out loud.
"I honestly wish you never had to see them. Period."
His voice stayed quiet, his tone flat, and his words were so matter of fact.
"They make me look like Frankenstein's monster."
The words made her flinch without meaning to.
She hated hearing him speak like that about his body, because no matter what his scars looked like she knew she would still love his body no matter what.
Because he was still Chase no matter what.
"Chase..."
He shook his head once, already standing from where he leaned against the kitchen doorway turning away from her before he moved to head back upstairs.
"No, I'm serious."
There was humor there or at least an attempt at it.
But she knew him too well.
Knew the difference between Chase joking and Chase trying not to bleed emotionally in front of somebody.
"You remember how I used to look."
That was honest and undeniable because she did.
Twenty three.
Sunburnt shoulders at the lake.
Cocky grin.
Too much confidence.
The body of somebody untouched by war, untouched by torture and captivity.
"I don't look like that anymore."
His voice quieted toward the end.
Like admitting it out loud made it more real.
"And I know it sounds stupid, but..."
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the scar there disappearing briefly beneath his fingers.
"You already had to watch me come back different mentally."
His eyes dropped.
"I don't know if I'm real excited to watch you see just how different I am physically."
That nearly undid her because all week she had experienced his tenderness.
She had enjoyed his closeness.
Yet, down deep somehow this had still been living quietly inside him.
Shame and fear.
The awful little voice convincing him she'd look at him differently.
Like the damage somehow erased the man.
Slowly, Aria set the sunscreen down on the counter next to the cooler.
And without saying anything, started toward him on the stairs.
He backed away from her seeking the safety of his room.
"Aria..."
She ignored him because she was determined now.
By the time she reached him, Chase had gone strangely still.
Like maybe he realized she wasn't about to let him dodge this.
He stood near the edge of the bed already his clothes for the trip lay neatly folded there.
His swim trunks and dark shirt would act as his armor.
"Put these on," she said, as she picked the items up and handed them to him.
She turned her back and heard him hesitate then sign as he changed into his lake clothes.
When he was finished she turned around and noticed how guarded and uncomfortable he seemed.
Like he was bracing himself for what came next.
That alone broke her heart, because Chase had never been self conscious before.
Not once.
Not the man who used to change shirts without thinking, cannonball into lakes like he was invincible, tease her for stealing hoodies because "you just wanna be as cool as me."
This version looked... afraid.
"You really think I'm gonna look at you differently?" she asked quietly.
His jaw tightened.
"You haven't seen it yet."
That wasn't an answer.
It was fear.
Standing there between them just waiting to be proven right.
The kind that came from loving someone and wondering if the proof of what happened to you might finally be the thing that changes how they look at you.
She moved forward and stopped a few feet in front of him.
Close enough to reach for him if he needed it.
Far enough not to crowd him.
"Okay," she said softly.
Chase frowned slightly.
"Okay?"
Her voice gentled even more.
"Then show me."
He looked at her for a second like maybe he hadn't heard her right.
"Aria..."
"No."
She shook her head once.
"We're not doing this thing where you spend all day panicking about what I might think."
Her eyes softened. "It's just us here and there is no pressure, no audience, and no strangers".
The bedroom suddenly felt quieter somehow.
Morning sunlight spilling softly across the floor.
The sound of birds outside.
The faint hum of the house around them.
And Chase standing there looking more vulnerable than she had maybe ever seen him.
His jaw shifted slightly.
"You say that now."
There it was.
The fear again, rawer than before.
Like some part of him had already decided what her reaction would be.
Aria stepped closer.
Close enough now that her hand lightly brushed his forearm.
"Chase."
Waited until he looked at her.
"Show me."
Her thumb brushed lightly against his arm.
"Here." A pause. "When it's just the two of us."
Something flickered across his face.
Uncertainty.
Embarrassment.
Shame, maybe.
And God, that made her want to cry.
Because this man had survived hell and somehow still worried she might stop loving him over scars.
He let out a slow breath through his nose.
Then another.
Like he was trying to steady himself.
"You don't gotta pretend," he said quietly. "If it freaks you out, just..." His eyes dropped briefly. "I'd rather know... if it does."
Her chest physically hurt.
Because somewhere along the way, he had convinced himself that she might look at him and see something ruined.
Slowly, deliberately, she reached for the hem of his shirt.
Not pulling.
Just resting her fingers there.
Asking.
His eyes lifted back to hers.
Searching.
Like he was still trying to figure out if this was a mistake.
"It's me," she said quietly.
"You don't have to hide from me."
For a long moment he didn't move.
Then finally... he nodded okay.
And with more hesitation than she had ever seen from him, Chase reached for the bottom of his shirt.
His movements were slow and jerky, like his body physically resisted it.
His jaw shifted once.
"You can still back out," he muttered quietly, eyes not quite meeting hers. "I'm givin' you the option."
Aria's throat tightened. "Chase." she smiled to reassure him, "I'm not going anywhere."
His hazel eyes lifted to hers then, searching her face like he was looking for hesitation.
But she stayed exactly where she was.
So finally...
He pulled the shirt over his head.
At first, her brain struggled to process what she saw, not because it was ugly and not because it was too much.
But because it was... a lot.
The first thing she noticed was the scar across his ribs.
Deep.
Angrier than she expected, it was the kind of scar that hadn't healed cleanly, pale and jagged against his warm tan skin.
Then her eyes lifted to the faint lines criss crossing his muscled chest some faint and some still looked angry in places.
Old marks some thin and silvered with time while others looked rougher and uneven.
A pale scar near his collarbone she had never noticed before.
Faint marks across his shoulders.
Damage she knew without asking had stories attached to it he probably wasn't ready to tell.
And somehow seeing his scars wasn't even the hardest part of it all.
The hardest part was watching him shrink inwardly.
He stood there trying not to look nervous and failing.
Arms slightly tense at his sides.
Shoulders tighter than usual.
Eyes flicking away every half a second like he couldn't fully watch her reaction.
Like he had already prepared himself for disappointment.
"Back's worse," he said quietly.
Again his tone was matter of fact when announcing that bit of information, almost detached.
Like if he talked clinically enough maybe it wouldn't hurt.
"I know the chest ain't..." He shrugged once, humorless. "Great."
Aria blinked hard.
Because great?
Great wasn't even the word she was thinking.
Her heart physically ached.
Not because of what she saw.
But because every scar was proof.
Proof that he had suffered.
Proof that he had survived.
Proof that somewhere out there while she begged the universe to let him come home, he had been hurting alone.
And somehow still made it back to her.
"You wanna see the back?"
His voice came quieter now.
Careful.
Braced.
Like he was expecting the answer to be no.
Like maybe this was already enough.
Instead, Aria stepped closer.
Slow enough not to startle him.
Her eyes never leaving his face.
Then quietly her voice thick around the emotion building in her chest she said.
"Turn around."
Something uncertain flickered across his expression.
"You sure?"
She nodded once.
"Please."
And after a long pause, he turned.
The breath left her lungs, because his back was so much worse.
The back carried his history more brutally.
Long scars.
Layered ones.
Old wounds healed over badly in places, jagged in ways skin was never meant to heal, marks that crossed muscle and shoulder blade and lower back along with several burn marks and one clear knife wound... it was like pain had mapped itself into him permanently.
And suddenly, she couldn't stop seeing it, she couldn't stop imagining what had been done to inflict each mark on him. She fought back tears as she stared at his ravaged skin.
Her chest hurt and it was not because he looked ruined.
But because this was the absolute proof that somebody had tortured him.
Over, and over, and over again.
And now the one causing him fear was her because he was worried she'd think he looked monstrous.
Quietly, Chase exhaled.
Still facing away from her.
"Told you."
The attempt at humor landed flat.
"Frankenstein."
That did it.
Before he could say another self deprecating thing, Aria closed the distance and without hesitation she raised her hands gently to his back.
Her touch was soft, reverent, almost like she was touching something precious.
Chase went completely still.
"You know what I see?" she asked quietly.
His shoulders tensed slightly.
"What?"
Her fingers traced lightly beside one of the scars not on it, just near incase it still caused him pain.
"I see proof."
He frowned slightly. "What?"
Her voice cracked a little. "That you fought your way back to me."
Then quieter she added, "You think these make you look like a monster?"
Her hands moved gently around his waist as she stepped closer.
Resting her fingers lightly against his skin.
"Chase."
Waited until he turned enough to look at her.
"You still look like the man I love."
With that she gently kiss his left shoulder over the scar there.
His breath hitched at the touch of her hands and lips on his skin.
The warmth of her mouth against skin he had spent years trying not to think about.
Skin he avoided looking at too long.
Skin he had quietly convinced himself nobody could ever touch without seeing damage first.
Her fingers stayed light against him. Steady and grounding.
And for a second Chase just stood there. Like his brain didn't quite know what to do with tenderness directed at the parts of himself he hated most.
"Aria..."
Her name came quieter than usual, a bit rough around the edges.
She looked up at him. "What?"
His jaw shifted slightly.
Like he was trying and failing to organize thoughts he didn't really have words for.
"You don't gotta pretend."
The sentence came out smaller than he probably intended.
He really believed she was forcing this.
Trying to spare him.
Slowly, carefully, she stepped around him until she stood in front of him again.
Close enough that her hands stayed resting lightly against his sides.
"Do I look like I'm pretending?"
He looked down at her for a second.
And whatever he saw in her eyes made something in his expression soften.
Her thumb brushed lightly near the scar along his ribs.
"This body," she said quietly, voice shaking a little now, "survived things that should've broken you."
Her throat tightened.
"And somehow..."
She swallowed hard.
"You still came home."
The emotion finally caught her then.
Because standing this close and seeing all of it, had made it real in a way she hadn't fully understood before.
All those years. All that pain, and somehow he was standing here worried she wouldn't want him anymore.
Her eyes burned.
"You know what I hate?" she whispered.
His brows pulled together slightly.
"What?"
"That somebody hurt you this badly and I wasn't able to keep you safe."
Reaching up he touched her cheek as he leaned down eyes closed as a tear slid down his cheek and pressed his forehead against her own.
"Thank you for loving me Aria."