Chapter 50
Parker had learned something ugly about justice.
Sometimes, even when you won, nobody actually felt better.
The trial had ended three weeks ago, and somehow they all still carried the weight of it.
Emily Reynolds had lost.
Legally.
Professionally.
Personally.
The licensing board had revoked her ability to practice physical therapy indefinitely after the ethics violations were upheld.
The civil ruling had gone heavily against her.
Between the findings from the disciplinary board, testimony regarding Chase's cognitive impairment, emotional dependency, inappropriate boundaries, and the mountain of medical inconsistencies her attorney had failed to explain away—
The judge had not been kind. The criminal side of things had gotten uglier after. Questions about patient exploitation. Questions about medical coercion. Questions Parker still could not think about too long without wanting to put his fist through drywall.
Because every time he replayed Chase sitting in that conference room quietly explaining what had happened... God.
He got violent.
Emily had ultimately avoided jail time.
Barely.
The judge ruled that documented psychiatric instability, self harm history, severe depression, and longstanding mental health concerns warranted mandatory inpatient psychiatric rehabilitation instead of incarceration.
Parker still thought that was bullshit.
Personally?
He thought prison sounded great.
Because every time he replayed Chase sitting in that conference room quietly explaining what had happened to him.
God, he got angry all over again. Not loud angry. Not punch a wall angry.
No, it was t5he dangerous kind. The kind that sat quiet in your chest and made your jaw ache.
Because every time he remembered Chase talking about confusion and shame like somehow any of it had been his fault... Parker wanted to burn something down.
The worst part?
Chase still somehow carried guilt about it.
Like he had done something wrong.
Like he should have known better.
As if a man who could barely remember his own damn name was somehow supposed to navigate manipulation and blurred lines and emotional dependency all by himself.
It made Parker sick, because where the hell had everybody been?
Where had the military been? Where had the doctors been? Where the hell had he been?
The back porch creaked beneath Parker's boots as he stepped outside with a beer in hand.
Evening settled soft across the yard, warm air carrying the smell of cut grass and somebody grilling somewhere down the road.
And there, exactly where Parker expected him, sat Chase.
Quiet.
Head tipped back against the porch chair, one ankle crossed over his knee and a beer untouched beside him.
He was clearly thinking too hard.
The scar near his neck caught faint evening light while old marks disappeared beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt.
He looked more like himself these days.
Stronger. Healthier.
He was running again in the mornings. Working out.
Taking on remote engineering jobs, even if Parker knew damn well the man hated sitting behind a computer.
Some of the old habits had come back too.
The sarcastic comments. The protective streak.
The quiet steadiness that had always made people trust him.
But some things still sat heavier now.
Especially after court, especially after truth, because healing turned out to be uglier than either of them expected.
Finding memories again had been one thing.
Understanding them?
That had nearly destroyed him.
Inside the house, Aria had somehow become something Parker could only describe as terrifyingly soft and violently protective all at once.
The woman had gone full wife mode.
Scary wife mode, she looked at Chase like he hung the moon one second and wanted to fight somebody for breathing wrong near him the next.
Honestly?
Parker respected it.
Because she had spent years grieving him, buried him, and mourned him.
Only to get him back and discover somebody had broken pieces of him while he was gone.
God help anybody who hurt something Aria loved, because Parker had seen the look in her eyes after court.
Sweet girl.
Terrifying damn woman.
He twisted the cap off his beer and walked toward Chase.
"You gonna sit out here brooding all night," Parker asked, dropping into the chair beside him, "or are you eventually gonna come inside and let your wife force feed you?"
Chase didn't even open his eyes. "She made spaghetti."
Parker snorted. "So?"
"She put vegetables in it." A short pause. "On purpose."
That got Parker. A laugh slipped out before he could stop it.
"Brother, that woman loves you. Eat the damn vegetables."
Chase smiled.
Parker twisted the beer bottle slowly between his hands before leaning back in the porch chair.
For a while, neither of them said anything. The silence between them had never needed fixing.
Evening settled softly around them while cicadas buzzed somewhere in the distance. The sky had started turning that strange mix of orange and fading blue that always made Parker feel restless.
Inside the house, he could hear Aria moving around in the kitchen.
Cabinet doors being opened and shut, sounds from the stove, and the soft hum of somebody trying to stay busy.
Parker knew enough about grief to recognize it, people moved when they were hurting.
People cleaned, cooked, and organized things they found something to control when life stopped making sense.
"She ain't sleepin'."
Chase's voice came quiet beside him.
Parker looked over.
Chase still stared out at the yard.
"What?"
Chase swallowed once. "Aria." A pause. "She thinks I don't notice." His voice lowered. "But I do."
Parker stayed quiet, because something in Chase's face said: Don't interrupt.
"She checks if I'm breathin'." Chase scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "I wake up sometimes and she's just..." His throat moved. "...lookin' at me." A pause. "Hand on my chest." Another. "Like she's makin' sure I'm still there."
Parker looked out at the yard for a second.
Because honestly?
Yeah.
That tracked.
After burying him?
Hell.
He'd probably check too.
"She lost you once," Parker said quietly. "Now she knows how badly hurt you were."
Chase nodded faintly. "Yeah... she cried in the bathroom yesterday."
Parker frowned immediately. "What?"
Chase nodded once. "Thought I didn't hear her." His jaw tightened. "She keeps apologizin'."
"For what?"
Chase laughed once. "Everything."
Parker closed his eyes briefly.
Because of course she blamed herself.
That girl had always loved too hard.
"She keeps sayin' if she'd somehow gotten to me sooner..."
Chase shook his head slowly.
"...none of it would've happened."
Maybe all three of them were carrying guilt that never belonged to them.
Parker leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "She ain't mad at you, you know."
Chase looked over. "Then what the hell is this?"
Parker exhaled slowly. "She's grieving." A pause. "But different this time." He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "She grieved dead Chase." Another pause. "Now she's grievin' every damn thing alive Chase went through while she couldn't get to him."
Chase looked away.
"She loves you enough that she wishes she could've taken the hurt for you." Parker's voice softened slightly. "Problem is..." He leaned back again. "She can't." Another pause. "So now she's tryin' to love you hard enough to make up for lost time."
Chase went quiet.
Parker hated this, he hated watching his best friend heal from things that never should have happened.
Hated that Chase still looked ashamed anytime court got mentioned.
Because that was the thing nobody talked about enough.
The shame.
"You know what pisses me off?" Parker asked quietly.
Chase glanced over. "What?"
Parker's jaw flexed. "The fact that after everything..." A pause. "You still talk about it like it was somehow your fault."
Chase immediately looked away again.
And there it was, that damn shame.
Parker shook his head.
"No." His voice came firmer now. "We ain't doin' that." A pause. "You were hurt, you were confused, and brother..." His voice cracked unexpectedly. "You were alone."
The screen door opened softly behind them before Parker could say anything else.
Both men looked back.
Aria stood there in the doorway, arms folded loosely against herself, warm kitchen light spilling around her.
For a second, she just looked at Chase.
Really looked at him.
Like she still checked to make sure he was actually here.
Actually breathing.
Actually home.
Her expression softened immediately.
"Dinner's ready," she said quietly.
Neither man moved.
She sighed softly. "You two gonna sit out here brooding all night or are y'all coming to eat?"
Parker stood first with a quiet groan. "Well," he muttered, brushing off his jeans, "I guess mama is calling us to supper."
Aria rolled her eyes instantly. "I swear to God, Parker."
But there was softness in it now.
Chase stood slower.
She reached up automatically, fingers brushing lightly against the side of his face, her thumb lingering for just a second over his lower lip.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
Chase nodded once. "Yeah."
Her eyes searched his face anyway.
Making sure.
"Good." She leaned up, pressing a soft kiss against his mouth. When she pulled back, her hand lingered briefly against his chest.
Parker looked away immediately. "Gross."
Neither of them acknowledged him.
Inside, the kitchen smelled like garlic bread and tomato sauce, warm and familiar in the way homes only smelled after somebody cooked with love.
Aria moved naturally once they walked in.
Without thinking.
Without ceremony.
She grabbed a plate first and shoved it directly toward Parker. "Sit."
Parker blinked. "You just command people now?"
"Yes." A pause. "Eat your food."
He sat as she commanded, the plate in front of him already loaded with spaghetti, garlic bread, and enough food to feed a small village.
"You stress cook?" he asked.
Aria didn't even look up. "You stress me out so... yes."
Chase snorted quietly.
Aria set another plate in front of Chase next.
Same portion but with extra garlic bread, because of course she remembered exactly what he liked.
Then finally, only after both men had food, did she fix her own plate.
That was how Aria operated, everybody else first.
Always.
She settled quietly into the chair beside Chase.
Close enough their knees bumped naturally beneath the table.
And before she even touched her fork, she leaned over, resting her hand lightly against Chase's thigh beneath the table.
Grounding. Thoughtless. Protective.
Like she just needed contact. Needed proof.
Chase glanced over.
Something soft moved across his face again.
Something peaceful.
Aria had always thought grief was the hardest thing she would ever survive.
She had been wrong, because this felt crueler somehow.
Because Chase sat ten inches away from her at the kitchen table, alive and warm and quietly stealing garlic bread off her plate like he had not just shattered her heart wide open in a courthouse three weeks ago.
And somehow, that hurt worse.
Not because she was angry at him.
God no.
Never that.
But because now she knew what happened while she had been here crying herself to sleep, while she had been begging God to bring him home, while she had sat in therapy learning how to survive losing him. Chase had been somewhere else surviving things she had never even imagined.
Alone.
Completely alone even while surrounded by a people who claimed to love him.
Her fork scraped softly against the plate while Parker talked about something she barely heard.
Something involving work.
She couldn't focus,couldn't stop watching Chase from the corner of her eye.
The way he sat slightly slouched now when he was tired. The scar disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. The tiredness that still settled around his eyes some nights.
God.
How many nights had he sat awake somewhere hurting?
How many nights had he convinced himself he deserved bad things?
Her chest tightened painfully.
She hated it. Hated all of it. She hated Emily, she hated the military, and she hated every person who looked at him and somehow missed how vulnerable he had been.
Most of all, she hated that nobody protected him.
Because somebody should have.
"Aria?"
She blinked then looked up.
Both men were staring at her now.
Parker raised an eyebrow. "You good?"
Apparently she had been zoning out long enough to concern people. "Yeah."
The lie came easy.
Chase looked unconvinced immediately, because of course he did.
He knew her too well.
"You sure?" he asked quietly.
She nodded too fast. "Just tired."
Chase studied her for a second longer.
Then, without saying anything, his hand moved beneath the table and found hers automatically.
Warm fingers curling gently against her palm. "Come on, get up."
Before she could even question him, he was already standing, gently pulling her up with him.
"Good night, Parker," he said over his shoulder. "Lock the door on your way out."
The tone left absolutely no room for argument.
Parker blinked once, then looked between the two of them.
Then immediately he raised both hands.
"Oh, absolutely not. I ain't gettin' involved in whatever married people thing this is."
Chase ignored him entirely.
Aria barely had time to grab her water before Chase was already leading her toward the stairs.
Fast enough to confuse her, slow enough to make sure she kept up.
"Chase," she said quietly, trying to keep pace behind him, "what are you doing?"
He didn't answer.
Just kept walking.
One hand firmly wrapped around hers like he had already made up his mind about something.
When they finally made it upstairs and into the master bedroom, Chase stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind them.
Then, to her complete confusion, he started stripping.
Not dramatically. Not seductively. Just practically.
He toe'd off his boots on the floor, then his shirt was pulled up and over his head.
Hands already moving to unbutton his jeans.
Aria stood frozen near the dresser, blinking, completely caught off guard.
"Um..." Her eyebrows lifted. "Sir?"
Chase didn't even look up. "You haven't been sleepin'."
Matter of fact.
Like this was obvious.
His jeans dropped onto the chair near the bed.
"You're too busy checkin' on me." He pulled back the blankets with one hand. "And I can't sleep for watchin' you check on me."
That made her pause.
Because, Oh My God, he had noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He finally looked at her then.
Hair messy now, exhaustion sitting quietly in his face.
"So," he said simply, climbing into bed, "I'm sleepin' in our bed." A pause. "With my soon to be wife again."
Something in her chest cracked quietly at his words, wife again.
Chase settled back against the pillows and held an arm out toward her.
"Get over here." His voice softened. "So you can hold me and sleep." Another pause. "And I can finally sleep where I belong."
Aria's eyes burned instantly. "You really noticed?" she asked quietly.
The vulnerability in her own voice surprised her.
Chase gave her a look. "Sweetheart." A pause. "You touch my chest like six times a night."
Mortified, her face immediately flushed. "I..."
"You think I don't notice," he continued softly, amusement flickering briefly now, "but every three of four hours you some in here and check on me, if I move too much, you wake up."
His expression gentled.
"You check if I'm breathin'." Another pause. "Then you cry while tracing my scars."
Well, fantastic, now she wanted to crawl into a hole.
"I just..." Her voice cracked quietly. "I keep thinkin' about everything you have been through."
That wiped every trace of humor from his face.
Immediately, he sat up slightly and held his hand out again.
"Baby."
God, not that voice. The soft one.
The Chase voice.
"I'm okay and I am here. I am home."
Slowly, she kicked off her shoes, she changed clothes without much thought, and then climbed into bed beside him.
The second she settled, Chase moved.
Not hesitant. Not unsure. Just natural.
One arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him until her head rested against his chest.
Home. Warm. Safe.
His hand moved slowly through her hair.
"You can check if I'm breathin' all you want," he murmured quietly against the top of her head. A pause. "But at some point..." His thumb brushed gently against her shoulder. "You gotta sleep too."
Laying against his chest, Aria thought for the first time in a very long time, maybe she finally could.