Chapter 12 Aiden
AIDEN
Jealousy is an ugly thing to carry around, especially when you know you don’t have the right to it.
David is Mason’s father. No matter how much my jaw tightens every time his name comes up, no matter how badly I want to rewrite that fact, it doesn’t change.
He has rights. He has history. He has a claim that I will never have, no matter how much time I spend making pancakes with his kid or taking him to school in the mornings.
Knowing that doesn’t make it easier.
What I do have, for now, is proximity. Routine.
A fragile kind of normal that settles over the penthouse during the week and makes everything feel deceptively steady.
Mason pads into the kitchen every morning in socked feet, hair sticking up in directions that defy physics, and insists on helping me make breakfast. He cracks eggs with too much enthusiasm and takes his role very seriously.
Harper hovers at first, then backs off when she realizes I’m not going to let him get hurt.
She insists on folding laundry that doesn’t need folding or wiping down counters that are already clean.
I recognize it for what it is—her way of asserting control, of reminding herself that she’s not a guest in her own life.
On my way to work, I take Mason to school. He talks the entire drive, narrating his day before it’s even started, peppering me with questions about engines and Argyle. “Do you ever get scared in a fire?”
“Of course.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because it needs doing, and I can do it.”
His tiny frown in the rearview mirror kills me. “But you do it scared.”
I nod once. “Every firefighter is scared when they walk into a fire. That fear keeps you alert, so you pay attention to your surroundings. The day you stop being afraid is the day you stop paying attention, and that can get you hurt or worse. So the fear is a good thing. Does that make sense?”
Mason sits with that until we sit in the drop-off line. “It’s like when you color.”
“How’s that?”
“The lines keep you where you’re supposed to be. If you didn’t have the lines, then you wouldn’t know where to go, right?”
“So, you mean the fear is like the lines?”
He nods. “You color in the lines, and you get a good picture. You go into a fire when you’re scared, and you get to be safe.”
“That’s exactly it.” We pull into the drop spot. “Have a good day, bud.”
“Okay!” He jets out, off to see his friends.
I doubt he has any idea how much these mornings mean to me. How could he? But the morning talks in my truck are everything.
Harper picks him up in the afternoons, and when I come home, there’s a sense that something has held together while I was gone. She usually has dinner on the table within minutes of my arrival. It’s blissfully domestic.
It’s also dangerous.
Because it’s easy to forget what’s waiting at the edges when things feel this good. It’s easy to pretend that this is sustainable, that David is just a voice on the phone instead of a presence that can walk right through the front door and claim what’s his.
He calls more than once this week. Sometimes Harper lets it go to voicemail.
Sometimes she answers. Every time, I see the tension hit her shoulders before she even speaks.
I make a point of closing Mason’s bedroom door when it happens, turning on his tablet, giving him something loud and distracting so he doesn’t hear the conversations that leave his mother tight-lipped and pale.
By Thursday night, she stops pretending it doesn’t bother her. “You don’t get to suddenly care about custody, David. You’ve missed the last three visits.”
I can’t hear what he says in response. I don’t need to. She presses her fingers into her temple like she’s fighting off a headache. The anger blooms hot and immediate in my chest, sharp enough that I have to step into the kitchen and grip the counter until it passes.
Hating David comes easily. Respecting that this isn’t my fight does not.
I tell myself that staying quiet is the right move. That Harper would never forgive me if I tried to step in and manage this for her. She loves her independence too much. She’s fought too hard for it, and she fights for it every time that asshole calls her.
I won’t be the man who swoops in and takes that from her. All I can do is be here, steady and available, even when every instinct in me wants to do more.
By Friday night, the knock on the door feels inevitable.
David looks exactly like the kind of man I expect him to be.
Polished. Preppy. Effortlessly put together in a way that feels deliberate, like he dressed for this moment instead of stumbling into it.
His jacket is pressed, his hair perfectly in place, his expression relaxed in a way that immediately sets my teeth on edge.
He stands in the doorway like he belongs there, like this is just another stop on his schedule.
We size each other up in the space of a single breath.
He’s taller than I expected, lean instead of broad, the kind of man who looks like he’s never had to use his body for anything harder than a gym membership. I’m aware, suddenly and acutely, of how different we are. Of how easy it would be for him to write me off at a glance.
I’m just a firefighter. Blue collar to his white collar. The type of person he hires, not a man he would ever see as an equal.
“So, you’re the guy my ex-wife is hooking up with?” David says lightly, his gaze flicking past me toward Harper as she joins us by the door. “Interesting choice, Harper.”
Harper goes pale.
My hands clench at my sides, fingers curling into fists I don’t let rise. This isn’t my moment. This isn’t my fight. As much as every instinct in me wants to step forward and shut this down, I know better.
Harper would hate me for it. She doesn’t need a savior. She can save herself.
“Petty comments are beneath you, David,” she says sharply. “Or have you become bitter since I left?”
He snorts at that. “As if your absence changes anything in my life. I was merely noting the interesting approach you’ve taken to life in Columbus. It’s a pity that you’re falling apart and grasping at straws—”
“She’s staying here because someone tried to burn down her bar,” I interrupt because I can’t keep my mouth shut. She might not need a savior, but I’ll be damned if I’m about to let him get away with his shitty attitude right in front of me. “I’m helping a friend. So, lighten up.”
David’s mouth quirks. “A friend. Right.” He turns fully toward Harper then, ignoring me like I’m furniture. “This is the guy, isn’t it? From Carlie’s party. The one you could never shut up about when you were drunk?”
What was that?
“David, don’t,” Harper says, her voice tight.
He doesn’t listen. “All those years, I knew I was second choice. You married me, but you wanted him.” He sizes me up again, judgment skewering into my soul. “Carlie is so refined, I thought you might be, as well. I suppose it’s not the first time I’ve been wrong.”
My jaw locks as I force myself to stay silent. This is exactly what he wants—to provoke me, to turn this into something he can point at later and say, see? This is who you’re bringing around our kid.
Something he can bring up to a family court judge.
So, I don’t move. I don’t speak. I won’t give him what he wants.
Harper’s shoulders tense, her hands shaking just slightly at her sides. I hate that I can see it. I hate that I can’t do anything about it without making things worse. Her voice is hoarse and quiet. “David, stop.”
Then Mason appears in the hallway, drawn by the unfamiliar voice and the tension he doesn’t yet know how to name. “Daddy!”
David’s expression shifts instantly, softening into something shockingly warm. He crouches, arms opening, and Mason barrels into him without hesitation. The sight twists something ugly and complicated in my chest. “There’s my guy,” David says, scooping him up. “How about some ice cream?”
Mason lights up. “Yay!”
“I’ll bring him back in an hour,” David says to Harper, already turning toward the door with Mason balanced on his hip. “We’ll talk more later.”
The door closes behind them. The silence that follows is brutal.
Harper doesn’t move right away. She stands where she is, staring at the closed door like she’s bracing for it to open again. When she finally exhales, it comes out shaky and uneven, like she’s been holding her breath since David arrived. Her voice is still quiet. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask.
“For that,” she replies, gesturing vaguely toward the door. “For him. For… all of it.”
“You don’t owe me an apology or anything else.” And I mean it, even if my chest still feels tight and bruised from everything I didn’t say.
She lets out a short, humorless laugh and sinks down onto the couch, folding in on herself in a way that makes her look smaller than she is. The humiliation hangs off her in visible layers, exhaustion weighing her down now that she’s no longer holding herself upright for Mason’s sake.
I can’t fix that, and I can’t beat the shit out of David. Instead, I head for the kitchen.
I scoop ice cream into a bowl—chocolate, because that’s what she always reaches for.
Whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and crushed salty peanuts.
I set it down on the coffee table in front of her and turn on the television, scrolling until I land on one of the true crime shows she watches religiously.
She looks up at me, startled. “What are you doing?”
“Eat.”
She lets out a tense laugh, then picks up the sundae. One bite, then another, shoulders relaxing just a fraction as the chocolate does its magic. I sit beside her, leaving enough space that she doesn’t feel crowded but close enough that she knows I’m there.
“Why do you like these shows?” I ask after a minute, nodding toward the screen. “Most of them are about women getting attacked.”
She shrugs, eyes fixed on the television. “Same reason I watch horror movies. Preparation.”
“For what exactly?”
She sighs, spoon hovering halfway to her mouth. “For knowing what to look for. What not to ignore.” Then her gaze flicks to me, something sad and wry there. “None of them prepared me for an arsonist.”
I don’t know what to say that won’t sound hollow or useless. I shift closer and sling my arm around her shoulders. “Nothing prepares you for that.”
The second my arm settles there, reality snaps into focus. The intimacy of the gesture hits hard and fast, panic flaring just long enough for me to consider pulling back.
This is too much. Too familiar. Too easy. I should move, but then Harper leans into me.
Her head rests against my chest, her body relaxing into it. As if every point of contact between us comforts her, too. My heart stutters, then flips entirely, the sensation so intense it almost steals my breath.
I stay still. I don’t tighten my arm. I don’t loosen it either. I just exist in this perfect moment.
And then someone knocks at the door.
“An hour,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me. “He said an hour.”
I glance at the clock on the wall. Forty minutes have passed. Why are they back early?
Watching Mason walk out that door with David felt like swallowing broken glass, and I’m not even the one with legal standing in the situation. But he has every right to have that hour with his father. I can’t imagine shorting time with that boy.
Harper gets up to answer the door, but I stay put. If I’m there, it will only fuel David’s bullshit.
The door opens and closes with a firmness that carries down the hall.
I hear Mason’s voice first, tired but still bright, chattering about ice cream flavors and how chocolate should always have chocolate chips in it.
David’s voice follows, polished and pleasant, the tone he saves for public moments when he wants to sound reasonable. “Alright, buddy. Say goodbye.”
“Bye, Daddy,” Mason says quietly.
“I’ll see you soon,” David gently replies. Then his voice turns harsh, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer. We need to revisit the custody arrangement. That… man is a problem.”
Harper’s voice has a chill that spikes ice up my spine. “Have your lawyer call mine.”
The door closes again, this time softer, more final.
“Mom?” Mason asks.
“Yes, baby?”
“Why is Daddy mad at Aiden? Did he do something bad?”
Harper doesn’t respond quickly. She takes her time, summoning an answer.
But the truth is, I did do something bad. I broke a heart that wasn’t mine to break. I wrecked her, and until the day I die, I will regret it.
“No,” she lies softly. “Aiden didn’t do anything bad.”
“Then why is Daddy mad at him?”
Harper exhales slowly. “Sometimes grown-ups get mad because they’re upset. And sometimes they don’t know how to talk about it the right way. Did he say anything about Aiden?”
There’s a moment of silence out of a kid who is never silent. “I told him about the firehouse and how cool it was, and then he told me I can’t be a firefighter.”
“Baby, you can be whatever you want to be.”
“I want to be a dog walker.”
Harper chuckles under her breath. “Then you’ll be the best dog walker in the world. Time to get ready for bed. Go say goodnight to Aiden in the living room.”
Mason barrels to me, arms outstretched as he engulfs me in a bear hug. “Goodnight, Aiden.”
“Goodnight, buddy.”
He trots off to Harper, who gives me a broken smile as she takes his hand to get him ready for bed.
I have been in fires that were out of control. Seen car accidents that I knew the passengers stood no chance of surviving. Sometimes, you can’t fix a thing, and as a firefighter, you have to roll with that.
But right now, sitting here unable to change their situation, I have never felt more helpless.