Chapter 16 Aiden #2
I shift enough to block his view of the wreckage, angling my body between him and the ruins of the bar. I can’t undo what he’s seen. I can at least keep him from seeing more.
“I’m sorry,” Harper whispers again, like the words are being dragged out of her. “I should have protected it better. I should have protected all of this.”
I pull back enough to look at her. Her face is streaked with tears and soot, eyes red and hollow, but there’s still that stubborn core in her that refuses to disappear even now. “Roz is alive. No one was inside. Things can be replaced. People can’t be.”
Grant steps closer, careful not to intrude too abruptly. He keeps his voice low, respectful, aware of the kid in Harper’s arms. “We’re treating this as a criminal arson. We’ll need formal statements later, but not tonight. Go somewhere safe for now. We will reconnect soon.”
“She’s staying with me.”
He nods once. “Good. That fancy penthouse of yours is quiet.” He gives a sheepish smile, then makes his way to Morales.
As the scene clears, the reality of the damage becomes unavoidable. There’s nothing left to save.
Roz wipes her face with the sleeve of her jacket, anger bleeding through the shock now. “He knew how to hurt us the most.”
“Yes,” I answer quietly. “He did.”
That knowledge settles like a weight in my chest. Marcus didn’t want revenge. He wanted to destroy her. I won’t let him have that satisfaction.
Sirens fade as engines begin to pack up, crews rotating out, exhaustion winning over adrenaline. I get Harper and Mason back into the car, wrapping Mason in a blanket I grab from one of the rigs. He’s gone quiet now, thumb tucked into his mouth, eyes glassy and distant.
That scares me more than the crying did.
Harper stares straight ahead as I drive, her hands folded tightly in her lap like she’s afraid they might shake if she lets them rest naturally. I reach over and lace my fingers through hers. She squeezes back, hard, like she’s anchoring herself to something solid in a world that caught fire.
I’ll let her break my fingers if that’ll make her feel better. “We’re going to get through this. You’re not doing this alone.”
She nods, tears slipping free again. “I don’t know how to start over.”
“Yes, you do. You’ve done it before, and you can do it—”
“I don’t know how to do it again, Aiden.” Her voice is heavy with bone-deep exhaustion. “It took everything I had the first time.”
“Well, this time, you have me. And you don’t have to start tonight. Tonight, you just survive.”
The words feel small compared to the destruction we’re leaving behind.
But survival is where rebuilding always begins.
Her face is blank in a way that tells me she’s holding herself together by force alone.
I’ve seen that expression before, on people who don’t allow themselves to fall apart until they know it’s safe.
I keep my voice low as I drive. “Tomorrow we’ll talk to insurance, to the police, to anyone who needs talking to. One step at a time.”
Her mouth tightens. Her voice is barely audible. “It feels over.”
I don’t argue with feelings. Doing that can set someone off when they’re fragile.
I learned that in my first few years fighting fires, rescuing people from flipped vehicles, and the rest of it.
Feelings are part of a person, and when they’ve been through hell, arguing against them is another personal attack on them.
Instead, I reach across the console and take her hand again. I don’t promise miracles. I don’t pretend this will be easy. “Whatever happens, I’m here, Harper.”
A single tear tracks through the soot on her cheek.
At the penthouse, I carry Mason inside while Harper fumbles for her keys with stiff fingers.
He stirs slightly when I lift him, but he doesn’t wake, his small body going slack against my chest as if he’s finally letting go.
I tuck him into bed gently, pulling the blanket up and smoothing his hair back from his forehead.
The sight of him sleeping, unaware for the moment of how badly today could have gone, tightens something deep in my chest.
Harper stands in the doorway watching, her arms wrapped around herself. “He didn’t say anything in the car,” she murmurs.
“He’s processing. Kids do it differently.”
She nods again, but her eyes stay on Mason like she’s afraid he might vanish if she looks away. Once his door is closed, the quiet presses in hard.
Harper moves into the living room and sinks onto the couch, finally letting her shoulders slump. The composure cracks enough for her to press her hands over her face and breathe in sharp, uneven pulls.
“This doesn’t define you,” I say firmly. “Or what you built. A building can burn. The thing you created is bigger than walls and furniture.”
She laughs weakly. “That’s very inspirational.”
“I’m serious,” I insist. “You built a community. A place people loved. That doesn’t disappear because some asshole lit a match.”
Her head tips against my shoulder, exhaustion finally winning. “I don’t need inspiration right now, Aiden. I just need to breathe.”
I nod once. “Ice cream?”
She gives me a weak smile. “Don’t think I could if I tried.
But thanks.” She exhales slowly, the sound heavy but grateful.
We sit there like that for a long time, the weight of the night settling into something quieter but no less real.
I can feel the anger coiled inside me, hot and dangerous, but I keep it contained.
The knock on the door cuts through her heaving breaths.
“I’ll get it,” I say quietly.
There, two uniformed officers stand in the hallway, faces set into professional seriousness. I recognize one of them from earlier at the scene, which is not a good sign. People don’t double back this fast unless something has shifted.
“Captain Sloan,” one of them says. “We need to speak with you and Ms. Lane. Now.”
Harper is already on her feet, arms wrapped tightly around herself, eyes searching my face for answers I don’t have yet. I gesture them inside and close the door behind them, lowering my voice instinctively even though Mason is asleep down the hall.
“What’s going on?” Harper asks.
The officer exhales slowly, like he hates being the one to say this. “We just got word from patrol units. Marcus Chen has been spotted.”
My jaw tightens. “Where?”
“Near this building,” he replies, meeting my eyes directly. “About three blocks away. He was picked up on a traffic camera and then again on a private security feed. He’s on foot now.”
Harper’s breath stutters. She grips the back of my arm as she needs it to stay upright. “He knows where I’m staying.”
“Yes,” the officer says gently. “And that’s why we’re here.”
The second officer steps forward. “Based on what we’re seeing, this is an escalation. He’s already committed arson. He left a signed note at the scene. We believe he may be attempting to confront you.”
Confront is too clean a word for what Marcus clearly wants. Something dark and lethal settles into my chest. “Where is he now?”
“We don’t know exactly,” the officer admits. “But units are canvassing the area. We’re advising you not to leave this apartment.”
Her voice sharply wobbles. “And if the building goes up in smoke? What then?”
I shake my head. “That’s not usually how arsonists operate when closing in—”
“Don’t give me that,” she snarls low. “Not when my son is on the line.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. What I meant to say is, he wants you to suffer, yeah, but he’ll want to see it.” I hate that I’m saying this as a comfort. “If he’s truly coming to kill you, he won’t set the building on fire. He’ll try to breech this apartment and come after you.”
Harper looks at me then, fear naked in her eyes, and something inside me snaps into absolute clarity. This isn’t about territory or pride or proving anything anymore. This is about keeping her and her son alive.
“He’s not getting near you or Mason,” I say, my voice low and unwavering. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
The officers nod, already moving into position, radios crackling as they coordinate. I pull her into my arms, holding her tightly as she presses her face into my chest. “I don’t know how to do this—”
“We’re safe here,” I tell her, even as my eyes track every sound beyond the door. “I promise you. I’ve got you. I won’t let him touch you.”
Marcus Chen isn’t finished yet.
Neither am I.