Chapter 22 Aiden
AIDEN
Weeks pass in a way that feels unreal until I stop and take stock.
When I walk back into the firehouse on a Monday morning, I expect awkwardness, tension, maybe even resentment or a warning. But life is full of surprises.
“About damn time,” Theo says as I hang my jacket in its familiar place. “We were getting tired of carrying your weight.”
Lizzie grins from across the bay. “Don’t let it go to your head. We just missed having someone competent around.”
Garrett, never subtle, claps me on the shoulder hard enough to rattle my teeth. “Look at you, all reinstated and shit. Try not to go rogue again for at least a week.”
The laughter that follows is easy and genuine, and I feel something settle into place inside me. I didn’t lose this. I didn’t lose them. Whatever Internal Affairs put on paper, the people who actually mattered saw what happened for what it was.
Outside of work, the city does something I didn’t expect. It rallies.
Once Marcus is officially convicted, insurance clears faster than anyone thought it would.
The arson charges stick with enough evidence to make an appeal into a distant fantasy.
Reconstruction begins almost immediately, thanks to some old patrons who happened to be contractors.
They were chomping at the bit to get started, and the skeleton of Harper’s bar rises again.
They waive fees, and local suppliers give discounts, trying to get the bar back on its feet. Harper doesn’t know how to process it at first.
She stands in the middle of the half-gutted space one afternoon, hard hat crooked, eyes shiny as people she barely knows shake her hand and tell her how much the place mattered to them. She’s on-site most days, hard hat on, clipboard in hand, thanking volunteers until her voice goes hoarse.
I watch her from the edges when I can, leaning against the truck or standing back with Roz, who looks equal parts exhausted and exhilarated. Harper is in her element—confident, decisive, energized in a way that has nothing to do with survival and everything to do with purpose.
She holds it together until we’re back in the truck, and then she breaks down laughing and crying at the same time. “I don’t deserve this. All this help, for free… It’s too much. But I can’t afford to turn it down, either.”
“You built something people care about,” I tell her.
Our life settles into something I never thought I would have.
Mornings start early. Coffee brewing while Mason eats cereal and tells us about dreams that make no sense.
Harper and I move around each other in the kitchen without thinking, sharing space the way people do when it’s no longer new.
I drop Mason off at school on my way to shift, and he tells me about spelling tests and playground politics and what he’s going to be when he grows up this week.
It was a dog walker, not too long ago. Now, his future is space miner.
I can’t wait to find out what it’ll be next week.
He insists on one more hug before he gets out of the truck, even when the bell is already ringing. His little face goes serious when he says, “Be careful.”
“Always,” I reply, just as seriously.
I’ve seen other people take this stuff for granted, and I’m not sure how. Every day, I wake up so damn grateful that I don’t know what to do with myself. And then, there’re the dinners together.
Homework spread across the table. Mason demanding that I do the big voices when I read bedtime stories. Harper watches from the doorway, smiling in a way that feels unguarded, like she’s finally letting herself believe this isn’t temporary.
And one night, sitting on the couch with Mason asleep between us and Harper’s head resting on my shoulder, the thought lands fully formed and undeniable.
I want this forever.
Carlie, of course, has opinions.
She drops by constantly, armed with takeout and smug satisfaction, surveying the scene like she’s been vindicated by the universe. “I told you so,” she says at least once per visit. “It’s about time,” follows shortly after.
She watches Harper with an expression that’s half pride, half relief, like she’s been holding her breath for six years and can finally let it out. When she catches me looking overwhelmed, she pats my arm and grins. “Don’t screw this up.”
“I mean not to.”
“You’re my favorite brother—”
“Your only brother.”
She smiles. “So, it’d suck to be an only child, on account of killing you for hurting her again. Don’t make me.”
I sling an arm around her neck and pull her in for a noogie, but she squirms out of it, and I let her. “I promise to do everything I can to never hurt her again.”
She nudges me with her shoulder while we watch Harper and Mason at the dinner table, working on a coloring book. We’re far away enough they can’t hear our whispers. “I know. But it’s in the best friend’s handbook. I have to say it.”
“Truth is, I’m glad you look out for her. Even if that means threatening me.”
“That’s because she’s turned you into a big softy.”
“Probably.”
At the firehouse, the teasing ramps up as weeks turn into months.
“Look at you,” Garrett says one afternoon, eyeing the lunch Harper packed instead of grabbing takeout. “All domesticated. What’s next, matching holiday sweaters?”
Theo smirks. “Didn’t know Sloan had a soft side.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” I say dryly. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
“She’s making you eat all that healthy shit, isn’t she? Women,” Garrett says, rolling his eyes.
But Lizzie, passing through the station house for a meeting with Morales, says, “Garrett, if a woman packs you healthy food, then she wants you healthy. If she packs you shit, she doesn’t give a shit.”
Garrett’s a little slow on the comeback, so Theo asks, “And if she doesn’t pack you anything and you’re stuck getting takeout?”
She winces. “Oof. Better to break up now and save yourself the trouble.”
They both stare at their takeout platters.
I snort a laugh. “Cheer up, guys. You’ll be single soon.”
Lizzie winks and catches up with Morales, while my compatriots grumble. My sliced vegetables and hummus never tasted better.
That night, after Mason is asleep, Harper and Roz spread blueprints and calendars across the kitchen island.
They talk through a grand re-opening—dates, permits, music, food trucks.
Roz proposes turning it into a charity fundraiser for fire victims, a way to give back to the same community that showed up for them.
Harper’s eyes light up, the idea catching immediately.
“It would bring everyone together,” Harper says. “The bar crowd. The firehouse. People who helped rebuild.”
I watch her as she talks, hands moving, mind racing ahead, already solving problems that don’t exist yet. She’s confident again, and I’m relieved to see that side of her resurrecting before my eyes.
Forever stops feeling abstract. It starts feeling real.
At the firehouse, the jokes continue, but they come with something else now—respect.
The guys ask about the re-opening. Lizzie volunteers the medic crew for support.
Garrett offers to donate a collection of baseball cards for the silent auction.
It looks suspiciously valuable. Theo says he’ll bring his band.
“You’re all in, huh?” Garrett asks me later, watching Harper laugh with Roz by the fence.
“Yeah,” I say, surprised at how easy it is to say it out loud. “I am.”
He nods, satisfied. “About time.”
On the drive home, Harper hums along to the radio, tired and content. Mason sleeps in the backseat, mouth open, dinosaur tucked under his arm. I glance at them in the mirror and feel the decision lock into place.
I realize something important in the middle of a perfectly ordinary Tuesday.
I’m going to marry this woman.
How the hell do I do this? Time to ask some other questions first.
What music she wants for the re-opening. Who she wants there. How she feels about speeches versus just letting the night unfold. She answers easily, unaware of the undercurrent, too focused on making sure the event reflects the community that carried her through the worst of it.
That makes my chest tighten in the best possible way. At the firehouse, I test the waters. “Hypothetically,” I say to Garrett one night while we’re cleaning equipment, “if someone were planning something… big. Public. Complicated—”
Garrett squints at me. “You proposing?”
“Not to you.”
He snorts and grins like Christmas just came early. “Talk to me, Sloan.”
I shake my head, but the smile I’m fighting gives me away.
Word spreads faster than I expect. By the end of the shift, half the crew is offering suggestions ranging from genuinely thoughtful to wildly impractical.
Lizzie insists on something meaningful and subtle.
Theo votes for fireworks, because he can’t not vote for them.
Carlie, when she hears, just beams at me over coffee. “Don’t fuck it up.”
The more people know, the more real it becomes. I keep telling them that I’m just thinking about it, but they all give me knowing looks. I’m full of it, and they know me too well.
I picture the grand re-opening in my head—music spilling out onto the street, lights strung overhead, the hum of conversation and laughter. Firehouse shirts mixed with bar regulars. Harper in her element, glowing with pride and joy.
I don’t want to interrupt that and make it about me or us. It’s her night. I just want to add to it.
I want to ask her in front of the people who watched her rebuild, the people who showed up when everything burned.
I want Mason there too, not as a prop, but as part of the reason.
Because this isn’t just about Harper and me.
It’s about the family we’re building. All that’s left now is figuring out how to make it happen without tipping her off, which might be the hardest part of all.
Because Harper is observant, and she knows me better than anyone ever has.
I almost slip up a few times. When she’s washing a pot.
When she’s tucking Mason in. When she’s half asleep on the couch next to me, pressed against my shoulder.
Those quiet moments when she’s not made up or trying to impress anyone.
When she’s just being her normal, everyday self.
That’s the time it hits me again and again how much I love her, and how much I want to spend the rest of my life with her.
The grand re-opening cannot come soon enough. Otherwise, I’ll screw this proposal up. I need to own up to the fact that I’m doing this, so I can get some help.
Most of the crew has already filtered out, boots echoing down the bay and disappearing into the night.
A few engines sit dark and still, the space smelling faintly of oil, metal, and the lingering trace of coffee that’s been burned one too many times.
I like it best at this hour. There’s room to think without interruption.
Garrett is wiping down a truck when I finally decide to stop circling the thought and say it out loud.
“I need your help,” I tell him.
He doesn’t look surprised. He just straightens slowly and gives me a measured look. “About time.”
I exhale, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “And I’m going to need the whole crew.”
That gets his full attention. “Oh, this is serious, then.”
“It is. I’m going to propose to Harper. At the grand re-opening.”
Garrett lets out a low whistle. “Damn. You’re really doing it. No bullshit?”
“I want to do it right. Something that won’t take away from her achievement—it’s not about me. I want to enhance the night.”
He nods, expression shifting from amusement to something more thoughtful. “She deserves that.”
I explain the vision as clearly as I can. Garrett listens without interrupting, nodding slowly. When I finish, he smiles in a way that’s softer than I’m used to seeing from him. “You know. I give you a lot of shit. We all do. But you’re different now. Happier. Steadier.”
I shrug. “Turns out showing up is good for you.”
He snorts. “Who knew?” He claps me on the shoulder, firm and approving. “You’ve got us. Whatever you need. Logistics, coordination, keeping her distracted—we’ll make it happen.”
As Garrett heads toward the locker room to start spreading the word, I stay where I am for a moment longer, leaning against the truck and letting the certainty settle fully into my bones.