“No, I don’t.” Have you ever had an argument so often about the same shit that your responses almost seemed programmed, even your anger? As if with one button, something is said and it activates the anger at the same time as the last argument? “When did we become this?” My words were strained, just like our relationship, to the point where it wouldn’t take much and there’d be nothing left of the thin thread I was holding onto.
“About the time you let it.” Jace knew what he was doing.
What the fuck?
“What?”
“You heard me.” His eyes stayed on mine.
“And that is?”
He smiled but turned away, a bitter laugh escaping his gently parted lips. “I think you know.”
Go ahead. Shrug, asshole.
I hated the sound of his bitter laugh. I fucking hated it because he knew how to get to me, always having the upper hand and in control even when he was so clearly not.
“Why don’t you enlighten me, then . . . when was it?”
His stomach pulled in, a long deep breath as if to calm himself a little. His next words brought so much anger I wanted to hit him for saying something so hurtful. “About the same time you started questioning my intentions. About the time you started acting like your mother.”
I looked up at him, breathing in and out as controlled as I could. My words were whispered, secondhand thoughts I’d never intended to speak. “You’re an asshole!”
I turned and walked away from him.
Jace threw the glass in his hand against the wall, and suddenly there we were, shouting and pointing, placing blame because it was never easy taking it. “I’m the fucking asshole? Me?” his words came out in a growl. “That’s right, Aubrey. It’s always me and never a goddamn thing you might have done!”
We weren’t these people. We weren’t. I didn’t say things like this, and he didn’t react this way. Love and fire can make you do some pretty stupid shit sometimes.
Those words, those simple words were his spark. It was like he was burning inside, black billowing smoke through broken windows, and if I were to reach out and touch those flames, the fire would spread. And if I touched, could it ever be controlled?
So I didn’t touch. For tonight, I didn’t certainly didn’t touch.
And then he calmed slightly, his breathing still harsh, but he’d recovered from throwing the glass. “Are you thinking of leaving me?”
What? I wasn’t expecting that at all.
“Have you thought about leaving?” I asked without answering his question.
Jace spoke through gritted teeth. “Never.” He looked right at me. “Why?” He was angry with me and I could hear it in his voice, if not in his eyes.
It’s the words you never say that mean the most. The ones on the tip of your tongue, screamed at the top of your lungs, that sometimes need to be said.
He tipped his head to one side, his hands clasped together in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees.
“Aubrey, do you trust me?” Jace asked, his blue eyes intensely staring at me.
I couldn’t manage any words because I had no air supply, but I nodded.
When we finally did look at each other, no words were spoken because none were needed. With one look he said all he needed to say.
I looked up at him again. The moment was gone, but his eyes were anxious. He wasn’t sure what I was going to say next, and it scared him. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, the depth his blues showed me was full of anger and pain. Exactly what I had caused him.
Too bad he couldn’t see what he’d caused me. Did he know what it was like to be in a relationship with him when every day I wonder if he’ll be home safe, just to save someone else?
What about me? What about his kids? Aren’t we worth saving?
“Don’t do that to me, Aubrey.” His eyes flashed with frustration, and anger took over again. “Don’t make me feel paranoid.”
“I didn’t. You’re doing that on your own.”
I was so lost. He was moving from one thing to the next, but never what we needed to be talking about.
“No. You did. You put doubt in my head when I walked into that shop tonight.”
“No, I think it was there long before that.” He’s lying if this is the first time he’s doubted me.
“Maybe it was.”
Finally some truth.
“You’re waiting for me to be just like her, aren’t you?”
No answer. Apparently that question didn’t warrant one.
“Do you know why he’s here?” His brow went up. He was searching for clarification I didn’t have. “Have you thought about that? Do you know why your mother is really here?”
“I have. She probably wants money. Ridley’s just here to get a rise out of me,” I said. “I’m sure he got what he wanted.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” he whispered, his voice softer. “I don’t trust him, and I don’t trust your fucking mother. What if you’re wrong? What if they want something else, then what?”
With his words, the way Ridley asked about my mom so often got me thinking. Jace always had a way of looking at things from an angle others didn’t. I believe that was what made him such a good firefighter. He was looking for the catch. Always.
“I never said I trusted either one of them.”
“They why won’t you listen to me?” He moved toward me, coming to stand in front of me.
“I am listening. I’m right here. I . . . ” There was so much more I wanted to say right then, but I felt like the moment had passed.
When I didn’t say anything, his hands found my face, his hair falling into his lashes. As I looked at him, searching his face, I wished I could get inside his mind, feel what he was feeling for one moment. My heart was breaking, and if I looked close enough, it seemed his was, too. I wanted to know.
“I’m not one of those guys who will murder a man for touching what I thought was mine.” He brushed his fingertips over my lips, lips that had just been kissed by another. “But I hope what I thought was mine knows I won’t go down without a fight.”
“He won’t do anything stupid. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”
“Well.” His face was suddenly dark. “If he hurts you, pray for him, because I’ll kill the motherfucker if he tries.” And I swear his voice shook with each word, but I couldn’t be sure, as I couldn’t even look at him now.
Breathing deep, he let his hands drop.
“It would kill me if you left,” he said quietly, as if I weren’t meant to hear those particular chosen words. But I did. He’d said them.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He looked completely worn out, with dark circles under his eyes. He was tired. Mostly tired of this, I thought.
I could barely look at him. And when I did, I wasn’t met with the look I was expecting.
A broken heart.
“I’m still standing here. I haven’t left, but you’re acting like I have. You’re over it before it’s even over.” In his anger, he was shouting now, his face hard. “This isn’t all on me.”
He’s just being honest, I told myself that, but the words still hurt, inflicting more hurt than he probably intended them to. And I couldn’t help myself when I said, “I’ve done nothing but try.”
He swallowed heavily.
He licked his bottom lip, his gaze on the wall and not me. Maybe to get in the last word, he then whispered, “Don’t ever question my love for you. Ever.” He stared at me, appearing casual now, his eyes moving over my features, watching my reaction.
How does this happen?
How does a love so deep turn to this, one of resentful harsh words spat at one another? Why is it that in a room where we once shared laughter and breathy moans, it’s now one of cold sheets and a space so big it feels like separate beds?
How do you go from pleading hands on his chest, spitting hateful remarks, to this, stone silent and ignoring one another?
If you could, would you change it? Would you go back and take back what you’d said?
There was an anger burning in Jace, and I saw it. He didn’t. He’d never been the type to let on when he was in pain, whether that be emotionally or physically. He was the type to grin and bear it. And while that could be considered sexy to most, it doesn’t lend itself well to a relationship, because he’s constantly, like, “yeah, okay,” when what I’m really hoping for is a “fuck you.” If that makes sense. It wasn’t emotion. Maybe that doesn’t make sense.
Here. Imagine you’re arguing with your husband, boyfriend, fuck-buddy, or whatever, and you’re in a heated conversation. You say what you have to say, and you’re waiting for him to say something more. Agree or disagree.
And he says nothing and walks out the door.
How do you feel?
Even angrier, right?
It’s like you’ve left the door wide open in a storm.
Every day I’m left with a choice. And it tears me apart that I feel like I’ve been making the wrong one.
Sometimes I wondered why I bothered. If he wasn’t trying, why should I?
It didn’t matter what we said or did — everything was a battle of unspoken words, slammed drawers, and heated glances.
I don’t know how we got here, but we were here, and neither one of us wanted to face it. Or deal with it.
And then I would see a glimpse of who he used to be, who we used to be in a tender passing touch or a wished good day and “I love you” when he thought I wasn’t listening.
And then I would try a little harder, determined to do something about it. I felt it in my bones. We had to fix it.
Command to dispatch, the firefighter has been transported. The victims on the fourth floor are being taken out now.
Dispatch to command, the lieutenant with the police department is requesting to meet
you face to face. He has a woman and a man in custody.
10-4
* * *
Friday, December 14, 2012
Jace
IT MADE my blood boil that this fucker was moving in on my girl at a time like this.
I wasn’t not sure what was happening with Aubrey, but I was so sick of the same shit day in and day out. Sadly, our relationship was struggling, and it wasn’t any one thing. It was everything. I couldn’t get past that her fucking mom showed up and that Ridley had the goddamn nerve to kiss her. And he kept at it as if thinking that if he didn’t give up, I would.
If this was to happen in a fire, say the smoke had turned brown and the attic was fully involved, what would you do?
If the fire’s too bad, you bail. But . . . is that something you do in a relationship?
I couldn’t see bailing on her and everything we had.
I felt like no matter how hard I tried to change that shit, it didn’t do any good. How could I make her see?
Marry her.
But right now, given the events of today, I felt like that was the last thing we needed. You can’t marry someone if you don’t have trust, right?
Did I trust her?
I trusted this bottle held the answer. That’s about it. For what it’s worth, I honestly thought it had the answer.
I trusted that for now, the ring I bought this morning would remain in my pocket until we could actually talk about things. Aubrey and I have never been good at communicating.
We’re good at loving. We’re good at sex. We’re good at being Jace and Aubrey.
We’re not good once conflict arrives. We’re not good at talking.
I don’t talk. Never have. I’ll keep it to myself as long as possible, until one day I just explode. I thought I was going to tonight. Had the kids not been there, I might have.
But I held back. Every time I wanted to just scream and fight for what I knew was missing, I stopped — afraid, I guess.
Aubrey is emotional and insecure. She can’t make a decision to save her ass, and when she does, she’s never confident in it and questions herself.
She loved me. I knew that. God, did she love me, and I would walk through fire for her any day. But we have a huge fucking void between us that neither one knows how to cross.
Maybe we’re not meant for each other, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I can’t leave, and I don’t say that because of the kids. I can’t walk away from her, and I’ve honestly never thought of it that way.
I just wish she could see for once how much we really take for granted . . . and for me to see it, too. Every day I intended on changing shit, and I didn’t.
And it was fucking sad to sit in a room with her and feel that void – that ever-present gap we couldn’t close.
The closest I’ve gotten to telling her how I feel was saying, “But you expect me to be perfect. Be that guy you’ve never had. Rescue you.”
If only she understood how true that was.
It’s hard for me to say it, but I’ve always felt like it was my job to save her. I save lives for a living. But right in front of me, right now, I’m not saving what needs to be saved.
Since Logan died, I know I haven’t been myself, and what should have gotten easier between us has gotten worse. Now it was something I wasn’t sure we could save.
I feel guilty about what happened to Logan, and I would be lying if I didn’t say that part of me died in that fire with Logan. I have never been as close with someone as I was with Logan.
Feeling guilty is never easy. It’s not meant to be. I’ll never get over his death. Ever. I wake up in cold sweats and remember him like he’s right there with me, but he’s not. He’s gone.
The dream I have of him is one where he’s lying there just like he was on the ship, talking calm to me, cool and collected as he always was, fearless. And I walk away from him.
I don’t know why and he’s screaming for me to stop, but I keep walking.
I wake up in tears, and a little more of my heart broken off by it. Sometimes I’m afraid to sleep. Afraid of what I will dream about.
Because there’s one dream about Aubrey I have usually right after that one that shakes me to my very being and tests my will to survive anything. This one, the one of Aubrey, is a darker dream and takes hours to get over, and I can’t go back to sleep after it.
In the dream she’s standing there, flames surrounding her, and she takes her hand with my heart in it and throws it in the flames. Only it’s not just my heart, it’s both of ours, as if to say they’re burning together. I call out to her, tell her I can save her, knowing I can’t.
And then I’m standing beside Logan’s grave. Only it’s not Brooke I was holding, it’s Aubrey, and I’m the one who’s died. In horror I watch as they hand Aubrey my helmet, same charred edges as Logan’s had. When I look closer, it’s Ridley holding her, his arms wrapped around her and my kids as I’m lowered in the ground.
I’d be goddamned if I was going to let that happen.
The thought of seeing Aubrey react that way to Brooke at the funeral terrified me. It was an image, a fear I will hold with me forever.
Every dream I have, I wake up to the sounds of the PPE on Logan’s gear going off, that sharp hollow whistle I will never forget.
Yesterday I had my first fire call since Logan died. And the entire time I thought he was right there with me, helping me. Maybe he was. I knew one thing, this had affected me in ways I never thought possible.
Logan used to tell me to never give up. Never. He was talking about firefighting, but it made me think, because after he would tell me to never give up, he would also say one thing that made a lot sense right now. He would say that in that last second, the point where you’re about to give up, push a little harder, because you just may find what you’ve been looking for.
I ordered another drink from the bartender and then stared at the shot glass again.
It didn’t have the answer I thought it would.
But got me thinking about Aubrey.
Look at me at this point in my
life, confused, emotional, frustrated . . . and she was feeling the same. When you look at it, it’s two stories, intertwining into one, breathing as one.
Fire is a living, breathing thing. So is love. In order to fight fire, you have to understand it.
I didn’t understand shit right now.
“Another one?” the bartender asked when he saw the glass empty again.
I stared at the glass long enough to know I didn’t need another, because I couldn’t tell whether the glass was full or empty.
“Nah, I think I’m done.”
Just as I was getting up, there was a girl standing there.
Ava, one of our paramedics.
“So what’s with you and your girlfriend?” she asked when she stood there for a good few minutes, and I had yet to say anything to her.
Ava seemed like a nice girl, but she was trouble. She was the type of girl who preyed on guys like me. Confused.
I finally looked at her. “It’s none of your business.”
She had blue eyes that I’d never noticed until tonight. With the black in her hair, they shone in the lighting of the bar. Yeah, it would have been easy for me to act on impulse, driven by just hormones, but that wasn’t me. I loved Aubrey despite whatever this bullshit was between us.
“You’re always an asshole, aren’t you?”
“Yeah . . . I’m an asshole.” My eyes focused on hers and I laughed. It wasn’t an amused laugh.
“Whatever, Jace,” she replied, and motioned for the bartender to get her a beer and one for me.
“I’m not always a bad guy,” I said, looking at her again. “I’ve just got a lot going on.”
She smiled, her elbow jabbing at my side. “I know. I was just giving you a hard time.” Her hand came up and rested on my shoulder. “How ’bout a drink?”
Against my better judgment, I had a drink with her. And I felt fucking guilty for it. I wasn’t comfortable with how close she was or that she was touching me. So I got up to leave.
“Just one more?”
“Listen.” I stood from my stool and distanced myself from her. “I think you got the wrong impression here.”
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