Something Worth Saving (42 page)

“I can’t believe we’re married.”

“Yeah, well, we are.” His arm draped over my shoulder as we watched the fireworks around the Space Needle. “Don’t go changing your mind on me. I got the proof in my pocket. You said yes.”

“I remember. I do.”

“Mmm . . . ” His lips met my forehead, pressing ever so gently. “I do.”

If you take away the source of fuel, eventually the fire will go out.

This fire would forever burn.

We could have said it was over.

We probably would have been fine.

But we would have been half of ourselves.

The things I love now?

His subtle
I love you
. The feel of his whiskers against my shoulder late at night.

The things I remember now?

His laugh. I want to relish the sound and live in the way it makes me feel. His eyes. I want to remember how it feels when he looks at me, his wife, and smiles.

The things I miss?

Nothing.

I’m living for now.

I’ll never get this day again. I won’t.

1 year later

Friday, December 6, 2013

Aubrey Ryan

T
HERE’S A
place Brooke and I go often. It’s a place where you can find truth and grasp the meaning behind what it means to love a firefighter.

And to lose one.

There are people who are taken from us that leave such a void it can never be filled.

I remember dates still. This day?

December 6, 2013. The first day I had ever been to the Firefighters Memorial.

Next to headquarters in the Pioneer District of downtown Seattle is the memorial that honors every life given in this city by a firefighter since 1889.

Four bronze statues take up residence there, honoring four lives lost in a warehouse fire in 1995. It was designed by Hai Ying Wu, and has these words inscribed in the granite slab:

THIS MEMORIAL SCULPTURE IS DEDICATED TO THE SEATTLE

FIREFIGHTERS WHO HAVE SACRIFICED THEIR LIVES IN THE

LINE OF DUTY. WE HONOR THEM FOR THEIR HEROISM.

CITIZENS OF SEATTLE

JUNE 6, 1998

And while it was created for those four firefighters in Chinatown International District, it represents the thirty-one lives lost in this city since 1889 when the department began. Logan included.

To some it’s just a memorial, but to those who’ve lost a loved one to fighting fire, it’s deeper than that. It lets you know you’re not alone and that others have experienced the same pain you’re going through.

“A firefighter is never hated,” Brooke said, staring at her husband’s engraved name in the memorial. “They’re not like policemen or even people in the military. Everyone is glad to see them, as it means help. Our lives depend on them. They’re like our knights in shining armor.” Her fingers ran over the Maltese cross on the shoulder of one of the bronze statues.

They really were knights to us.

One year ago today, she laid her heart to rest. It would never get easier for her. For anyone with a loved one’s name engraved in this granite stone.

As I looked at the names, tears started to flow.

Brooke sighed. “I miss his eyes. So bright. So blue.” And then she looked at Amelia. “And every time I’m reminded there’s a little piece of him right there.” She gestured toward Amelia, who was standing beside Gracie and Jayden as they stared in awe at the brass statues.

As I looked to my left, I saw my husband, his eyes lost in thought.

You were never going to tell a firefighter that his job was dangerous and have him disagree with you. They are brave men who give their own lives to save those of strangers.

My heart squeezed in my chest when I saw our newest addition snuggled against his daddy’s chest, fast asleep in strong, sure arms. Arms that have carried hundreds from burning buildings and brought others back to life. Arms that, when wrapped around you, can give you a sense of security only captured with him.

Walking over to Jace, Brooke leaned forward and kissed Logan, my two-month-old baby boy. A small boy, with petite features and thick dark eyelashes, Logan was the only one of our children that had my light blonde hair but had those Ryan eyes that got me every time.

I couldn’t think of a better name for him than Logan William Ryan, in honor of a magnetic, warm, charming, and wonderful man who brought us back together.

I never thought I’d have three kids. But I bet Brooke never thought she’d be raising Amelia by herself.

The truth is that life is never how we plan it. Just when we think we’ve got it figured out, it sparks a fire, and it’s up to us to find strength to make our way through the smoke.

Jayden had made friends with a man sitting on a bench beside the memorial, and I kept a close eye on him. But the man was attractive, and Brooke was watching him.

“He seems nice,” I said, ribbing Brooke a little.

She smiled warmly and then rolled her eyes. Apparently he was another firefighter she had met at a support group. His wife was a firefighter and had been killed six months ago. Hers was the name under Logan’s. “He is nice, but he’s not for me. My heart will always be with Logan.” Her misty eyes met mine, and the warmth I always knew she possessed melted into a pain that was still very real for her. “I can’t, Aubrey. I may look strong, but . . . ” And her pain showed itself in the way her chin quivered. “I will never fully get over his death. Ever. He was, and will always be, the only man who has ever held my heart. And it’s with him now.” The diamond ring she still wore caught the light as she reached with shaky fingers for the locket she’d worn since the day they said “I do,” and then placed a kiss upon the locket. “I can’t give my heart to another. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

“That I can understand,” I said, wrapping my arms around her.

Sometimes I wonder why we go through what we do and how we make it through it. Where does the strength come from? Some say it’s religion, and others say it’s sheer will. I don’t know what my theory on it is, but I do know one thing: it can change tomorrow.

There are things in this world I will never understand, and I gave up trying to a while ago. All I have is what’s in the moment. And I’m okay with that.

I’ve always wondered why most stories are about how a couple falls in love. What about after that? And I’m not talking about the epilogue or anything. I’m talking about the real shit like living together and making that shit work.

You want to know why there’s not a lot about that?

It’s boring. No one wants to read about that.

But the thing is, it’s like eating cake without ice cream. That’s the story. The falling in love is easy. Years later is when shit really gets interesting.

When you can make it through all that, the troubles and trials, when it’s no longer believed to have something worth saving but actually known, that’s when you see it for what it is. Something beautiful.

But you see, that’s not what this was about. This story is about us and how we got to where we are now. In that stillness as flames roared around us, trying to find our path to safety.

It was all the same to me. I just kept going through the roaring flames beside me.

You can feel fire. It’s heat. You can feel love. It’s that same heat. It just changes form.

I
T HAD
been one year since Logan’s death, so we decided we were all going to write him letters.

“Write him a letter,” Jace said as we left the memorial. “Write down everything you want to say to him, and we’ll seal it up and bury it next to him.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, Jace,” Denny pointed out.

“Why do you only hear what you want? You’re such a pussy.”

Remember when I said most everything we did turned into a disaster? If not, maybe I didn’t say it, but I should have.

Just so you know, it is illegal to bury something in a cemetery.

Axe dug the hole, cutting Jace’s hand while doing it. Brooke screamed at the sight of the blood, and the police found us. Luckily the kids weren’t with us at that time.

There we sat in jail, arrested for trespassing, the boys in one cell, and Brooke and I across from them in the other cell.

We kept good humor about it, though. Why wouldn’t we, with Denny in there? He and Jace had gotten a lot closer and formed a pretty good relationship of what Jace said was “ball-busting.”

Whatever that meant.

“What’s ‘kock’?” Jace asked, looking at Axe’s forehead as he slept in the jail cell on a bench.

Denny squinted at the Axe’s forehead where he’d written on him with a Sharpie. “‘Cock.’ Like your dick, man.”

Jace shook his head. “You spelled it wrong, asshole.”

And though we were jail, we managed to bury what we needed, pieces of our lives we wanted Logan to know. None of us regretted that.

Naturally we were let go and lived happily ever after. Well, our version of happily ever after.

I could tell you a story about two people who were so lost in life they weren’t sure what was worth saving and what wasn’t.

I’ve done that.

And maybe you understood what we went through, saw where we were heading and cried right along with us. Maybe you shouted and kept silent when we did, too.

Truth be told, you’ll never fully understand what we went through because you weren’t there living it with us. Or maybe you were?

I can take satisfaction in knowing that Jace and I gave our hearts to feel what we feel now, and in turn our tears, our laughter, our love, and our anger saw us through the fire. It breathed for us when we couldn’t and carried us when our will gave up.

Slightly nostalgic, I was lost in trying to capture a moment and a time we had in the past, thinking that would fix the present.

To an extent, I was wrong.

There’s something to be said about our memories of the past. They teach us about ourselves in ways others can’t. You can’t learn it. You have to live it.

Those memories will show you a side of yourself you never knew.

People have stories. Everyone does. It’s written all over their faces in every expression and word they give you. Whether it’s your children telling you about the flying dragons in their room or your grandma telling you she once slept with Tom Petty. They’re stories.

Now, whether or not these stories are true is not up to you.

They’re told for a reason. A way to believe in something.

Some stories teach you. Hell, some even warn you. Cinderella, Little Red Riding Hood - they all hold meaning.

When the smoke clears, you’ll see exactly what you were fighting for.

Love.

You’re loving like it’s your last chance. You’re kissing like it’s your last kiss, and, most of all, laughing like it’s your last breath . . . because it just might be.

Someone once told me that they would give anything for one more hug, one more kiss.

I understand that now.

W
HY IS
it that after you have kids your sex life goes to shit?

It doesn’t. It can, but it doesn’t have to.

My thoughts brought me to the one beside me. The same man who used to burn me with unspoken words and a deadly silence, staring at me. He’s not the same in many ways, and I can thank Logan for that. Things are different now. Which is why I said he’s not the same.

We’re not the same.

Life has a way of doing that to you. But I believe some fires burn forever. My love for him burns forever.

“How long has it been?” I asked, looking over at the clock to see that the baby would be up any minute now.

Right now we didn’t have much time.

“An hour, maybe,” Jace groaned, the sound slightly muffled by the pillow over his face. “I know it’s been too fucking long.”

As he rolled over, his breath hit my neck. Covering my body with his, he held as much of his weight on his elbows while he roamed my neck with open-mouthed kisses. My back arched into his chest and he moved down over my collarbone, and lower, between my breasts, moving at a dawdling pace, causing me to whimper in annoyance at his languid loitering. He had no intentions of hurrying through this, but our new black lab puppy was whimpering in the bathroom, Gracie and Jayden were arguing about what they wanted for breakfast outside our bedroom door, and the baby was crying.

“Don’t stop.” He whispered, pleading with me. “Don’t you fucking stop . . . ”

“Never.”

The End.