Something Worth Saving

by Chelsea Landon

  As we swayed, I didn’t think my groom could ignore his dirty mind much longer.

  Leaning down, he brushed his lips over mine again, the kiss building gently, but we both felt where it could go. “Speaking of a suite . . . ”

  It was our wedding. We made the rules. So we sneaked away to our suite after our first dance.

  I had a surprise for my new husband.

  Two days ago I had boudoir pictures taken by a friend of Shanna’s for Jace.

  Given the photos had to be taken at certain angles to cover up the bandages, but they made it work. With Jace’s turnout coat and helmet (courtesy of Denny and his sneaky ways), red bra, and lacy panties, there I was all sexy and on display for him.

  I looked good. At least I thought I did.

  Jace was speechless when I handed him them.

  When his frantic needy lips found mine and my wedding dress was ripped off, I knew I had done well.

  As he pinned my arms over my head, his weight pressed into me. My neck arched, giving the rest of my body to him. “My wife . . . ” He seemed honored to say those words to me. “There’s was no saving that dress. When I saw you coming down the aisle, I knew there was no hope for it.”

  My head lolled forward against the pillow, feeling everything he was providing again, savoring that sweet bliss. Hot breath and a tender kiss fell on my shoulder, shiver-spiked goose bumps coated my skin with the warmth.

  And to think, I would get this for the rest of my life.

  “Should we return?” I asked, trying to make my dress work, but it was useless. I settled on another dress I had chosen for the reception, a simple white satin cocktail dress that clung to my curves.

  Jace moaned slightly, lying naked on the bed. The thought wasn’t lost on me that this was our day. We could stay right here if we wanted to.

  Jace laughed, sensing my conflict. “Or you could try out that chair.”

  I gave my husband one more little wedding gift. Another lap dance.

  WHEN WE returned, Jace walked over to the DJ and watched Brooke standing off to the side, holding Amelia’s hand as they swayed to the music.

  He picked the song “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd and asked Brooke to dance. It was Logan’s favorite song. And though it was our wedding, and not a day about Logan, we were here right now because of him.

  Hand in hand, he led her to the dance floor as I watched from my place in Kasey’s arms. It was a beautiful moment seeing them together, knowing both of them held such important roles in my life.

  “I’m glad she has Jace still,” Kasey said, watching them.

  “Me, too.”

  I could see Jace’s chin quiver slightly when she said something to him, her hand placed on his cheek with the other over his chest.

  It wasn’t intimate. It was sweet. A moment shared between two friends. Friends who’d been there for one another.

  I don’t know what was said, but I didn’t need to know. It was between them.

  After their dance, we wanted to show our appreciation for everyone who’d worked so hard to put the wedding together in a short amount of time, so we gave a few toasts.

  The one that stood out the most was to Brooke.

  “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and the truth is, I don’t know where I’d be without you,” Jace said, his voice wavering as he spoke into the microphone and then handed it to me. He was about to start crying, and he didn’t want to at our wedding.

  The truth was, I’m not sure we would have been here today if it hadn’t been for Logan and Brooke.

  “You made us . . . ” I paused, because in reality it was more than Brooke. Logan had more to do with this, but regardless. “You and Logan made us see what we needed to see.”

  Her tears couldn’t be helped as she held her hand to her heart and whispered I love you to us.

  She surprised me when she stood and requested the mic. “If my husband dying had even one influence on the way someone lives their life – and the way they love another – then he would be smiling right now. He was a lover. His charm, the magic within him, touched a lot of people, and well, I’m okay as long as I know his memory continues to live in others. The world will always be different with him gone. But . . . I thank him for every second he was in my life because he made it better. He made me believe in love — the kind of love you feel in your bones — the kind that has you smiling for no reason at all but for the simple fact that you felt it. You two” — she gestured to Jace and me, hand in hand — “have that. He’s smiling tonight. I know he is.”

  I started crying immediately. Actually, I don’t think there was a dry eye in that hall.

  As the night progressed a little further, we danced, we loved, we laughed . . . things we had forgotten how to do, but on this day, we remembered.

  The night was perfect.

  What could go wrong at a wedding, right? You honestly have no fucking idea.

  My mother showed up.

  Like clockwork, to turn any good situation into something Georgia-like, she showed up despite Jace’s warning for her not to.

  Apparently she was leaving town.

  “I’ll give you two minutes,” Jace warned her. “That’s it.”

  With a possessive stare, for good reason, he watched as both Lauren and I stepped outside to speak to her. Never far, he stayed right by the door but wasn’t within earshot.

  Georgia came back because she needed money. As usual. And she left because finally she understood why we needed her to stay away from us.

  She was destroying us.

  Despite her, we were becoming adults. If not from our own will, but from the shitty example she was giving us.

  As we stood outside, she said one thing to us I’ll never forget.

  “Believe what you want to believe. Trust who you want to trust. Love who you want to love. See the truth where you will, but be one thing above all else in this world. Be honest with yourself. Believe in yourself. Love yourself. If you have that, you can give it to another.”

  Never in my life did I think someone like my mother would say something like that. Ever. I was actually surprised she did.

  I damn near fainted with shock. I wasn’t expecting it.

  Here’s the thing — my mom hadn’t experienced anything in her life but her own shit. Never had she thought about what her crap might have done to us. And it didn’t matter to her. Nothing did but herself. That would never change for her. Maybe she meant what she said, maybe she didn’t. I was past the point of caring.

  “I hope both of you live beautiful, less complicated lives than I did.”

  My mother never said anything nice. I’m almost positive she was incapable of it.

  On a day when I’d given myself completely to a man who truly showed me unconditional love, she surprised me.

  She was incapable of changing right now. Maybe ever. But that was her shit, not ours.

  You know that old saying, when life hands you lemons, make lemonade? There’s obviously some truth to that. Life is what we make of it. Our relationships, the people in it, are what we make of it. When someone crosses you, there’s nothing that says you have to retaliate against them. There’s nothing that says you have to love them, either. It’s up to you and how sweet you want that lemonade, or, in some cases, how sour it is.

  AT A special time of the night, Jace walked me outside to see the snow-covered streets and bright white twinkle lights. We had our first kiss of the new year at midnight.

  The first kiss of husband and wife at a new beginning. A new year.

  We’re never anything more than what we are right now, wrapped around this moment as we become husband and wife.

  It was a weird feeling seeing Jace wearing a ring. My eyes were drawn to it. I wasn’t sure if it was because it was new, or maybe because it was as if I’d found something I’d been looking for. No. Marriage wasn’t the key. He was right about that. I didn’t need to be married to him. I needed to accept that I wanted to be married.
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  “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

  THERE’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.

  IT 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 ceme
tery.

  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.