From the kitchen, I could hear Kellen's voice, low and warm in a way I'd never heard before. He was on the phone.
"...yeah, he's still sleeping it off," he was saying. "Kid's been through hell... No, no, nothing like that. Just heartbreak and a case that went bad. You know how it is."
There was a pause, and I could hear the faint sound of a woman's voice responding.
"She's a firefighter," Kellen continued. "Strong, competent. Sounds like his kind of person, if he doesn't screw it up completely... Honestly, hon, she'd be damn lucky to have someone like him. If she doesn't see that, her loss."
Another pause, longer this time.
"Mmm. Yeah. Hey, did you remember to take your medication this morning?" His voice shifted, becoming gentler, more concerned. "Good. And yes, I'll pick up some milk on the way home. Do we need anything else? What? Nah, we're not out. I bought some yesterday. Check the cabinet above the stove."
I heard what sounded like warm laughter from the other end.
"I love you, too, beautiful," Kellen said quietly, the endearment sounding natural, well-worn. "See you soon."
I lay there for a few more minutes, processing what I'd heard. Not just the phone call, but the warmth in his voice, the easy domesticity, the way he'd defended me to his wife. After seventeen years of marriage, after everything that had hollowed him out, he still had that. He was still capable of love, still capable of being loved.
And he thought I was worth fighting for.
I stumbledto the kitchen, drawn by the smell of coffee, and found Kellen sitting at my small dining table with a mug and the morning paper. He looked exactly the same as always; composed, unreadable, like he hadn't spent the previous evening getting me drunk and sharing his deepest traumas.
"Coffee's fresh," he said without looking up from the sports section.
I poured myself a mug with shaking hands, grateful for the caffeine and the excuse to avoid conversation until my brain started working again.
"How do you feel?" Kellen asked.
"Like I got hit by a truck."
"Good. That means you're alive." He folded the paper and looked at me directly. "You remember what we talked about?"
"Most of it." I took a sip of coffee, feeling it burn its way down my throat. "Thank you. For last night. For staying."
"Don't mention it." He stood and rinsed his mug in the sink with his usual methodical precision. "We need to get you back to your car. You ready to drive?"
I checked my internal systems — headache, nausea, but functional. "Yeah, I think so."
The drive back to the hospital was quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
Kellen pulled up next to my car. I climbed out of his Chevy, the morning air hitting me like a slap, and fumbled for my keys.
"Thanks," I said, turning back toward him. "For everything. I — "
"Don't mention it," he said, his voice returning to its usual flat tone. "Not a problem. Have a great morning, Jimmy."
I started to close his truck door, but before I could, Kellen caught it with his hand, looking at me with something I couldn't quite read.
"Hey. By the way."
"Yeah?" I asked.
"That firefighter of yours," he said, after a moment's pause. "She's worth fighting for. Don't let pride or fear keep you from at least trying."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"And Jimmy?" He used my first name again, and hearing it from him still felt like a gift. "You're a good nurse. Don't let this job make you forget that."
He nodded at me, released the door, and I closed it. Kellen drove off without another word, leaving me standing there in the parking lot with something I hadn't felt in weeks: hope.
