Page 7 of Rescuing Aria
“I’ve missed you.” Brett’s voice roughens with emotion. “Not just… But you know. The way you always knew what to say when a mission goes sideways. Your terrible jokes. How you hog all the blankets.”
“I do not hog the blankets.” I can’t help but smile at that.
“You absolutely did.” Charlie laughs softly, the sound achingly familiar. “Remember that cabin in Colorado? Brett and I nearly froze to death.”
The memory warms me—a rare weekend off, snow falling outside, the three of us tangled together for warmth. For a moment, I let myself remember how it felt to be part of something so complete, so consuming.
“I’ve missed you too,” I admit. “Both of you, but we’ve all moved on. I’m okay with that.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” Charlie reaches for my hand, her fingers twining with mine the way they have countless times before. “We wanted you to know first because—because despite everything, you’re still part of us.”
“Charlie’s pregnant.” Brett moves closer, completing our small circle.
The words don’t register at first, too enormous to process. I look from Charlie’s face to Brett’s, seeing the mix of joy and apprehension there.
“You’re…” My voice trails off.
“Twelve weeks.” Her free hand moves instinctively to her stomach. “We found out last month.”
“We wanted to be sure,” Brett adds. “Before we told anyone. Even you.”
I try to imagine it—Charlie with a rounded belly, Brett hovering protectively, a child with his eyes or her smile. A life they’re building together, one that doesn’t include me in the way we once imagined.
What rises in me isn’t the jealousy or loss. Instead, a surge of joy wells up inside of me for these two people I’ve loved so deeply.
“That’s… Wow!” I swallow hard, emotion making my voice rough. “Charlie, Brett, that’s incredible.”
“Yeah?” Charlie studies my face, looking for the truth behind my words. “You’re okay with it?”
“Okay?” I squeeze her hand. “I’m thrilled for you, both of you. You’re going to be amazing parents.”
“There’s more.” Brett’s eyes shine bright.
“More?”
“Yeah. We’re stepping down from Guardian HRS. Opening our own place, a gym focused on teaching self-defense to foster kids and trafficking survivors.”
The pieces click into place—their whispered conversations, the research I glimpsed on Brett’s laptop, Charlie’s sudden aversion to coffee. The subtle changes I noticed but never fully registered.
“When?” I ask.
“End of the month,” Brett says. “We wanted you to hear it from us, not through Guardian gossip.”
I nod, processing. My relationship with them was intense. Complicated and beautiful in its own way. For years, we moved as a unit, in the field and in life. The end was messy and painful—not because anyone did anything wrong, but because we grew in different directions.
“I’m happy for you,” I say finally. “Both of you. It’s a perfect fit.”
“We want you in our lives.” Charlie studies my face, looking for the truth behind my words. “This doesn’t change that you’re family.”
“We want you in the baby’s life, as well.” Brett’s shoulder brushes mine, familiar and solid.
“Me? How?” I glance between them, suddenly not following. How would that work?
“As an uncle,” Brett says, “and Godfather, if we could ask that of you.”
“Godfather?” The request catches me off guard. After everything—the dissolution of our relationship, the careful dance of rebuilding friendship—this feels like a sacred trust. “Wow, that’s… I’d be honored.”
Brett pulls me into a tight embrace, his arms strong around my shoulders. The familiar pressure of his body against mine sends a bittersweet ache through my chest. The solidity of him, the scent of his skin—things I once knew as intimately as my own heartbeat. No more nights exploring every inch of him, no more lazy mornings with his body curved around mine. Something precious slips away in this moment, even as something new begins.
