The Familiar Ache

Thalia’s POV

Morning sunlight spilled across my dresser as I pulled a brush through my hair, my gaze fixed on the bedroom mirror. Beckett’s proposition from last night still hung heavy in the back of my mind. Offering me the assistant position alongside him at the hospital was genuinely generous—thoughtful, even. Yet I hesitated to accept it. Letting him step any further into my daily orbit wasn't on my agenda, regardless of how stubbornly our shared history kept tangling our lives together.

“What’s the next move, Thalia?” I murmured under my breath, holding my own gaze in the glass.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway right behind me, making me flinch. Beckett was propped casually against the doorframe, wearing that easy, familiar grin of his. “Having conversations with yourself now? You realize that’s the very first symptom of going crazy, don’t you?”

I rolled my eyes and pivoted away from the mirror to face him. “I crossed that line a very long time ago.”

A low chuckle escaped him. “So, did you sleep on it? The offer hasn't gone anywhere. I really need an extra pair of hands at the hospital, and you’re overqualified for the role. It’ll give you solid hands-on experience, plus the kids genuinely love having you around the ward.”

Letting out a long breath, I raked my fingers through my hair. “I really don’t know, Beckett. Things are just… complicated right now.”

“With you, Thalia, things are always complicated.” He crossed the threshold into my bedroom, his tone dropping into something much gentler. “You don’t need to make this harder than it actually is. We’re friends—we’ve always been friends. Stop trying to hold me at arm’s length.”

“I’m not doing—” I started to argue, only for him to cut right across me.

“You definitely are.” He held my gaze without blinking. “Look, I understand. You’re hesitant to blur the lines between your private life and… whatever we have going on here. Still, Thalia, you don't have to carry every single burden by yourself.”

I caught my bottom lip between my teeth, searching for a rebuttal, though the words jammed tight in my throat. Before I could manage a single syllable, the sharp ring of Beckett’s cell phone sliced through the quiet room.

“I need to answer this,” he murmured, pulling the device out and checking the caller ID. “It’s Roan calling. We’ll finish this conversation later, alright?”

I gave a quick nod, silently relieved by the timing as he turned and walked out, his voice dropping low as he greeted Roan down the hall. Left to myself again, I tried to shake off the weight of his words and get back to dressing for the day. While digging through the shelves of my closet, my fingers brushed against a hard edge buried beneath a stack of neatly folded shirts. My breath caught the second I pulled it free and saw the face looking back at me. Kaelen.

That old, familiar pain hit me all over again, sharper than ever. Dropping onto the side of the mattress, I stared down at the photograph as a flood of memories crashed over me all at once. The sting of his rejection, the sheer agony of watching him walk out of my life, leaving me behind to raise our sons entirely on my own.

Pulling the frame tight against my chest, I let the hot tears spill freely down my face. It was impossible not to wonder how differently our lives might have played out if Kaelen had chosen to stay. What if he were right downstairs this very morning? Sitting around the kitchen table, joking with the boys, looking over their schoolwork. Maybe—just maybe—everything would have turned out alright.

“Why did you have to walk away?” I whispered into the quiet room, my voice breaking apart. “Why wasn’t I ever enough for you?”

Without warning, the bedroom door flew open, and Wyatt and Jace barreled inside, their bright laughter bouncing off the walls.

“Mom! Breakfast is ready!” Jace called out, scrambling right up onto the mattress next to me.

I hastily scrubbed the moisture from my cheeks with the back of my hand, shoving the picture frame out of sight. “I’m coming right now. You two really don’t have an ounce of patience, do you?”

Wyatt’s sharp gaze fixed directly on my face, the grin slipping right off his lips. “Mom, were you just crying?”

Pasting on a bright, artificial smile, I swiped a hand across my cheek. “Not at all, sweetie. My mind just wandered back to some old memories. It’s nothing to worry about.”

A deep crease formed between Wyatt’s eyebrows. “Were you thinking about… Dad?”

I forced down the lump in my throat. “It really doesn’t matter, Wyatt. Go on downstairs and help your brother get the table ready, alright? I’ll join you both in just a second.”

He lingered near the foot of the bed for a beat before finally giving a slow nod and trailing Jace out into the hall. The moment their footsteps faded down the stairs, my gaze dropped back to Kaelen’s photograph. My fingers trembled slightly as I took in his features for what I knew had to be the absolute final time.

Reaching over to the nightstand, I slid the drawer open and pulled out a small lighter, testing its cool weight against my palm. Some tiny, stubborn part of me begged to put it back, yet I refused to listen anymore. My thumb rolled across the wheel, sparking a steady orange flame in the quiet room. Without letting myself second-guess it, I touched the fire directly to the corner of the print and watched the paper catch.

Black char crept across Kaelen’s smiling face as the fire ate through the photograph, curling the edges inward until nothing remained but brittle gray ash. Pushing the bedroom window open, I scattered the burnt remnants outside, watching the morning breeze carry them completely out of sight.

“It’s done,” I murmured under my breath. “What’s behind me stays behind me.”

Giving my eyes one final wipe, I left the bedroom and made my way down the stairs. Both boys had already claimed their spots at the dining table, bickering back and forth over who got to use the biggest spoon for their cereal.

“Mom! Hurry up and sit by us!” Jace shouted, brandishing his metal spoon overhead.

“I’m right here, I’m right here,” I replied with a genuine laugh, pulling out my chair. “You two certainly know how to kick off a morning.”

Wyatt kept his eyes trained on me the entire time I settled into my seat. “Mom… are you positive you’re doing okay?”

Leaning across the table, I mussed up his hair with a gentle hand. “I’m doing way better than okay, Wyatt. I have you and your brother right here. What else could I possibly ask for?”

Some of the tension left his face, though a trace of worry lingered in his eyes. “You don’t need to put on an act for us, you know. We’ve got your back too.”

A warm smile tugged at my mouth as fresh tears pricked behind my eyelids, sparked entirely by sheer gratitude this time. “Thank you, sweetheart. I swear to you, I’m completely fine. Having you two is everything I need.”

Satisfied for the moment, he gave a small nod and looked back down at his bowl. Listening to my sons trade jokes and laugh over their morning meal, a genuine sense of relief settled into my chest. The weight of the past had finally lifted, leaving me free to step into whatever came next.

From here on out, I refused to look over my shoulder.

Watching my sons argue over absolute nonsense while shoveling down their cereal filled me with a fierce, protective warmth. Knowing these boys stood solidly in my corner brought a quiet peace to my heart.

It almost felt as if it were hitting me for the very first time just how much my sons anchored my entire world. Keeping a soft, faint smile on my lips, I looked down at my own plate and started eating.

Before long, the lively banter across the table began to taper off until the room fell completely quiet. Lifting my head to check on them, I noticed Zane still wore a cheerful grin, whereas Wyatt’s expression had gone entirely flat. Something was clearly weighing on his mind.

Between catching me with wet cheeks upstairs when he came to fetch me and his persistent questions about whether I was alright, I knew seeing me upset had thrown him off balance.

Still, wanting to be sure I wasn't just projecting my own earlier sadness onto him, I decided to address it directly.

“Wyatt?” I called out gently, my expression softening to let him know he could tell me whatever was bothering him.

He let out a reluctant, mumbled sound that was impossible to make out, keeping his eyes glued to his ceramic cereal bowl. Gripping his spoon loosely, he just pushed the remaining soggy flakes around in the milk.

“Wyatt, is what happened upstairs in my bedroom still eating at you?” I pressed, my brows drawing together as I waited for any kind of response that might clear the air, only to be met with a heavy, stubborn silence that spoke volumes about how unsettled he felt.

“Wyatt—” I parted my lips to try again, only for the sound of the front door swinging open in the living room to cut me off. Heavy footsteps crossed the floor and headed straight into the dining area where the three of us sat. It was Beckett.

Zane flashed a wide, toothy grin that made his excitement obvious, while Wyatt’s face remained completely stone-cold.

“Morning, everyone, looks like I walked in at the exact right time,” Beckett announced in an upbeat, teasing tone, though Wyatt wasn't having any of it and snapped right back with a sharp outburst that left me wondering whether the scene in my bedroom had set him off, or if something else entirely was brewing beneath the surface.

“How come you always show up here right in the middle of our family meals?” Wyatt demanded, stopping Beckett dead in his tracks with a startled expression on his face as he clearly tried to piece together where the sudden hostility was coming from.

Masking his discomfort behind an easygoing smile, Beckett kept his voice light and measured. “Must just be fate guiding my footsteps, Wyatt,” he replied smoothly before shifting a pointed look straight toward me.

“Is everything alright in here?” he asked, a genuine note of concern threading through his voice as he looked at me for an explanation.

“Everything’s fine,” I told him with a quick, reassuring nod, even as I silently wondered why Wyatt was shutting me out and refusing to answer my questions. Was this just the beginning of those teenage mood swings people always warned mothers about, or was something deeper going on?

Scooping up another bite of my cold cereal, my gaze happened to catch the wall clock hanging right beside the kitchen doorway, making me gasp out loud.

“Boys! Eat up, quickly! You’re about to be late for school!”

“Late for school?” Beckett echoed with mock surprise, making a show of glancing down at his wristwatch.

“Move it, boys! I’ll drive you guys to school this morning,” Beckett declared right away.

For the last several months, Beckett had been making steady, deliberate moves to win me over. Even though we worked side by side at the hospital every day, I had made a point of keeping our relationship strictly within the bounds of colleagues and friends.

“That’s really generous of you, Beckett, but I’m driving them to school myself today,” I pushed back, keeping my voice polite yet unmistakable.