This came from a request of Jay and Emma from the beginning. Since each "extra" chapters are independent and stands alone, the endings have been different; Emma stays, Emma goes. Which one will happen here? This is part one of two.

Nothing Ever Stays the Same

Emma

I had almost said no. I mostly kept to myself. Work, home, work, home, errands, and home. But that routine had grown old and I was young so I told my coworker yes I would go to the party with her. She had asked, cajoled and finally begged me. It wasn't far from my apartment and Tina knew a guy she had a crush on was attending and she didn't want to go alone. So I said yes, but I was the one who found love that night.

The house was darkened, the lamps covered with lightweight fabric, until you got to the kitchen, which was brightly lit for the purpose of filling your cups with whatever your pleasure was. I stuck to soda, I never drank alcohol, as a woman from Ireland I didn't want to be a walking cliché. Besides, I watched my family tip back bottle after a bottle and it never made them better people.

I stayed quiet, never offering up any personal data and skirting any questions that sought information. For one it was easier, I didn't want to answer questions about where I was from, why I was in America etc. But I have to admit letting loose might be nice. I need some fun in my life and maybe I'll find it here, even if just for a few hours.

Tina and I got a drink and stood side by side, as she scanned the room for her crush. I spent my time shifting from side to side as trying to avoid being bumped into, drinking quickly as to not spill my drink. I was debating about heading home when Tina finally spotted her guy and handed me her drink and disappeared into the crowd. I blew out a mouthful of air and decided I wasn't getting much from this outing when a guy with dark hair and what he believed to be a fashionable goatee came my way, his hips swinging with the music.

"Hey pretty lady," he yelled. "Care to dance?" He asked getting too close. I tried to back up but the couch was in the way and I nearly fell backwards onto it. "We can sit," he offered. But I shook my head and smiled as politely as I could and pushed my way past him and towards the kitchen. It wasn't an easy trek, slipping through the bodies squeezed together like sardines. Nevertheless, I finally made it and went to the sink to dump the two cups when I noticed a guy standing at the faucet adding some water to whatever was in his cup.

"Whoa, a two-fisted drinker," he commented.

"Soda in this one," I said lifting it up, "and this one isn't mine," I said showing him the other one before I dumped them both out.

"Are you leaving already?" He asked me, his eyes questioning.

I turned to look at him, not interested in another come-on, but there was something about his expression that stopped me. "I was thinking about it. I just have no idea where my coat is."

"So soon?"

"Not really my scene." I replied.

"Not mine either. A buddy convinced me."

"Me too."

"Nice accent." He commented but didn't ask me where I was from which I appreciated.

"Jay Halstead," he said raising his cup.

"Bridget," I offered with a shy smile. Suddenly I felt as if I was going through puberty right there on the spot, parts of me feeling as if they had been briefly electrified. His blue eyes were gentle but there was something mystifying about his expression. He gave a flat smile, that had warmth but no cheer and it seemed as if his face matched my life.

"You from Chicago?" I asked him like an idiot.

"I am. But I'm just visiting right now. I'm home before my deployment to Afghanistan."

"Oh. Okay. Army?"

"Yeah, Rangers."

"What are they?"

He smiled again, amused with my ignorance. "They are my life. They are what I used to piss my father off. He didn't want me to join the army, so not only did I do that but I picked an elite unit."

"My father and I aren't very close either," I said and then immediately questioned myself as to why. I never, never shared anything personal about my life. Zero, nil, nothing and here I blurt out the biggest truth of them all in less than a minute.

I went silent and I could tell he was thinking of something to say when a group of loud and rowdy revelers came in and forced us aside. I took it as my cue to go home, but Jay had other ideas. He grabbed my hand and tugged into the hallway and up the stairs—and I let him. Normally I would not allow anyone to take me to a secluded spot without some kind of battle, something that stuck with me from childhood, but for some reason even I cannot explain, I go with him willingly despite only knowing him for five minutes.

We found ourselves upstairs and in the bedroom with a bed full of coats. "Well at least we found the coats." He sighed. I began to pick through them in the muted light of the bedside lamp. "Don't leave. Not yet." He said as his hand meandered over the coats, putting no effort into looking for his. "We can just talk."

"We're standing by a bed and you tell me you just want to talk?" I question him.

"If that's all you want, then it's all I want. You have beautiful eyes." He added. "And hair."

"You flatter me, but you just want to talk?" I question him.

"I can't flatter you?"

"It's suspicious when you do it in a bedroom." I tell him as I finally find my coat. I pick it up and suddenly he is on his knees on top of the bed kissing me. At first I am shocked and my reaction is to push him away, but there is something gentle and serene about his effort. I don't feel scared or overpowered, I feel like I don't want him to stop. Something from this man has already crawled inside me and taken root. I had dated a guy for months and not felt like this even once. It is as if there was a magnetic force pushing and pulling us into a mutual reality that neither of us could escape from.

He pulls his head back and takes a breath, as if he had just finished running. "I'm sorry," he gasps. "It was like I couldn't help it. I couldn't let you leave without kissing you. I didn't mean—I shouldn't have," he stammered and I knew then of his sincerity and honesty.

"Maybe I can stay a few more minutes," I tell him, my face blushing in this muddy colored room.

Ten minutes later he was playing with my hair as we lay facing each other atop of a mass of coats. Words were scarce as we looked at each other, gazing at the other as if we could never stop.

We only got up when the constant interruption of people claiming their outerwear became too much. He walked me home, the place that I hadn't even been aware I was heading. But he didn't come inside. He said he needed time to clear his head from the buzzing that I had created. We exchanged numbers and when he left I nearly collapsed.

At work the following day every time my phone emitted any type of noise I clutched it as if it could save my life. But it was never him. Was he waiting to see if I would text him first? Or had everything I thought was special about him was nothing at all? Should I have had sex with him? I wasn't quick to pull the trigger and maybe he sensed that. However, he never pushed the issue, preferring to be together. Did I blow it and if I did was that the right thing? Should I just text him? If I did and he didn't respond wouldn't that be ten times worse?

My last boyfriend and I had dated for about three months and in all that time I hadn't felt even the tiniest spark and last night with one kiss I felt as if I was a human sparkler. I figured my disposition to stay isolated had caused the lack of any emotion from within me, but this man had broken through everything with little effort and that had to mean something. However, maybe it had only meant something to me I thought sadly.

I got off the bus and walked the few blocks home, beginning to wonder if last night had even been real. When I looked up there he was, sitting on the steps as if he was a lost child waiting for his mother to come home. He stood up as I got near.

"I was going to text, but was afraid you might not text back and I don't think I could have handled that. I brought dinner," he said holding up a bag. "If you don't want me to stay, I can just leave your meal," he said, hope laced in every word.

It was hours before we ever got around to eating.

It was days before we parted.

I called work, saying I had a family emergency and since I hadn't missed a day up to that point, nobody questioned me. We had ten days together and I wasn't going to spend a minute of it away from him. He showed me the city he knew from childhood. His home, his school, all of his favorite hangouts. We rode the Centennial Wheel at Navy Pier, took a boat ride to see the architecture. He took me to his favorite bar and rode the elevator into the heavens of Sears Tower. We ate at trendy restaurants and walked hand-in-hand on the Riverwalk.

My apartment was a simple studio, and I loved it. I also loved not needing an inquisitive roommate that would snoop and eavesdrop and steer conversations to the private information that I needed to keep to myself. I had my queen-sized bed in one corner with a dresser next to it. A couch and loveseat adjacent with an end table and coffee table facing a wall mounted TV with another dresser underneath it. The bathroom door next to it. Off in the other corner, opposite my bed was the kitchen that held an island with plenty of storage. A closet and dressing area was near the couch. It had been a quick flip over a garage but the rent was fair and the bus stop was two blocks away.

Jay and I tumbled from one end of the large room to the other making love in ways I had never dreamed. It was as if we knew what the other was thinking. It almost felt as if we were the same person at times, split into two bodies. We knew what made each other happy and happiness was all that mattered. We stared into each other's eyes, emotions deep and wide with words not needing to be spoken. His departure was stepping closer each day and each day we were hungrier for the other. The thought of him leaving left a physical ache inside me. How could I could I cope with his looming absence and the hole it would leave behind. We could write and occasionally call, but he would be in a war zone and that never bode well. I spent part of my time wanting to hold him close, envisioning our future together and the other part wishing he was gone because I just couldn't bear to get any closer to him only to watch him leave. He was in an elite unit and the what-if's began to swirl and swim in my brain. He may not come back to Chicago; he may not come back at all. He may come back but have no interest in me and I had no idea which one would hurt the worst.

As our days dwindled, as each wrapper was torn from a condom our reality began to close in on us. What future could we possibly have? I couldn't have any attachment to anyone. I couldn't risk them through my affection. Was there such a thing as far enough? Safe enough from my family. So maybe this was perfect. Intense days filled with lust and love only to say goodbye in the end.

But at the same time, I had never felt safer, or more at ease in my life. I didn't think anyone could ever have the power to make me feel this way. And now I had to say goodbye.

Jay

We didn't spend much time in deep conversation, but even so, she kept me at arms distance when it came to any type of dialogue. I felt that she knew so much about me but I knew nothing of her. Our attraction was instant and epic. I had never believed in love at first sight, but had never felt like this towards anyone before. I had dated a girl in high school that I loved or had believed I loved. We had been in sync or so I thought, but the intensity was nowhere near what I was experiencing with Bridget. She had told me to call her Emma on our second day together, explaining it was her family name or something, the only personal fact that she shared. I like the way the name brought my lips together, my very busy lips.

When we were side-by-side, our legs and arms entwined, even when we were making love and could not be physically closer, we were not near enough. I felt so empty when we separated, as if I wouldn't survive if she wasn't right next to me. I had no idea what it was about her that had me so entranced, so spellbound, but her hold on me was firm and my love for her just as resolute.

Was it her sparkling blue eyes? Her lyrical accent. The hair that was every color and no color. The way she looked at me as if I could save her from anything. I had no idea, what I did know was that I had never had anyone look at me that way before. Never had anyone make me feel like this before.

The days that had initially tiptoed now raced our way and soon I would say goodbye. The Army had been my refuge, what I chose to embrace when my father refused mine. But I have found myself in a loathing misery, hating what it was about to make me do. My first deployment found me younger, naïve, a testosterone fueled mutant, now I knew what lay ahead, what bloody trail I would have to follow. What I would see if I was lucky, only because it wasn't happening to me. How many body parts would I have to step over on my way to the dead bodies? How many lives would be ruined? Emma made me feel alive, wanted, and loved. I had introduced her to my mother. We had met for lunch in a small diner. I asked her not to tell my father of the relationship and she claimed that it would be our secret. These were the two women I loved the most in the world and before I left I needed to know that they were aware of one another.

My departure was agonizing. The night before we stayed up talking, though I don't recall about what. I traced my finger over her body as if I could memorize her this way; feel every dip and curve. How could love be so divisive; so beautiful one moment so ugly the next. I hated the army for taking me away. I hated myself for leaving. I knew our last ten days couldn't continue even in the best of circumstances, but I found it easier to place blame something. Who knows if we would meet again. She could move; I could die. I wanted to believe that our time together held some greater meaning, that is was bigger than us. Its intensity could translate into a future together. But what did I know for certain was that I had no idea what love was until a week ago.

I tried to write her every night, but my pen would not move. She was in my every breath, in all the words I could not say, but when I went to put on paper, I was lost. I hadn't received anything from her and admittedly I felt the searing pain of rejection. But then again, I hadn't sent her anything either.

She was what I thought about when I closed my eyes or when the sun hit my face. However, the days pushed us farther apart, memories burrowing deeper and I had even less to say each night and I wondered if that plagued her as well.

I knew one of the reason I couldn't find the words to write was because I had put her in a terrible position our last time together. One I had held from her gave her no part of my choice and I feared its repercussions. I just couldn't stop myself, I had to have one last time with her. I had searched empty wrappers and until I had nothing left to examine and lied to her when she asked if everything was alright. I had tried to pull out, and I did, mostly. Even trying to justify it made me sound like an irresponsible teenager. I had no right, but I did it anyway. Did she know? Did she care? Was she pregnant? Was she no longer pregnant? Did I have a right to know any of it?

Emma

I wrote to Jay every night and then placed the letter in a shoebox on the shelf of my closet. I spoke of the city, my job, my worry for him, my broken heart. I never mailed them, because if I did I would have to tell him about what he had left behind. I knew the moment of conception, a little burst or flourish of our combined love. I was both terrified and exhilarated. I watched my belly swell and stretch, felt flutters and jabs, but still did not tell Jay. If I sent a letter then I would have to tell him and I just couldn't do it yet. What if he rejected me, us? Was this baby enough to keep my love for Jay alive? Could I be tethered to one city? If I told Jay and he wanted to be a part of our lives, his child's life, the complications would be immeasurable. I had forgotten how tenuous my position was. How danger could still lurk just out of sight. I never had wanted something that could be taken away and here I had the ultimate gift.

I found that I couldn't breathe when I was with him and now I discovered that I couldn't breathe without him. I had always thought love would solve anything; turns out it merely creates a forbidding ache.

The days had turned to weeks, the weeks to months and now I was looking at a haunting, somewhat fuzzy picture of our child. I was told it was a boy. I stared intently as if I could pick out the curve of Jay's jaw or the point of my chin. It was if I needed to see the combination of us in order to remember what had been so real. I had asked for and received two prints of our son and I shuddered when I thought about those words, our son. This child conceived in the deepest passion, but his world divided even before his first cells had the opportunity. Jay had a right to know, this wasn't just about me anymore and that was the biggest problem of them all.

Jay

My eyes watered, the dirt creating havoc with my vision as I stared at this photo that looked more like a negative. It wasn't until a fellow soldier asked me if it was a boy or girl did it hit me as to what I was looking at. That last night. That last time. She hadn't written because she didn't want to tell me. I hadn't written because I had no words for my emotions. This picture changed everything. She wrote that the tech claimed it was a boy, easy to see although nothing was easy to see in this photo. I could see the head, tiny arms and legs, but only because I knew they were there. She was due in a few months. She told me I had something to come home to now, but I thought I already had something awaiting my return.

Emma said she was six months along and they baby looked healthy. She was doing well but was tired. She apologized for the delay in telling me but needed time to gather her thoughts. I was told to stay safe and that she would love to hear from me. But instead of reaching out to her, I called my mother instead.

Just before I had come home for my pre-deployment leave, my mother had discovered a lump. The lump turned out to be cancer. She was undergoing treatments and valiantly fighting, but it was what was left unsaid that told me it wasn't going well. My dad looked surly whenever I video called and my mother attempted to look upbeat and pleasant. Unfortunately, her mask wasn't enough. I could see the fatigue in every line on her face. Her body drooping despite her efforts to prop it up. I was gaining a son as I was losing my mother. Is this how life worked? You could never have it all or even most of it? There was always a tradeoff? But I needed her now. I needed her words of support, her encouragement that somehow everything would be all right.

The months of deployment continued I had written a short letter to Emma claiming my surprise at the news, even though I wasn't. The secret had crawled up inside me and burned me with shame. I was the last person who should become a father. I still struggled on how to be a son, how could I ever father one?

We had left our future open-ended. No plans to get together, or to stay apart. No ideas on co-parenting that I was told was coming into vogue. Maybe she wouldn't even be in Chicago when I got home. What if she took my son and ran? But why would she have told me she was pregnant if that was her plan? It took nine months to grow a baby and I was here for a year, meaning the baby would be born long before I got home. Suddenly the plans I had had all those months ago of being a couple, eventually becoming parents had been twisted and turned inside out. I had had the audacity to plan and life dumped me on my ass. My daydreams had taken me to something, some day but reality had turned it into now. I didn't know if I wanted a relationship, a family someday, and I knew that I didn't want it now. But I had made it so and had nobody else to blame. I then realized as I tried to deny it that I was one of those asshole men that wanted to control a woman by sabotaging the birth control. I had made this happen, because deep down, I wanted Emma to be mine.

Emma

The delivery had been going fine until the baby's heart monitor signaled distress. I was in a panic, the doctor was calm but I could read fear and alarm in her eyes. The baby needed out now, no time for a caesarian, I had to will this baby out. I pushed with everything I had and then pushed harder. This baby was going to be fine; this was Jay's son and somehow if this baby wasn't going to be okay than neither was Jay. It was all up to me. Finally Liam James was born, his lips tinged blue, the cord wrapped around his neck twice. It took a moment of furious agitation to get him to cry, but once he did I was surprised his father hadn't heard him in Afghanistan. I took him in my arms and searched for Jay. His tufts of blond hair and bright blue eyes were from me. His round face was still me. Everything was me and that was the last thing I wanted. Obviously Jay was involved in this, but where was he? Where was he?

I asked the same question each day after Mary had told me Jay had returned to Chicago. He was being discharged from the army and looking to join the Chicago Police Department. I had moved when I was seven months pregnant to a small two-bedroom apartment in West Town. A friend of a friend was moving to Evanston and had been willing to introduce me to the landlord for first dibs. It was enough room for me and a young child and the bonus was a nearby park and home daycare down the street.

When I had left Ireland I managed to squirrel away enough extra money to cushion the cost of Chicago. When I first got here I waited tables and went to school. After getting my associate degree, a company was willing to take me on, believing in the hardworking immigrant tale. I did work hard and was rewarded with a reasonable salary, though I still waited tables two nights a week to tuck away for a rainy day. It turned out the rainy day was day care.

Mary, Jay's mother had lamented the fact that she couldn't help watch her grandson while I worked. She could handle him for a couple of hours a few nights a week, but she tired easily and didn't trust herself beyond that. Pat, Jay's father, the man that had initially distanced himself from me, lit up whenever I stopped by with the baby. He would walk him around the house, show him family photos, and tell him stories of years ago. They also helped me financially despite my efforts to decline. Pat would say if Jay wouldn't step up then they would. The Halstead's were good people and his son wasn't going to give the appearance of anything less.

Liam was almost six months old and I hadn't heard from Jay even though he had been back in the city for a while. I could tell this bothered his mother tremendously, while Pat seemed to expect this behavior, saying both of his sons only think about themselves, going where they want, doing what they want.

Mary and I had faith that Jay would come around. She knew he was struggling, dealing with things he refused to speak about.

Jay

Every morning as I stumbled out of bed, fighting a hangover and full of regret, my first thought was Emma and the son I had yet to meet. I had a secured spot for the upcoming Police Academy class, needing only an abbreviated course due to my military experience. During many days I helped to take care of my mother as her illness chipped away at her vitality. Most nights I drank myself to sleep hoping to keep the nightmares away. But each night, blood, guts and screams were my companion. I needed to chase them away, because if I could, then my hands wouldn't shake during the day in fatigue and trauma and if that stopped, I could meet my son. I couldn't face Emma either. I had slept with more women in the last few months than I care to admit, all to discover that none of them was the woman I loved.

My mother encouraged me to either speak with someone to help me adjust to civilian life or just take the plunge and call Emma. I found I could do neither. It was as if I was standing in quicksand, unable to move and slowly sinking.

My father berated me, saying he couldn't believe he had raised a son who would abandon his own child and I admit his words hurt with their accuracy.

My mother always had new pictures of him and he was growing so fast. I gave her money to give to Emma, not much as I was living off my savings until the Academy started. But it was a step forward. I knew it wasn't a big enough step forward. So one day after a good night's sleep, the first one in months, I stood outside their apartment and waited for the courage to explain my absence, an absence that was growing harder to explain with each passing day. I knew my mother was only holding onto life because she was waiting to see me with my son, her grandson. It was a gift I owed her as much as I owed Liam and time was rapidly running out.

Mary

Each day my eyes opened I was grateful, but then the pain the fatigue came. I could barely stay awake these days and Jay was always a sight for sore eyes. He was tender and sweet and would just listen or talk, whichever I needed. He had always been a sensitive child, wanting to help wherever he could. It was hard for me to understand this young man that had returned from Afghanistan broken and angry, though I couldn't say I was surprised or it was unexpected. War quickly chewed up the most sensitive souls. His struggles were etched all over his face, his tired eyes, the frown lines that had appeared, his sagging shoulders.

I would share the most recent pictures that Emma had left when she would stop by with Liam for a visit. I had to commend this young woman, doing it all on he own; she was brave and strong. Jay would study the pictures as if they held the secret of the universe as I quietly encouraged him to meet his son. It wasn't that he didn't care, I knew that much, it was because he did care. He wanted be the perfect father, outdo his own, and he just couldn't be the man he wanted to be yet. It didn't matter that Liam wouldn't understand any mistakes, or see him lacking, Jay wanted to get it right from the beginning.

However my time was growing short and my only desire was to see him meet his son, to have a picture of the two of them together to clutch in my final days. He knew this; I knew this. He rejected the idea of counseling, saying time and normality would help him through, but I knew despite his best efforts, one day he would need more to overcome all he had seen and experienced. He was a good man who had been through bad things and even his goodness couldn't overcome all that. He would have a long road in front of him and the two people that would help him the most were within reach if he would allow it.

Pat

I love both of my sons. I know they disagree with that sometimes, but I do. I tried so hard as they were growing up to set them on the right path. To be good men, to be strong men. But they both seemed to want to reach for things I felt were unnecessary. Will, off to years and years of school and debt to become a doctor, as if he was too good to be a plumber. Jay, insisting on jumping from the nest into a war that made very little sense to me. I questioned the war and by doing that it became Jay's destiny. I'm as patriotic as they come, but seeing our soldiers die when there was no clear operation seemed tragic and the sacrifices too great. The last thing I wanted to was to lose my youngest son to a battle that seemingly had no mission. Even if he came back in one piece, what he witnessed would continually shave off layers of his existence and sanity. I've seen it before and I have no desire to see it in my own son.

But because he was my son, and never took advice from me, he joined up and found himself in the rangers, the effort I'm sure spurred on by my distaste in his decision. And off he went. The first time he seemed to hold it all in, I could almost buy his tight smile as real, his assurances as truth, but another deployment would only overload a system that had no room. And it was easy to see that it had. It was keeping him from his son, which broke his mother's heart, and what he refused to see, was that it broke mine as well.

I knew that he had the capability of being a good father, even a great one. He was a gentle soul, but I fear that some of what made him, him was now lost forever in the mountains and valleys of Afghanistan. Part of my son was gone forever and for that I quietly mourned. However, another part of him emerged, toughened, skeptical and ready for a fight, something he would need as a police officer. I wasn't completely sold on this idea either. I was as immensely proud as I was terrified. He had just been through so much now he planned to do the same thing, except on local soil. And with a child to raise? It seemed somewhat selfish to me, but Jay was one that never liked to sit still. Will was our scholar; Jay was pure energy.

My wife was almost gone, a ghost of herself and I knew once I lost her I would lose Jay as well. Emma had promised that I could see Liam whenever I wanted and was convenient, but part of me felt as if that would only cause more of a divide between my son and me. I didn't know how to make him understand me, just as I didn't know how to understand him.

To be continued...