Chapter 10:Shadows of the Past
Jess placed the lasagna in the oven and moved over to the sink, her hands already reaching for the dishes. Since being off work, she found herself with more time on her hands than she knew what to do with. Cooking had always been one of her favorite things, a habit she'd inherited from her mother. Before her mom passed, they'd spent hours in the kitchen together, laughing, sharing stories, and experimenting with new recipes. Now, as an adult with a demanding job, those precious moments had become rare. The whirlwind of 50-plus-hour work weeks had made it easier to rely on takeout or quick meals. But tonight, she was determined to make it different.
She took a sip of her wine, letting the warm, smooth taste linger on her tongue. Her day had turned around. After days of drowning in the weight of her own thoughts, she'd decided not to lock herself away in her mind. Instead, she'd gotten out, embraced the world around her.
She'd gone grocery shopping to pick up everything she needed for supper, some wine to go with it, and she'd cleaned her apartment from top to bottom. Jess had never realized how satisfying it could be, scrubbing every surface, organizing every corner. The smell of cleaning supplies and fresh air filled the room, and it gave her a sense of accomplishment. She'd even tackled the laundry pile she'd been avoiding for weeks, and then gone for a long run—a ritual she'd always relied on to clear her head. The endorphins from the run had lifted her spirits, and for the first time in days, she felt like she was coming out of the darkness that had shadowed her.
She took another sip of her wine and leaned against the counter. The apartment was quiet, the soft hum of the oven in the background. She felt content—like she had control over something again, like she was starting to heal. She had worked through the mess in her mind and now, here, in the comfort of her home, she was proud of herself for not letting the weight of the world pull her under.
She glanced at the clock, her thoughts turning to Don. She hoped he would be home soon. It had been a long, exhausting day for both of them, and she wanted nothing more than to spend a quiet evening together, to share a meal, to talk. Maybe even engage in a little physical activity—a way to reconnect in a way that felt natural, comfortable. Her lips curved into a soft smile at the thought.
Tonight, she wanted to feel close to him again. She needed it. Needed him.
The timer on the oven beeped, pulling her from her thoughts, and Jess stood up, moving to check on the lasagna. She knew Don would appreciate the effort she'd put into this meal. It was simple, but it was something real, something she could share with him—something that felt like a return to normalcy.
Jess carefully placed the last of the silverware on the table, smoothing her hands over the cloth as she stood back to admire her work. The lasagna smelled delicious, the aroma filling the small apartment and mixing with the calming scent of the wine. She felt proud of how the evening was shaping up.
Then she heard it—the distinct click of the door unlocking, followed by the soft creak of the door opening. Jess glanced up just in time to see Don step inside.
As soon as her eyes landed on him, she froze. The weight of his exhaustion was unmistakable, his shoulders slumped, his face drawn and weary. Something was wrong. Her heart gave a little twist as she silently surveyed him, already knowing that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be easy.
Don paused for a moment in the doorway, taking in the scene before him—the dinner, the table set so neatly, the effort Jess had put into making the evening special. The sight struck him harder than he expected. She was trying to build something beautiful out of the chaos, and here he was, the one who might shatter it. He swallowed hard. She had no idea what kind of day he'd had. She didn't know the weight he was carrying—the truth he hadn't been able to share yet.
He wanted to tell her, but for now, he couldn't. Not while she had gone through so much trouble. Not while she was so… hopeful.
Her soft voice broke through his thoughts. "Donnie?" Jess whispered, walking over to him, her eyes full of concern. "You okay?"
Don blinked, his breath shaky, and he looked down at her. Her worry was palpable, but the last thing he wanted to do was burden her with the darkness that had consumed him all day. He forced a small smile, even though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied, his voice rough around the edges.
Jess tilted her head slightly, not fully convinced. "You sure?" she asked, her hand brushing against his arm in a silent show of support. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the weight of something unspoken.
Don met her gaze for a brief moment before glancing away, his eyes flicking to the table, to the meal she had prepared with so much care. It felt wrong to spoil it, to tell her what was really eating at him. But it was hard to keep it inside, to pretend everything was okay.
"I'm sure," he said again, a little more firmly this time, though it still didn't feel right.
Jess studied him for a second longer before sighing softly, sensing his reluctance to open up. She wanted to press him, but she also didn't want to push him away. Instead, she took a step back, offering him a small, understanding smile.
"Alright," she said gently, her voice softening. "Well, the lasagna's ready. I hope you're hungry."
Don didn't answer immediately. He stood there for a moment, just watching her, before nodding and stepping further into the room. He felt the knot in his chest loosen just a little. She had a way of grounding him, of making everything feel more manageable, even when the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
"Smells amazing," he murmured, grateful for the small normalcy she was offering him.
Jess smiled, relieved by his response. "I hope it tastes as good as it smells." She gestured to the table. "Please, sit. We'll talk later."
Don didn't argue. He sat down at the table, still lost in his thoughts, but grateful for her presence. He knew there would be a time for them to talk—really talk—about what had happened today, what was still lingering between them. But for now, he just needed this. This moment. With her.
Later that evening:
Jess sat on the couch, her phone propped up in front of her as she FaceTimed with Chris. His face appeared on the screen, and she smiled warmly at him, though she could see the concern behind his eyes.
"Alright, Chris," she said, her voice light, trying to keep the conversation casual. "I'll be there for Julia's recital. Kk loves you. Give Julia, Dylon, and Nathan a kiss for me."
She listened to his response for a moment before giving a final wave and hitting "End." As the call ended, she sighed softly, glad she'd checked in. She had been doing her best to stay connected with her family, to feel grounded again, but it hadn't been easy.
She walked over to the fridge and grabbed a beer for Don and a bottle of water for herself, feeling the weight of the day lift a little as she moved through the quiet apartment. Don had insisted on doing the dishes after their meal, something she was more than happy to let him do. Jess had taken a long bubble bath after dinner, her muscles finally starting to relax after the stress of the day. She slipped into her favorite pair of pajama pants and one of Don's old academy tees—her usual cozy attire for nights like these—and braided her long hair before heading to the bedroom.
Don was lounging in her room, the soft glow of the TV flickering from the hockey game he was watching. Jess walked in, feeling a rush of affection as she saw him there. She climbed onto the bed beside him and passed him the beer with a small smile.
"Thanks, Jessie," he said, taking the beer from her. His eyes softened as he looked at her, the familiar warmth in his gaze as he took in her appearance. She was perfect—beautiful in his old tee, looking like she belonged there. Despite the weight of the day, he couldn't help but find her irresistible.
Jess snuggled into his side, settling comfortably against him. She noticed he was quieter than usual, his body tense, his mind clearly elsewhere. As he took a sip of his beer, she didn't let it go unnoticed.
"I know something's bothering you," she said, trying to keep the conversation light, playful even. "I can see it."
Don hesitated for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly against the bottle. "It's no big deal," he assured her, though the words didn't seem to carry the weight he wanted them to.
Jess pulled away from him slightly, turning so she could sit cross-legged on the bed, facing him directly. She wanted to make sure he knew she was serious about this. "Remember this morning?" she said softly. "When you told me I wasn't alone, and I could lean on you? Well, that goes both ways. You aren't alone, either. You can lean on me."
Don opened his mouth to respond but was cut off as Jess reached out, her fingers lightly brushing over his arm. She could see the internal struggle in his eyes—the same struggle she'd been fighting herself, trying to keep things together for both of them.
"Jess—"
"I know things are weighing on you," Jess continued, her voice steady but full of understanding. "I often forget that the shooting happened to you, too. I make it all about me, but you've been through it, too. Probably worse, mentally, since I have selective memory, but you... you've carried it. I see it in your eyes."
Don's breath caught in his throat as he listened to her. She wasn't accusing him, wasn't pushing him—but she was right. He had buried it, kept it under the surface, pretending that everything was fine. But it wasn't. And she knew it.
Jess gently placed her hand on his, her fingers tracing the lines of his palm. "You can tell me," she said, her voice low but full of sincerity. "You can trust me. Whatever's haunting you, I promised you, I'll be here."
Her words lingered in the air between them, and Don couldn't help but feel the pull of her care, the weight of her love. He wanted to tell her, he really did. But the truth, the things that still haunted him, felt too heavy to lay at her feet. He wanted to protect her, not burden her with the chaos in his mind.
But Jess wasn't giving up. She wasn't letting him hide.
"I'm right here, Don," she whispered. "You don't have to carry it alone anymore."
He stared at her for a moment, her eyes full of concern, her hand warm in his. He had spent so much time pretending that he had it all under control, that he was fine, that nothing was broken. But Jess had a way of seeing through it all, of knowing when something wasn't right.
Don sighed, not sure really where to start. "I crossed a line," he began, his voice rough. He then recounted every detail of that day, laying bare his actions. How he'd maneuvered his way onto the task force, driven by a need for revenge. How he'd stormed into the warehouse, his laser-sharp focus on finding Cade. He admitted, his voice cracking, that Cade was the one who fired the shot, the one that had struck Jess. He'd been consumed by a thirst for blood, for revenge. He'd convinced himself he wasn't there to kill, but now, looking back, he wasn't so sure.
Jess listened, her expression unreadable, absorbing every word like a wound. Her heart ached for him, but it was the kind of pain that didn't allow for easy comfort, only understanding. Each word Don spoke seemed to cut deeper, not just for him, but for her as well, as the weight of what he had been carrying settled between them.
She didn't interrupt, didn't try to offer solace or distractions. Instead, she stayed quiet, letting him speak freely, knowing how much he was struggling to admit it. She could see it in his eyes—he was still wrestling with what he'd done, still unsure of how to reconcile the man he was with the actions that haunted him.
He continued, his confession a torrent of guilt and self-loathing. He told her how he'd tracked Cade to the boiler room, the confrontation that had spiraled out of control. It had come down to him and Cade, a deadly standoff. Cade had fallen, and Don couldn't recall the precise moment, the exact movement, that had brought his gun up. For a heartbeat, he'd hesitated, the weapon wavering. But then he saw it—the gun, the desert eagle, the same one Danny had identified as the weapon that had shot her. A wave of rage, raw and blinding, washed over him. He couldn't stop himself. He fired, killing an unarmed man.
Don looked at her after his confession, unsure of how she would react, how she would see him after everything he had admitted. He had laid it all bare—his darkest thoughts, his deepest regrets—and now, the silence between them felt suffocating. His heart was still heavy, burdened by the weight of guilt that pressed down on him, suffocating him from within.
But Jess, ever steady, didn't hesitate. She took a deep breath, her voice soft but filled with a conviction that cut through the tension. "You should never have been put in this position," she said, her words like a soothing balm. "No matter how much you wanted to be on the task force, O'Bryan and Mac should have known better. You didn't deserve that."
Her words, though they didn't erase the pain, gave him a moment of reprieve. It was comforting to hear someone else acknowledge the unfairness of it all, that it wasn't all on him. Jess understood that. It wasn't just his fault.
She held his hand tightly, her gaze unwavering, her next words grounding him. "This doesn't change who you are to me. You are my rock, my best friend, and the one person I trust more than anything. This doesn't define you."
Don could feel the sincerity of her words sink in. The tight knot in his chest loosened, just a fraction. He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear that from her. How much it meant to him that, despite everything, she saw him—really saw him—not just for the mistake, but for the man he was.
"One mistake doesn't erase all the good you have done," Jess continued, her voice steady, filled with quiet strength. "I've watched you with grieving families. You're a good cop, a good person. I strive to be half the cop you are. This does not change that."
Her words wrapped around him like a shield, blocking the wave of guilt that tried to drown him. He had been so consumed by the idea that one error would define him, that it would overshadow everything else. But Jess wasn't focused on that. She wasn't defining him by his actions, but by his character.
She squeezed his hand, then continued, "Cade was a kidnapper and a cop shooter. If you weren't a good person, this wouldn't bother you."
Her words hit him harder than he expected. Jess understood, in her own way, the complexity of what he had done—and how it haunted him. She didn't excuse it, but she didn't reduce him to just that one moment either. She saw him, the whole of him.
"You can't let this consume you," she went on, her voice soft but firm. "I need you to know that, to believe me."
Don felt a pang of gratitude mixed with the lingering weight of shame. She was trying to pull him out of the darkness, to remind him that he wasn't alone in this. That he didn't have to carry it all by himself.
"I understand the rage and anger you must have felt, facing the person who hurt me," she continued, her voice laced with tenderness. "Selfish of me, I know, but I am grateful. Grateful that I don't have to worry about Cade, that we don't have to exist together. It's comfort to me."
Don's heart clenched at her words. He hadn't realized how much the thought of Cade still hung over her, how much she too needed to find peace. She wasn't just offering him forgiveness—she was giving herself a sense of relief too. He wasn't the only one carrying the weight of Cade's actions.
"Jess," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He didn't know what to say in response, but he knew that, in this moment, with her beside him, he wasn't as alone as he had been before.
A little later…
The room was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand. Jess had just finished talking, her voice still lingering in the air. The weight of the day had melted away, replaced by something more comforting. A sense of closeness between them, a bond forged through shared struggles and silent understanding.
Don watched her as she lay beside him, the warmth of her body pressing softly against his. His hand found hers, their fingers interlacing. They didn't need words anymore. In that moment, everything felt perfectly still, as if the world outside had ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them in the quiet embrace of their connection.
Jess tilted her head slightly, her eyes searching his face. "I love you," she whispered, her voice a soft, soothing rhythm that wrapped around his heart. Her lips brushed gently against his cheek before resting close to his ear.
Don's breath hitched, his chest tightening with the tenderness of her words. "I love you too," he replied quietly, his voice thick with emotion.
He turned towards her, his hand cupping her face as he gently kissed her forehead, then her eyes, then her lips. The kiss was slow, tender, a quiet promise in every movement. It wasn't about the rush of passion; it was about something deeper—comfort, reassurance, and connection.
Jess responded, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, her touch light yet filled with affection. She pulled him closer, her body pressing against his, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The world outside faded completely, leaving them in this intimate cocoon where nothing else mattered.
They didn't need to say anything more. In that moment, it was just them, wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence, finding solace in the way they fit together, as if they had always been meant to.
The night stretched on, quiet and peaceful, with only the sound of their breaths mingling in the air as they held each other close, letting the weight of the world slip away, just for a while.