Chapter 43
It had been five days since I last saw or heard from Harper. Five long, fucking miserable days. Every hour without her stretched endlessly, each one another reminder of what I’d lost. Of what I ruined.
I was unraveling. The kind of mess you couldn’t fix with a good night’s sleep or a stiff drink. Not that I was getting much of either. Sleep was a joke. Eating wasn’t much better–I forced down just enough to keep functioning. Barely.
And the phone. Jesus, the phone. I couldn’t stop checking it.
Over and over, thumbing the screen like maybe this time I’d see her name.
But it was always the same: the last message I’d sent her, sitting there unanswered, staring back at me like a reminder carved in stone.
Each time I looked, the silence cut deeper.
I knew this was going to happen.
I knew it the second I let myself believe I could have something real. Something good. That I could build a life with her and Connor, that I could somehow outrun my past and come out the other side clean.
I should’ve known better. Because this is what I do–I fuck things up. It’s practically my legacy.
The worst part? I knew it was my fault. I could have prevented this if I had just been honest.
I thought about showing up every damn day.
Thought about storming into her life, explaining, begging her to see that the man in those stories isn’t me anymore. That he never really was–not in the way it sounded.
But she didn’t want to hear it. The damage was already done.
She was it for me. The only person who’d ever made me feel like I could breathe again. Like maybe I wasn’t beyond saving.
And now I was supposed to sit on my hands and hope she came around?
I rubbed a hand down my face, pacing the length of my kitchen like a caged animal.
My chest was tight, my thoughts loud, and no matter how many times I tried to convince myself that waiting was the right thing–that giving her space was what she needed–I couldn’t stop thinking about one simple truth.
What if space only pushed her further away?
What if she thought I didn’t care enough to fight for her?
Because I did.
God, I did.
And maybe I didn’t deserve her forgiveness. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to lose her without trying.
To make it worse, my phone hadn’t stopped buzzing.
Shane: Hey, man. You good? Haven’t heard from you. Call me.
Kyle: What’s going on? Harper okay? You okay?
Their concern was relentless and I couldn’t deal with it. Saying it out loud–even just typing the words–would make it too real, and I wasn’t ready for that.
So, I dodged them. Every call. Every message. I let them pile up, unread and unanswered. I knew they’d figure out something was wrong soon enough. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to explain.
Not yet. Not when I was barely holding it together.
With no hockey to keep me busy, I threw myself into work. Projects that had been around for months were suddenly getting done at record speed. I spent hours at the kitchen table, drowning in paperwork and taking on way too much. Anything to keep my mind from wandering back to her.
It didn’t work.
No matter how deep I buried myself in distractions, my thoughts always drifted back to Harper. To the way she felt in my arms, to the sound of her laugh. To the way she used to look at me like I was her whole world. Now, she wouldn’t even look at me.
I managed to catch one of Connor’s hockey practices earlier today. Not because I’d planned to, but because I was at the arena working on something for Patti. The moment I saw him on the ice, skating circles around the other kids, my chest tightened. That kid was something special.
I stuck around after practice, hoping–praying–for a glimpse of Harper. She wasn’t there, though. Another parent was driving Connor home.
Connor spotted me as he was leaving, his face lighting up like he hadn’t just seen me while he was on the ice ten minutes earlier. “Ryan!”
“Hey, bud,” I crouched down as he ran over, throwing his arms around me in a tight hug.
“I miss you,” he murmured, his voice muffled against my shoulder.
My throat tightened, and I felt the sting of something that wasn’t just guilt.
God, this kid. He didn’t understand what was happening.
He just missed me. I wanted to promise him everything–that nothing would change, that I’d be over soon–but the words caught in my throat.
How could I tell him the truth? How could I explain to him that if this was the end with Harper, it meant the end of everything with him too?
I’d gotten so close to him. His trust, his affection–it meant everything to me. And now, with everything falling apart, how was I supposed to look him in the eye and tell him it was over? That I couldn’t be there for him anymore the way I wanted to?
“Connor!” The parent driving called him over.
He pulled back reluctantly. “I’ll see you soon, right?”
I nodded, though my heart felt like it was splitting in two. “Yeah, bud. I’ll see you soon.”
He hugged me one more time before running off, and I stood there, rooted to the spot, watching him go. My chest ached with every step he took.
It wasn’t just Harper I was losing. It was him too.