42. Harrison
Chapter 42
Harrison
W hoever said men don’t cry doesn’t know the men in our family. My father bawled his eyes out when each of his parents passed. He told us how he cried when my mom told him she was pregnant and at each of our births. He even let those tears go at the end of Coco .
He held my brother and me if we ever needed him. He told us if we wanted to cry, we could. If we didn’t want to in front of others, we could always open up at home with him or my mom. It didn’t make us weak.
I was the crier out of the two brothers. Little League losses. Heartbreak. A good commercial. The waterworks were on.
Now, I’m in the bunkhouse half bath, holding my face in a sink full of cold water. It’s not typical for me to cry after sex. Hell, I don’t think this has ever happened. But I basically laid myself out for Harlow, heard her sniffle at my words, and then made love to her for the first time.
Every time we touch each other it’s explosive. Being rough and sweet at the same time was an emotional experience. I have thought that our sex would be in my replay real based on how amazing it was before, but that will both be a fantasy and a nightmare.
Remembering her black eyes meeting my blue ones as I thrusted into her will haunt me. Silas was right. On my deathbed, I will think of those eyes as I slip away into a darkness to match them.
She’s upstairs rinsing off, and I’m supposed to be grabbing my things from the truck now that it’s dark. I didn’t want anyone to see me bring more than the bag my mom made for us into the house.
I made a quick turn into the half bath, and the tears just fell. Letting Harlow go is going to be harder than anything I’ve ever done. Everyone was right, I can’t do casual. I might have fallen quickly for each of my girlfriends with the hopes they would fit my idyllic dreams for the future. I was hoping they would fit a mold.
Harlow is different from all of that. I don’t want her to fit into anything other than herself. I want her in my life just as she is. She came into my life like a fucking wrecking ball, destroying everything I thought I wanted in a woman. My idea of having a cookie-cutter homemaker was so misogynistic.
Her strength, individuality, creativity, dark nature . . . it all drives me wild. I think all the things she feels self-conscious about are perfect.
As much as I want her, I can’t have her. She has a whole life waiting back in California, with a fiancé at that.
So here I am, in the powder room, cooling my face off to reduce the swelling from my hysterics.
Did I fall for her because I was sleeping with her?
Absolutely fucking not .
I can’t even stomach the idea of dating a woman other than her.
I can feel myself getting worked up again, so I think of something else.
The house.
I will my brain to think about how to develop my future home, but in the back of it, I want to paint the walls black.
Our food is eaten, we’re both clean and back in bed. Harlow is scribbling in her notebook and I’m sketching. Labyrinth is playing in the background, and I listen to Harlow whisper-sing each song.
When she finishes writing something, her hand drops and lands on my thigh. Each time she touches me, I feel lighter and warmer. It’s strange how, at the same time, it absolutely breaks me.
The companionship in moments like this is what I’ll be looking for, for the rest of my life.
I can’t imagine feeling more desperate than I do right now, and if this is how I feel when I’m with Harlow . . . it would be impossible to miss the right person when she comes along.
When we both decide to put our stuff aside, we scoot closer and watch the remainder of the movie. I sling my arm over her shoulder, and she leans deep into me. I kiss the top of her head a few times and each time, she wiggles in response.
When David Bowie’s last song is on the screen, I think I hear her sniffle. I try to get a look at her, but she reaches up and shoves my face away.
Her fighting me and my affection makes me smile. I know she feels good when I’m attentive to her. She might not be used to it, but she deserves it. The way it makes her feel slightly uncomfortable but also special pushes me to do it as often as possible.
I grab her hands in mine and pull her to look at me.
“Would you have chosen the Goblin King over one of your sisters?”
“Which sister?” she deadpans.
I laugh loudly, knowing she’s all talk. Leaning down, I kiss her for a moment before resituating her so she is comfortable. Moving to hand her the remote again, she stops me and pushes it back.
“I’m getting tired, you can pick the next one.”
I gasp dramatically. “So, you’ll stay awake for a movie you’ve watched a million times, but you’ll sleep through my pick. How rude!”
Harlow turns her face toward my pec and bites down. Hard.
“Ow!” I yell, and not a manly yell, either. Harlow holds me in her teeth lightly. When I look down at her, I see the curve of her mouth in a smile.
“Off!” I command, and she bites down slightly harder.
“Off! Witch, off!” She bites down hard again, and I hate that I get hard.
“God dammit, Harlow.” I feel her reach over and grasp me through my briefs.
We lock eyes again, that spark we know so well going crazy between us. Our mouths clash together, and I take her roughly one last time before we fall asleep.
I stay with her every night for the rest of the week, and I leave early each morning before my parents would be up. We do the same thing every night. We eat, we talk, we sketch and write or watch a movie or show, we fuck, we sleep.
Holding Harlow in my arms each night is as painful as it is precious. Her slender body seems to fit so perfectly against mine that I can’t imagine another person fitting in her place.
I remember waking up next to partners and grabbing a handful of ass or cupping their full breasts to then grow hard after a touch. With her, I wake up with an intense need and want. Her smell wraps around me in a gentle caress while her aura has me in a dangerous chokehold.
When I wake up each morning, she notices my movements and turns to squeeze me tightly before letting me go. It’s confusing and bitter, but damn, it feels so good. We don’t question anything as our time grows closer to its end. With our breach of contract, I don’t really know if there is a point in talking at all.
Not once has she brought up money again, and if I’m being honest, taking it seems awful. She’s my friend now and doing this was consensual on both parts. I hope she doesn’t bring it back up. I’ve learned a lot about myself in our time together, and whatever she was looking for, I feel like she got that too.
She has one last week with me. We’re having a family dinner tonight, and Harlow is invited, as Cassidy’s friend more than a guest on our property. We’ve gotten closer to Harlow than any other guests on our property. She’s been given more privileges since she’s gotten so close to us all.
We’re having dinner at Hunter and Cassidy’s place, and the girls are in the front, sans Harlow who has one last manuscript to send in tonight.
My dad, brother, and I are in the kitchen finishing up some of the sides for our meal. The conversation mostly revolves around Blake and Hunter’s life on the farm. I like talking about them and their life, and I know my turn will come when I have a family of my own.
I pull a side of seasoned potatoes and veggies out of the oven and turn around to find my dad and Hunter leaning against the counter, looking at me.
“What?”
“Hunter said you want to build on the south lot?”
Hunter smiles behind his beer can before taking a drink.
“I love that spot over there. So many good memories. You okay with that?” I set the dish down on the counter.
“This land is for you guys to do what you wish; even if you sell, that’s your choice. That lot back there is always where I knew I could find you. Doesn’t make sense for you to build anywhere else.” My dad comes over to muss my hair up a bit and smiles brightly.
“Thanks, Dad. I have a vision in my head already.”
“Make it happen, kid.” He hands me a beer and taps his to mine before settling back on the counter.
“Harlow sure is an interesting girl,” he starts, and I know that I’m going to have some explaining to do based on his tone. I look over to Hunter, but he looks just as shocked as I am about the topic. When I look back at my dad, he has a knowing look in his eye.
“She is. I think everyone in this town has really come to enjoy her.”
“What about you?” he drills.
I think about denying him, telling him a basic answer like she’s an interesting girl, and I’m glad she was a guest. Something like, yeah she’s a great friend for Cassidy and the kind of person Silas would get along with. My dad knows me better than that.
I look out the kitchen window into Hunter’s backyard. The grass is completely gold and brown now. My brother and I would fuck around in the backyard almost every day before or after dinner. We’d wrestle, play tag, soccer, baseball, or fetch with our dog. I wonder if my parents ever looked out this window and watched us play. Their close attention and hard work at being present parents taught them how to read us.
“I think . . .” I swallow hard and my dad gives me an empathetic look. “I think she’s amazing, Dad. Smart, funny, beautiful, weird in a fantastic way. It would just be so easy with her.”
“You think so?”
“How can I know if this is just the way I am? Do I do this with every woman? Do I think they’re all just so perfect?” I fight the urge to cry, and I hear a beer bottle being set on the countertop before big arms wrap around me.
“I love how easily you love. It’s a blessing and a curse. I wish other people could love as easily and strongly as you. I knew right away your mom was the one for me. One look at her and I was a goner. Hunter knew Cassidy was meant to be his girl. Love is strange and different for each of us. You’ve had so many loves in your life, but one day you’ll get that big, wild love, kid. You’ll know it’s different from the rest.”
And just like that, I let one tear loose as my dad holds me in the kitchen, and a moment later I feel Hunter wrap his arms around me, too .
“Shit will be hard, but you’ll come through on the other side,” Hunter says.
When we all release, I look at the two of them, and I feel a weight being lifted.
When Harlow leaves, I will be okay.
I’ll be hurt and sad.
I’ll feel lonely.
But I’ll be okay.
The timing couldn’t be more perfect; all the sides are ready, and we hear my mom and Cassidy greet Harlow in the front room.
This meal will be a good one, and maybe the last Harlow has with my family.
Although Harlow is here now, my family will be here forever. They’ll be my support system if I need it, but somewhere inside . . . I’m feeling like I might not.
“You write?” my mom asks Harlow at the table.
“Not professionally. I used to write here and there when I was young, and I thought that chapter was closed, but I guess I was wrong. There’s still some creativity up in here.” Harlow taps her temple and gets a pink tone on her cheeks, but smiles.
“A writer is a writer. You don’t have to write a bestseller to be a writer,” my mom encourages.
“She won’t show me anything, and I’m practically foaming,” Cassidy adds. I won’t let them know that I get little peeks at her work because I think that would put pressure on Harlow to share. I’m not the kind of person to pressure anything.
The table is decorated with a mix of everything. Down the center are all the foods everyone has put an effort into making. That’s how Cassidy likes it. She asked everyone to bring a plate set to her wedding and she was going to keep her favorites. Now her house has an eclectic collection.
Harlow brought homemade tiramisu but swears she can’t share a recipe that she only knows by sight. She reports she is too scared to even write it down for herself.
Whenever she talks about Maria, I think of my mom. It’s hard for me to understand being closer to a woman who is paid to be there than your mother.
I think my dad is surprised by how much Harlow puts on her plate and even more surprised when she fills up a second one.
“Everything is so amazing.” Harlow beams, looking at Cassidy, specifically letting her know that her mac and cheese is always a favorite as she takes down another forkful.
“Definitely,” I add, also taking a bite.
“That mac and cheese is my favorite,” Hunter takes a mouthful.
“I could never get the cheese-to-macaroni ratio right.” Ma is right behind him, popping one noodle into her mouth.
The table falls silent, and we all look over to my dad, who is on cue, shoveling macaroni into Blake’s mouth. When he raises his head to meet all of us, he smiles. “What?”
Cassidy starts to laugh lightly, and Blake cheers with a mouth full of cheesy noodles.
The rest of the meal is lighthearted and easy. Everyone talks and laughs, and the flow of the whole evening seems so good, it could be scripted. Even when Cassidy and Hunter bring out Harlow’s tiramisu and a coffee carafe. The pairing and ending to our family meal are perfection.
When I look over to Harlow, I see her talking quietly with my mom and, although she’s smiling, I notice a tension there. I try not to stare, but when my mom reaches over and places her hand over Harlow’s, I notice that pinch turn into two brows pulled tightly up together. Her lips roll together, and she nods at whatever my mom is saying.
A pain sears through my chest watching this night come to a close. I know deep down Harlow’s family doesn’t function like ours. It’s colder and more clinical. When she goes back to her life in California, will she build a family like this with Heath, or will her life look more like the one her parents had given her?