Chapter Thirty Two
Resting my arm against the back of her headrest, I reverse my battered old truck onto the road behind McAllister dorms. The thing rattles like it’s one pothole away from the scrapyard, yet Harper smiles from the passenger seat as if I can compete with Wavershit’s Porsche.
Crossing her legs, my gaze dips back to the knee-high black boots, the dark denim painted onto her thighs, the leather jacket pulled tight around her chest. Her hair is tied high with waves spilling over her shoulder like ribbons of magenta.
A single curl frames her face on each side, and I just about manage to drive straight.
Harper is a vision of purity. I’d almost changed my mind about this date, halting her from entering the truck as if its cracked seats and rusty parts would sully her.
As if going out with me isn’t going to tarnish her enough.
Then I remembered that she shares Rhys’ company and figured she doesn’t give a shit about public image whilst I opened the truck door and helped her hop inside.
As campus and the sleepy town shrink in the rearview, I let out a breath that has been strangling me all week.
I don’t bother with the radio, or any small talk that would be awkward for Harper to decipher in the passing streetlamps.
I simply sit, nervously tapping my thumb on the steering wheel, the growl of the engine filling the cab.
This is my first date. My first real chance to impress her.
All afternoon, I’ve been solely focused on planning where to take her, how to make her laugh, what it might feel like to hold her hand and never let go.
Daydreaming kept me alive in the JDC, building a barrier between the heavy, cold locks and the reasons that put me there.
But with Harper, those visions dig deeper.
I picture myself as the kind of man who could give her everything, who could pleasure her in a way that Rhys won’t be able to compete with.
Those fantasies are safer locked inside my head.
The reality is different. The reality is Harper sitting right here, eyes focused on the road ahead, no doubt trying to decipher where we’re heading.
Remembering my promise to set the bar for all future dates, I slide my hand onto her thigh with a smile that feels foreign on my face.
As usual, her body is so warm, radiating pure energy and an unbreakable spirit.
If I had anything to give, I’d exchange it all to be worthy of someone like her.
The freeway signs loom, and I take the exit I memorized last night in the library.
I can’t afford a GPS, but every junction is signposted and in no time, I’m pulling into a parking lot by a brick-built hall.
I kill the engine and hurry out, circling around before Harper can touch the handle.
Taking her hand to help her down, I keep it in my grasp as the night swallows the path ahead.
There’s no moon tonight, only the lights surrounding a pair of large, double doors.
The lobby looks like a retirement home threw up on itself.
Brown carpets, faded curtains, armchairs that quite possibly were stolen from a yard sale.
A fish tank bubbles against the far wall, the two fish inside appearing that look more depressed than the woman seated at a makeshift desk.
A paper banner hangs limply over the folding table, the words ‘Silent Disco’ printed in bold letters.
Harper halts, her hand pulling from mine.
“Are you mocking me?” Her green eyes narrow. “I can go to regular disco's, you know.” My gut flips and I scramble for an explanation. Fuck, I knew I’d screw this up.
“No, no,” I shake my head vigorously. “Just trust me, please. Let me show you, if you don’t like it I’ll drive you straight back.
” Harper raises an eyebrow skeptically whilst reading my words, gesturing for me to lead the way.
Damn, I really hope I’m right about this.
It’s not like I’ve got the charm, tattoos or smart mouth to fall back on.
Borrowed cash changes hands at the desk, money I’ll pay back to Kenneth later.
He was overjoyed I was simply speaking to him again, even if it was for my own gain.
I ask for one pair of wireless headphones and explain that I’m the guy who emailed ahead about Harper’s receivers.
Ahead of this evening, I downloaded the transmitter app onto my phone, which I now connect to her implants.
Harper watches on, giving me time to see my plan through and by the time I hold out my hand again, she’s softened enough to take it back.
We enter an enclosed room that appears dark from the outside, but the contrast to the limp lobby area almost knocks me back.
It’s even better than I’d hoped. LED strips light up the wooden dance floor, a disco ball scattering fractured stars across the walls.
Refreshments glimmer on a plastic table.
A few couples sway, bodies pressed close in complete silence.
I turn to Harper before the door clicks shut behind us, swallowing the last of the outside world.
“Now everyone is just like you.” Her eyes follow my lips, catching the words, and something in them shifts. She steps closer, her forehead briefly touching my chest.
“Sorry, Clay. I—” I don’t let her finish that sentence. Harper is used to a world that treats her differently, that mocks and excludes her because she’s different. I relate to that, and it’s something she never has to apologize for.
Handing Harper my phone, I encourage her to pick a music channel and then set my headphones to match.
‘All My Life’ by K-Ci and JoJo filters into my ears, the first notes tugging at something raw and unguarded inside me.
In the dark, she cannot see the tiny smile that slips free, but I feel it pressing against my lips like it has been waiting years to escape.
I trail my fingers along the inside of her arm until I find her hand, guiding her into the hall and then to rest over my chest where my heartbeat hammers like a drum.
My other arm slides carefully around her back, pulling her in until I can lean my forehead against hers.
Her sway is soft, instinctive, and I let her movements guide mine, grateful to give her the lead.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel something other than a hatred for the world that swallowed me whole and then told me I’m the blame for the outcome.
It’s more than her warmth seeping into me.
It’s her presence, the way she centers me without even trying, pulling me out of the storm that never leaves my head.
I spent so many nights in a cell imagining what it would feel like to hold someone like this, someone who made the walls vanish and gave me the illusion of freedom.
Not once did my fantasies come close to this reality.
This is too sharp, too sweet, too much for me to take in all at once, and my lungs stumble against the weight of it.
When her arms slip around my neck and her lips brush the corner of my cheek, my chest ignites with intensity I do not know how to contain.
My throat tightens, and it takes all of my strength to keep my arms from trembling.
She’s too precious for a beast like me to be holding, yet I can’t tear myself away now.
The playlist leaks from one song into the next, each as heartfelt and romantic as the last until Harper has fully melted into my body.
The thin cotton of my black t-shirt is the only barrier between her cheek and my chest, her leather jacket long forgotten on a metal chair off to the side.
My hands move instinctively across her back, greedy in their need to keep her as close as humanly possible.
She smells of vanilla and something uniquely her, and I know it will ruin me forever.
Her fingers brush against the edge of my beanie, trailing across the nape of my neck with feather-light strokes that nearly undo me.
I could stay like this forever, wrapped in the illusion that she belongs here in my arms. Too easily I imagine a life with her, a world where I could care for her so deeply that misery itself would never touch her again. A dangerous thought, because I almost let myself believe it.
But I know better. It is a pipe dream. She doesn’t know who I am, what I have done, or the kind of filth that stains me.
When she finds out, she will see I am no savior but the very thing she should fear.
I have nothing to give her, nothing worth her light.
Not money, not power, not even a clean conscience.
Rhys may be poison, but at least he can wrap that poison in gold.
What do I have offer but meaningless words?
We stay until the disco ends and the lights switch back on.
Squinting against the harshness, the silence suddenly presses in.
There’s no more hiding who has his arms wrapped around her, who can’t seem to look away.
My body screams to keep her here, but I force myself to pull back, creating a space between us.
It hurts like hell, worse than any bruise or scar I have carried, but this isn’t about me.
This is about showing Harper there’s better for her out there.
Better than me, better than Wavershit. She deserves more.
Straightening my shoulders, I jerk my head towards the lobby, indicating it’s time to go.
My chest feels even more hollow than when I arrived, void of the peace she carved within me, but I walk her out anyway.
Every step feels like she is dragging her feet, reluctant to leave the cocoon we built out on that dance floor.
I keep my shoulders squared, my stride purposeful, but inside I’m fraying with every second.
I feel her eyes on me, searching for answers, searching for what changed between one beat of a song and the next.
I don’t dare look back at her, because if I do, I’ll crumble, and I’ll drag her into a world she has no business being part of.
Reaching the truck, Harper’s hand lingers in mine a second longer than I should allow it to, and when I ease away, she looks up at me with a furrow in her brow.
I can’t quite interpret her expression, but quickly decide it’s not anger.
Not quite confusion either. It’s heavier, and lands in the pit of my stomach like a stone.
She doesn’t say anything, but the faint downturn of her mouth feels louder than a scream.
For a girl who has mastered silence, she doesn’t need words to make me feel like I just took something precious and crushed it in my palm.
Opening the truck door, Harper refuses to get in.
She stands there, her head tilted slightly, as if she is trying to piece me together, like I’m a puzzle with missing edges.
There’s a challenge there too. The faintest spark that she won’t let me retreat so easily.
For a terrifying heartbeat, I almost confess everything just to erase the look in her eyes.
“Did you…did you have a good evening?” I ask weakly, just to divert her attention. It doesn’t work.
“You know it’s not fair when you shut me out like that.
” Running a hand over the back of my beanie, I try to sidestep her but the palm slamming into the center of my chest refuses to let me leave.
“I mean it, Clay. You can’t bring me here and let me feel all these things, and then close yourself off as it it means nothing. ”
“Believe me, it means something,” I mouth back slowly, allowing Harper to read my words by the light tumbling out from my truck. I hang my head, shaking it slightly at the mess I’ve made. I was trying to prove a point, but the only thing I’ve proved is that I’m not worthy of her.
“Since the moment I stepped on campus, you’ve made me swoon and then disappeared. Filled me with hope and then frustrated the shit out of me. This is new territory for us both, but we’re finally here.” Harper holds out her arms. “I’m not going to let you backtrack now.”
“I’m not a good man,” I repeat from the other day, hanging on those words like a mantra.
It’s an excuse really, something I say to hold myself back from trying before I’ve had a chance to fail.
Harper is the one person I don’t want to fail, so I swallow down the desire to run and keep myself planted before her.
“Clayton, look at me,” Harper demands, cupping my jaw. I spare her a glance long enough to show her my fractured soul. Her eyes are glinting as they bore into mine, leaving me vulnerable and bared. “Everyone has a past and everyone has their issues. But I know a decent man when I see one.”
The sincerity in her steady gaze floors me, a lump rising in my throat as I sift through her words. My mind snags on one part, but luckily her lips capture mine just before I ask if that’s what she sees in Wavershit.