Chapter 6 #2
My hands clenched into fists, my nails biting into my palms. “How many times?”
“Jeremy—”
“How many times, Harrison?”
After a long pause, he said, “Enough that I knew what would happen if he found out about us. Enough that I was willing to hurt you to keep him from knowing.”
My stomach churned. Bile rose in my throat.
Seventeen fucking years.
All this time, I’d been angry at him for being a coward when he’d been trying to survive his own father.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. “I would’ve done something. Told my parents. You didn’t have to deal with that alone.”
“And say what? ‘Hey Mom and Dad, Harrison’s dad beats him because he takes my dick like a champ’?” Harrison let out a bitter laugh.
“They would have helped you.” I was more than sure of that. “They loved you.”
“I know.” He choked on the words. “But I was too scared. I told myself it would stop once I left for college. Once I was out of his house, it wouldn’t matter anymore what he thought or what he knew.”
He fell silent, and I let us sit with the weight of what he’d just revealed.
After a moment, he scrubbed his hands over his face.
“I never told you how bad it got, but I didn’t think I had to. You knew what an asshole he was without the … the … abuse. I told myself you’d understand. That going with Sarah didn’t mean anything. That it wouldn’t change anything between us.”
He could barely get the words out. “I was eighteen years old and terrified, and I made the worst decision of my life.”
I sat up slowly, pulling my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “You could have told me,” I said. “You could have explained what was happening. We could have figured something out together.”
“I know that now,” Harrison said roughly. “But back then, I was so fucking terrified of my dad finding out, of losing everything that I couldn’t think straight. And on top of all that, I was …” He trailed off.
“You were what?”
“I was freaking out about how much I felt for you. You were going to Minneapolis, and I was heading off to Harvard. I didn’t see a way for us.”
Silence stretched between us. I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, my chin resting on them while I stared at the wall. Part of me wanted to stay angry, wanted to hold onto the hurt because it had sustained me for so long … had given me something solid to cling to.
But the bigger part of me understood.
Harrison’s home life wasn’t like mine. It wasn’t just shitty. It was dangerous.
And even if …
God, even if we’d both been brave, we’d still only had weeks. He was going to Boston. I was off to Minneapolis.
I reached over and took his hand, threading our fingers together.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I’m sorry you went through that. I’m sorry you felt like you had to handle it alone.”
Harrison made a choked sound, his grip on my hand tightening almost painfully.
“And I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to actually ask you to prom,” I continued, the words scraping out. “Sorry that I never really told you what I wanted. Maybe if I had, you could’ve told me what was happening. Maybe we could’ve figured something out.”
“Jeremy, no—you can’t—” Harrison’s voice broke completely then. “This wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault.”
“And it wasn’t all yours either.” I finally turned my head to look at him. His face was destroyed—red, swollen, tear-streaked—and something in my chest cracked open. “We were just kids. We both fucked up.”
We fell into silence, but it was a different kind of quiet now. Not heavy with anger or regret, but with something softer. Sadness, maybe. Or truth. Honesty. Admission.
I let my thumb trace patterns on his knuckles, the repetitive motion soothing.
“My mom loved you,” I said after a while. “She always called us her ‘two boys.’ Did you know that?”
Harrison’s expression turned soft. “Yeah. I remember.”
“I think she knew. About us.” The admission felt strange on my tongue.
“One time—must have been right before graduation—she pulled me aside and said if there was anything I ever needed to talk about or get off my chest, she just wanted me to know that she and Dad were there for me.” My throat tightened.
“That nothing I could tell them would ever make them love me less.”
Harrison’s hand found mine in the sheets, our fingers tangling together.
“I didn’t tell her,” I continued. “But I think she knew anyway. And she was okay with it. She was okay with us.” I looked at him. “You didn’t have that. Your parents, they would’ve … well, I guess I know now what would have actually happened instead of just imagining it.” "
“Yeah.’ Harrison’s thumb stroked across my knuckles. “I loved your mom. Both your parents. They made me feel like I had a second home. Like I belonged somewhere.”
“They loved you, too.”
“I was sorry I couldn’t make it back for your mom’s funeral. I was in London, and by the time I heard—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I know we weren’t friends anymore by then, but I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“You’re here now,” I said, surprising myself by meaning it.
Six months ago, when Jemma had sat me down to tell me Harrison Prescott had bought the old Abernathy house, I’d wanted to burn it to the ground. Now I was lying in his bed, our hands linked, and I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
Strange how things could shift.
Harrison was quiet for a moment. “I spent some time with your dad after I moved back.”
“You did?”
“We sat on your porch and drank beer and talked about the farm. The weather. Nothing important.” His smile was sad. “Until he asked me what happened between me and his ‘stubborn son.’ Said he always thought we’d end up together.”
My lungs constricted, and my heart stuttered. “What did you tell him?”
“The truth. That I’d fucked up. That I’d let fear make my choices for me, and I’d lost the best thing that ever happened to me because of it.
” Harrison’s eyes met mine. “He nodded, like he wasn't surprised. Then he said, ‘Well, Jeremy’s stubborn as a mule, but he’s not stupid. If you ever get your head out of your ass and apologize, he might forgive you.’”
Despite everything, I felt my mouth twitch. That sounded exactly like something Dad would have said.
“Sounds like he knew more than he ever let on,” I murmured.
Harrison’s thumb continued to trace patterns on my hand as we fell into silence. It was a different kind of quiet, though. Lighter. Like we’d lanced something poisonous and could finally start to heal.
Well, mostly. Harrison had come clean about what he was going through back then, and I knew I couldn’t fully put this behind me until I did too.
“The worst part about prom night …” I began, the words sticking in my throat. “I was going to tell you something. That night."
Harrison’s thumb stopped mid-stroke. “Tell me what?”
I closed my eyes, as if that would make what I was about to confess easier.
“I was going to tell you that I loved you. That I was in love with you.” The confession came out whisper-soft.
“I had it all planned out. After the dance, we’d head out to the island, and I’d tell you.
I thought …” I swallowed hard and made myself continue.
“I hoped maybe you’d say it back. That maybe we could find a way to make things work, even if we had to hide from everyone else. As long as we had each other, I thought we’d be okay.” I had to stop, had to breathe.
The bed shifted as Harrison moved, but I kept my eyes shut, couldn’t bear to see his face. Couldn't bear to see pity or regret or worse.
“Then I saw you with Sarah, and I realized I’d been an idiot. Figured you didn’t feel the same way. That I’d built this whole fantasy in my head, and you were just … I dunno. Experimenting or whatever.”
“Jeremy.” Harrison’s voice broke on my name. “Look at me. Please.”
I couldn’t. If I looked at him and saw that he hadn’t loved me—not the way I’d loved him—I’d shatter completely. There’d be no coming back from that.
His hand cupped my face, turning me toward him with gentle insistence. “Jeremy. Open your eyes.”
Almost against my will, my eyes fluttered open. His face was inches from mine, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“I loved you, too,” he whispered. “I was in love with you. So much so that I couldn’t breathe sometimes.”
“You did?”
“Every day from the time I was old enough to understand what it meant.” His voice was raw. “But I didn’t know what to do with those feelings. How big they were. How terrifying.”
Then he kissed me.
It wasn't like last night—frantic and desperate and laced with anger. This was gentle. Reverent. Like he was trying to give seventeen-year-old me the story I’d never gotten. Like he was trying to rewrite history with the press of his lips against mine.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath warm on my face. “I should have told you,” he whispered. “Should have been braver.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could only stare at him while his confession rewrote everything I’d believed for seventeen long years.
“You loved me,” I repeated, testing the words and trying to process them.
“So much,” Harrison confirmed, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone, wiping away tears I hadn’t realized had fallen. “You were everything to me. You still—” He stopped himself.
Still what?
My heart kicked against my ribs. I wanted to ask. Wanted to push. Wanted to know if what I was feeling—this terrifying, fragile hope—was mutual.
But the words stuck in my throat. Too soon. Too much. Too easy to break.
“I wish you’d told me,” I said instead. “Back then.”
“Me too.” He kissed me again, soft and sweet and achingly tender. “Me too.”
I pulled him closer, my hands sliding into his hair. He shifted above me, his weight pressing me into the mattress as I hitched one leg over his hip. Our tongues tangled, the kiss deepening from tender to demanding.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
“Show me.” My voice came out rough, needy. “Show me what it could have been like. If we’d been brave enough back then to tell each other how we felt.”
Harrison’s eyes darkened, understanding precisely what I meant. “Yeah?"
“Yeah.”
He kissed me again, pressing me back into the mattress, and this time when his hands moved over my body, it felt like a promise. Maybe not forever—we weren’t there yet. But for now, it was enough.