Chapter 8 #2
She steps inside, and her gaze flicks around the room—quick, sharp—mapping.
Then her eyes land on me.
I’m in the kitchen holding a glass of water like it’s protection.
Her posture stiffens a fraction, and I instantly know she’s feeling that same tingle I am, just like at the rink and the barbecue. Any time I seem to be near her, that sense of awareness returns. It feels like it’s almost drawing me to her in a way.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my tone easy. “How’s campus treating you?”
Her mouth twitches, almost a smile. “Poorly.”
Kai gives me a look that says, keep it light.
I hold up a hand. “Noted.”
Harlow shifts her tote higher on her shoulder. “I brought…something.”
Kai’s brows lift. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” Harlow says bluntly. “I wanted to.”
She pulls out a paper bag and sets it on the counter.
Kai peeks inside, and his eyes widen a fraction. “Bagels?”
Harlow nods. “The good kind. Not the dining hall ones that you basically have to choke down from how dry they are.”
For half a second, Kai looks genuinely pleased, then he smooths his face back into neutral, like too much emotion might startle her.
“Thank you,” he says, quieter than usual.
Harlow’s shoulders ease in relief.
The front door opens again, and Weston strides in like he always does, loud energy contained in a human body. He sees Harlow and visibly dials it down a notch, like he remembers the “be decent humans” speech.
“Hey,” he says. “Bagels? Respect.”
Harlow looks at him. “Do you ever stop talking?”
Weston presses a hand to his heart. “No. It’s a chronic case of the talk-a-tons, I fear.”
Harlow’s mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile.
Weston looks triumphant but doesn’t pounce on it.
Good.
Asher appears behind him holding a folder. “I brought the film notes,” he says, then nods at Harlow. “Hey.”
Harlow nods back. “Hi.”
Asher’s gaze flicks to the bagels. “Good call.”
Harlow blinks. “Thanks?”
Weston groans. “It’s Monday. Why are we doing homework already?”
Asher ignores him and sets the folder down. “We’re watching film in twenty.”
Kai clears his throat. “We can do it quickly.”
Harlow shifts, eyes flicking between all of us. “I can go—”
Kai starts to say no, too fast, then stops himself.
He exhales, recalibrates.
“You can stay if you want,” Kai says instead. “Or you can hang in my room. Your choice.”
Harlow studies him for a beat, then nods once. “I’ll stay.”
She takes a seat on the far end of the couch, right on the edge, not in the middle, and I sit in the chair across from them, pretending I don’t notice the way she chooses distance.
Asher cues up the laptop. Film starts. Clips roll.
Mistakes replay, like I can’t already unsee them in my mind.
Coach Graves’ voice lives in the back of our heads like a threat.
Weston chirps at the screen, Asher points out positioning, Kai grunts approval or disapproval.
I try to focus, but every once in a while, my eyes flick to Harlow without my permission.
She’s watching, too, and not just the screen.
She’s watching us. Learning rhythm. Learning the rules.
Trying to understand the world her brother lives in.
Her hands are folded in her lap, fingers worrying at the edge of her sweater.
Her foot taps lightly, like she’s using movement to keep herself grounded.
My chest tightens in that slow, uncomfortable way that says I recognize it, because I do the same thing when my brain won’t shut up.
When film ends, Weston sprawls across the couch like he survived something tragic. “I’m being bullied by my own past mistakes.”
Asher doesn’t look up. “Good.”
Kai stands. “I’m hungry.”
Weston sits up. “Bagels!”
Kai shoots him a look. “Those were Harlow’s.”
Harlow lifts her brows. “They’re for everyone.”
Kai’s jaw tightens like he hates when she gives things away—like he wants to keep her offerings safe and controlled. Harlow meets his stare, unflinching. Kai looks away first.
Weston reaches for a bagel. “Thank you.”
Harlow nods like that’s acceptable and pulls out her phone, looking down at the screen and typing.
For a second, the apartment feels…normal. Like this could be a real family. A weird one, a loud one, but still.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Forum notification.
I don’t check it. Not in front of anyone, but the knowledge sits heavy in my pocket like a secret.
Harlow shifts on the couch, and her gaze flicks toward me, like she sensed the change.
Probably nothing.
I stand. “I’m gonna take the trash out.”
Weston’s grin turns dangerous. “He’s going to message his—”
“Don’t,” I snap.
Weston beams. “Mystery friend.”
I grab the bag and head out before my face betrays me.
In the hallway, the quiet hits like relief. I lean against the wall and finally open the message.
LittleTooMuch: I did something today that felt…good? I don’t know. It was weird, but I think I liked it.
My chest warms.
I type back before I can overthink it.
NumberEleven: that’s huge.
NumberEleven: i’m proud of you.
I tuck my phone away, pick up the trash again, and head toward the dumpster.
But as I step out into the cool October air, one thought slips in—quiet and unwanted:
I want to know Harlow Mercer.
Not as Kai’s sister. Not as someone that’s “off-limits.”
Just…her.
And that curiosity feels like the start of trouble.