Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Leo
I’m so pissed I can barely think straight, so I don’t go directly back to my car.
Instead, I take a walk and try to find some sort of balance.
Probably that should start with the feelings churning like a fucking tornado through my insides.
Anger, yeah, that’s not a surprise. It’s the easiest emotion to grab on to, the easiest to hold tight, the easiest to conjure up.
Anger that what Harper said was true.
Anger that I created this disaster.
Anger that I’m so fucking weak.
Because I can’t let go of the past.
Except…can’t I?
I sigh, scrub my hands over my face, and keep walking, that question tied up with the shit underneath the rage—the hurt, the fear, the sense of hopelessness.
I know how this ends.
I’ve lived it.
Angry, hateful father who storms off and licks his wounds.
Rage-filled, also hateful mother who has a convenient target for her anger.
I don’t want that to be my future, to be Harper’s future, and I definitely don’t want it to be my baby’s future.
“So, suck it up and do something about it then, Richardson,” I mutter.
Except do what exactly?
Harper and I seem to either be fucking or fighting. And our “friendship” lasted all of one evening.
Sighing again, I decide to keep walking until I’m no longer as frustrated.
I’m well past Harper’s kitchen, striding down the sidewalk of the small downtown area before my temper has cooled enough for me to even be aware of my surroundings.
The building Harper’s kitchen is in is on one end of the street.
It’s older than the others, in need of a paint job.
But as I move onto the next block, the buildings get cleaner and newer and dare I say, cuter.
The flower shop is cheerful, its windows full of brightly colored blooms. Molly’s Bakery pumps out a delicious scent, making my stomach rumble…
And reminding me of Harper’s affinity for apple turnovers.
I almost go inside, almost buy her as many as they have left.
But I force myself to keep walking.
Because my brain is a fucking mess…and because she’d likely launch anything that I bought her right at my head.
So, I keep walking.
I pass several restaurants that are closed, a hair salon and a nail place and a med spa. My stomach rumbles at the cheese store and doesn’t stop when I cross the street to circle back to my car and walk by the butcher.
There’s a boba shop and a coffee stand, a toy store and clothing boutique.
The trinket shop’s windows are full of shirts and magnets with funny sayings and my brain unhazes enough to spot the Grizzlies gear in the store next door.
But even though my anger’s calmed, I still don’t have any answers by the time I complete my loop and make it back to the parking lot of Harper’s kitchen.
And once I see what’s happening in the corner opposite my car, my anger comes raging back.
“What the actual fuck?” I growl as I watch Harper struggle to lift a heavy black trash bag into the dumpster.
She misses and it drops to the ground, the top opening and its contents strewing everywhere.
“Dammit,” she’s muttering as I approach, grabbing the spilled trash and shoving it inside.
Then she twists the plastic around her hand and starts to lift.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I growl as I lurch forward to catch the top before it can open and spew contents everywhere again.
She jumps, her angry eyes hitting mine as she tightens her grip on the bag. “What are you doing?”
“Christ,” I growl. “That bag must weigh as much as you do.”
“It’s fine.”
“Fine has you struggling to lift it?”
She rolls her eyes. “This is my job. Sometimes I cook. Sometimes I take out the trash. Sometimes it’s heavy. Sometimes it isn’t.”
This woman is infuriating.
Mostly because she’s right.
“Fine,” I snap. “But I’m here now, so I’ll take care of it.” Only when I try to tug the bag out of her hold, she just grips it tighter.
“I said, I’ve got it!”
I look up at the sky, count to ten, and release the bag.
And when she doesn’t make it into the dumpster a-fucking-gain, I snatch it away from her, tying the top so it won’t spill.
She snatches it back.
I reach over. “Just let me help you!”
“No!” she shouts, yanking at the bag so hard I let go, lest it fucking tear in half. “Why are you being so fucking stubborn?”
“I’m the stubborn one?”
She glares. “I told you I have this, and you’re fucking butting in again. So yeah.” A beat. “Stubborn.”
I throw up my hands. “I don’t understand why you won’t just let me help—”
“Because I don’t need your help!” she shouts again. “Okay, Leo? I fucking don’t. Not with this. Not with anything.”
“Why the hell not?”
Her chin comes up. “Because I can do it on my own.”
“Except, I’m here now and I can easily throw a fucking bag in a fucking dumpster—”
“Yeah, you’re here now!” she snaps. “But for how long? Because if I get used to you—” Her voice falters for a heartbeat then her chin lifts, her spine goes ramrod straight. “I can do this by myself.”
“But you don’t have to do it alone.”
She looks away and when her words come, they’re quiet…and heartbreaking. “If I get used to it, I’ll want it. And then when you leave next time, it’s going to hurt even more.”
My knees nearly buckle as I finally get it, as I see finally understand how deeply I’ve wounded her, as I see what’s truly beneath the anger in her words, her eyes.
Hurt.
She’s fucking hurting.
Because of me.
And right there, my decision is made for me.
Fuck my fear. Fuck my past. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make that hurt disappear. Not for me. For her.
And I’m never—fucking never—going to hurt her again.
“Harp,” I murmur.
As though she realizes I’ve seen beneath that shield of fury she’s clinging so tightly to, she throws her hands up and steps back. “Fine,” she says frostily, “you want to take out the trash, take out the fucking trash.”
Then she spins on her heel, starts for the propped-open back door of the kitchen.
I snag her wrist, halting her, trying to find the right thing to say, the words that will put her at ease, will make her understand. “I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. “I’ll be here for you and the baby both—today and in the future.”
She looks down at her feet. Exhales.
“I promise,” I add softly.
“Right,” she says, her head coming up, her gaze not quite meeting mine. “Of course you’ll be here.”
And I would almost believe her words, the smile that’s curving her gorgeous mouth…
If not for her eyes.
She doesn’t believe me.
Nope. Not at fucking all.
And I can’t even blame her.