34. Cassidy
CASSIDY
A s I approached the door of Harle’s cabin, my heart skipped a few beats. That was happening more and more these days. Just a little thrill at the idea of seeing him. Today was Thursday, which left only a few days until our arrangement ended. I was determined to make the most of it.
The moment I stepped through the door, though, something felt wrong. The silence hit me first. No classic rock playing from the kitchen radio, no off-key humming, none of the usual chaos of Harle’s evening routine. Every day this week, I’d come in from work to find him in the kitchen, already cooking dinner for us. But now the space was empty, the air still and heavy with an unfamiliar quiet.
The sound of my heels clicking against the hardwood floor was unnaturally loud in the silence. I hesitated, my fingers still wrapped around the strap of my purse, that wrong feeling intensifying in my gut.
“Harle?” My voice echoed slightly in the empty space.
Nothing.
I hung my purse on the hook near the door, trying to ignore the flutter of anxiety in my chest. Maybe he was just taking a lie down? Yeah, of course. Just a little nap. I practically ran for the bedroom and shoved the door wide. Empty.
My heart was really picking up speed now. This wasn’t like him. Had he gone out somewhere without telling me? No, he’d text, at the very least. I pulled out my phone. No messages.
Fuck. What if he’d hurt himself out in the yard. I moved to the back door, my hand trembling slightly as I pulled it open.
He wasn’t in any of the paddocks. Come to think of it, neither were the dogs.
Okay. Maybe he’d just taken them for a walk before dinner?
I stepped off the deck, my heels sinking into the soft earth as I shaded my eyes from the setting sun and scanned the edge of the lake. The water was mirror-smooth, reflecting the darkening sky above. No sign of him. Turning in the other direction, I finally spotted him. He was a ways down the bank, sitting on a log, under the shade of a large oak tree.
Even from this distance, I could tell something was wrong. The usual easy energy that surrounded him like an aura was gone, replaced by something heavy and dark. Something that made my chest ache just looking at him.
I hesitated, not sure what to do. Deciding that at the very least, I should check on him, I started walking. As I got closer, I could see him picking leaves off a fallen tree branch, methodically tearing each one into tiny pieces before letting them flutter towards the water. His shoulders were slumped, his entire body radiating a kind of misery I’d never seen from him before.
My steps faltered. Maybe I should just leave him alone, give him space. That’s what I would want, after all. But then I remembered how he’d held me that night when I was falling apart, how he hadn’t let me push him away. How his arms had felt like the only thing keeping me from completely shattering.
I couldn’t leave him like this.
The grass was damp and a little slippery beneath my feet as I picked my way down the bank. Max and Buddy lay at Harle’s feet, both dogs unnaturally still, their eyes fixed on their master with an almost human concern.
“Harle.” My voice was soft, uncertain. I was surprised he even heard it.
He glanced up, and the look in his eyes hit me square in the chest. Pure, unadulterated pain. My heart clenched, and without a second thought, I moved forward, slipped into his lap, and wrapped my arms around him.
A tremor moved through him, and after a beat, he hugged me back, his arms tightening around me like I was a lifeline. I held him for a long time, the world around us fading away until it was just the two of us, the gentle lap of water against the shore, and the rustle of leaves overhead. Harle was the first to pull away, his hands moving to cup my face. He looked at me for a moment, then leaned in to brush a light kiss over my lips.
I searched his eyes as he pulled back, my heart aching at the rawness I saw there. “Are you okay?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I’ll get through it.”
“Is it the anniversary you mentioned the other night?”
He paused, then said, “Yeah.”
I swallowed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Harle shook his head lightly. “Maybe later.” He took a breath, then tried to smile. “You hungry?”
Recognizing it for the diversionary tactic it was, I replied, “Yeah, I could eat.” I pushed to my feet. “But I’m cooking tonight.”
He started to shake his head. “Cass?—”
“No arguments.” I held out my hand to him, surprised by my own boldness. “Let me do this for you. Please.”
Something shifted in his expression. Surprise, maybe, or recognition. He took my hand, his large palm engulfing mine, and let me pull him to his feet. The dogs scrambled up too, pressing close to his legs as we made our way back to the house.
As soon as we got there, I headed to the bedroom to change, realizing I hadn’t paid any attention to what he had chosen for me when I looked for Harle earlier.
As soon as I stepped inside, I paused, my breath catching. Instead of the usual sexy nightgown, there was an old sweater. Dark blue, faded, with the word Yale emblazoned across the front. I picked it up and brought it to my face, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. God, it smelled like him. I couldn’t resist a second deep breath.
Okay, so didHarle go to Yale, or was this just a lucky thrift store find? My fingers brushed over the fabric, and then I noticed something embroidered near the hem, barely visible: ‘H. Robson.’ This was his sweater, his old college sweater. Something warm and tender twisted in my chest, mixed with rampant curiosity. After a moment, I pulled it on, the sleeves hanging a little past my wrists, the fleece soft and well worn. Very cozy. I smiled to myself. With one last glance in the mirror, I headed back to the kitchen.
When I walked in, Harle was sitting at the dining table, breaking off pieces of dog biscuits and tossing them to Max and Buddy, who eagerly snapped them out of the air. He looked up as I approached, his eyes roving over me.
I held my arms out wide. “Felt like a change of pace, did you?”
His gaze lingered, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “It looks good on you.”
I moved to the fridge, scanning the contents for what I could make for dinner, still feeling the warmth of his gaze on me.
Keeping my tone casual, I asked, “So, Yale, huh?” I flicked him a quick glance as I pulled some vegetables out and put them on the counter.
Harle nodded, breaking off another piece of the dog biscuit for Max. “Yeah.”
I raised an eyebrow, curiosity getting the best of me. “What did you study?”
He paused for a moment, meeting my eyes. “Philosophy, Politics, and Economics.”
I tilted my head, suddenly fascinated. “That’s quite a big degree for a handyman.”
Harle’s expression shifted, becoming guarded, and I realized instantly that I’d overstepped. My stomach twisted, and I rushed to apologize. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
He shook his head, his features softening again. “Don’t worry about it.” Then he added, “How about we eat outside tonight? If you’re up for it, I could set up the fire pit.”
I gave him a small smile, feeling the knot of tension in my belly tighten a little. “Yeah, I’d like that. I was thinking of making a stir fry, if you go for that.”
“Sounds great. I’ll get to chopping the wood.”
“Okay.”
At the kitchen window, I watched Harle head outside, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he made his way to the woodpile. Something about seeing him like this, vulnerable and hurting, made my chest ache in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
Turning back to the counter, I started prepping the vegetables for our stir fry.
My mind was full as I tossed the chicken into the sizzling pan. Yale. Philosophy, Politics, and Economics. It was such an unexpected revelation. How had he gone from an Ivy League education to fixing fences and rescuing animals? And the way he’d looked earlier, sitting by the lake... that raw pain in his eyes. It spoke of depths I hadn’t even begun to fathom.
The chicken sputtered, bringing me back to the present. I added the vegetables and gave them a quick stir. The sound of wood splitting drew my attention back to the window. There was still a set to his shoulders and a stiffness to his movements that let me know he wasn’t really okay. I wanted, desperately, to make him feel better but had no fucking clue how to go about it. I was way too fucked up myself to be of any use to anyone else.
Still, I had to try. Even if all I could offer was a decent meal and a shoulder to lean on.
Once everything was done, I spooned the stir fry into two bowls, carefully balancing them in my hands. Then I pushed the sliding door open with my foot and stepped outside.
The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the lake, and I spotted Harle by the fire pit, arranging the last of the logs into place. He looked up as I approached, his gaze catching mine. He gave me a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was something, I guess. The fire in front of him crackled and sparked, a warm glow dancing between us.
“I come bearing food,” I called lightly, trying to break the quiet tension between us.
Harle dusted off his hands and came to meet me halfway, taking one of the bowls from me. “Perfect timing.” Gesturing toward the double recliner he’d put by the fire, he said, “This okay?”
“It’s great.” My voice squeaked a little and I cleared my throat. I was definitely trying too hard. Every protective instinct I didn’t even know I had was screaming at me to fix this, to make it better somehow.
We ate in silence, the sounds of the crackling fire and the chirping crickets filling the space between us. Harle’s quiet mood sat like a weight hanging in the air.
When I finished, Harle took my bowl, stacked it into his own, and set them both on the ground beside him. Then he leaned back, lifting one arm up and out, inviting me to snuggle close.
My heart squeezed, and with a lump forming in my throat, I shifted closer, letting him wrap his arm around me. I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing beneath my cheek. We sat like that for a while, the warmth of the fire and Harle’s body surrounding me, the sky above us darkening.
After some time, I whispered, “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
He leaned down and kissed the top of my head, his lips warm against my hair. “Thanks, darlin’.”
I thought that was it, that he wasn’t going to say anything else, but he surprised me. “It doesn’t seem to matter how much time passes, it doesn’t get any easier.”
Pain curled around my heart, because that was exactly how it was for me. “How long has it been?”
“Seven years.”
He dragged in a ragged breath, his eyes fixed on the fire as the flames flickered and danced, reflecting in his gaze. “His name was Jackson,” Harle said, his voice quiet. “We were friends since high school. Beyond excited when we both got into Yale, and even more when we graduated. We were going to take over the world together.” He gave a short, hollow laugh. “And for a while, it felt like we did.”
His arm tightened around me.
“We started a business right after finishing school. It took off. Everything we touched seemed to turn to gold. It was more money than we ever imagined, and we were just a couple of kids. Stupid, young, thinking we were untouchable.” His voice cracked slightly. “Such a fucking cliche.”
My heart ached for him, feeling the sadness in his words. I slipped my hand in his, lacing his fingers with mine and squeezing. He squeezed back, hard.
“We got the fast cars, the penthouses, a yacht.” He paused, shaking his head slightly. “It was all so flashy. We got caught up in it. The drugs, alcohol, partying like there was no tomorrow. I thought we were invincible.” His voice dropped so low I had to strain to hear him.
“And then one night...” He swallowed hard. “One night, Jackson didn’t wake up. Overdose. Just like that, it was over.”
Fuck. The raw grief in his voice was almost overwhelming. “What did you do?”
“I lost my fucking mind.” The words came out rough, like they were being dragged from somewhere deep inside him. “Pushed myself harder, further, beyond any limit I set for myself. I should be dead, Cassidy. But I wasn’t given that grace, no matter how hard I tried.”
Double fuck.
He looked down, his jaw tightening. “After that, I couldn’t stay. Couldn’t do it anymore. I cashed it all in and bought this place. Just wanted somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could remember him without all the noise. Somewhere I could atone.”
Something clicked. “Somewhere you could balance the ledger.”
“Exactly.” His voice softened. “Maybe if I give enough, help enough, my life will be worth something. There’s some meaning to the fact that I made it and Jackson didn’t.”
Another penny dropped.“So the rescue animals. The soup kitchen. All the people you help. Me. It’s redemption.”
“Yeah.” His gaze dropped to where our hands were clasped and he ran his thumb over my knuckles. Soothing himself, or me. I couldn’t tell. “Does it upset you?”
“No.” That was my instant, reflexive answer, with no hesitation.
Harle blew out a breath, maybe of relief.
“Does it help? All the helping?”
“Yeah. It gives me purpose. And shape to my days.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I think Jackson would like it. He was a good guy.”
I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles. “You are a very good man, Harle Robson.”
He didn’t say anything, but the darkness in his eyes eased. I could feel the tension between us settle into something quieter, something almost comforting. Slowly, I rested my head back on his shoulder, staring into the flickering flames of the fire pit. We sat like that for what felt like forever, with just the crackle of burning wood, the cool night air, and the warmth of his arm around me.
My mind wandered to my own carefully locked doors, the ones I’d kept shut for so long. Harle had just handed me his key, trusted me with his darkest moments. Maybe... maybe it was time to trust him with mine. The thought made my heart race, my breathing shallow.
I wasn’t sure where the words came from, but before I could stop myself, I heard my own voice, low and a little shaky.
“I was married. Sort of.”