12. Harrison
HARRISON
The thing about building a life from nothing is that you learn how fast it can all be taken away.
I’ve never had a trust fund. Never had a safety net. I didn’t get to start this game on second base while everyone clapped for me like I hit a double. I built everything I have with bare hands and bad hours, working weekends when my friends were still sleeping off hangovers.
And because of that—because of how hard I had to fight to get here—I’ve always known how fragile it all is. Which is why I should be scared right now.
Scratch that—I am scared.
Because everything feels like it’s teetering. The company. The board. Parker. Her most of all.
I throw another jab into the bag hanging in the corner of the cabin’s gym, my fist connecting with the worn leather in a solid thunk . Sweat rolls down my chest, soaking through the waistband of my shorts. I’m shirtless, barefoot, and panting, but I don’t stop. Can’t.
This is the only thing that keeps the noise quiet.
My body is sore from the last few days—hell, my everything is sore—but I don’t care. The physical pain is easier than the other kind.
If the board finds out…if Vivian finds out…it won’t just cost Parker. It could cost me . Everything I’ve worked for. Every inch of credibility I clawed out of concrete. They’ll say I used my position. Took advantage. That I crossed a line.
And maybe I did.
But I didn’t mean to.
Parker was never the plan. She just happened . Like a storm rolling in under clear skies. She looked at me like I was more than a suit, more than the guy who signs checks and keeps the machine oiled. She looked at me like I was worth feeling something for.
And that?
That scared the shit out of me.
The night in the elevator? Spontaneous. None of us went into the elevator thinking about a four-way. It was chemical, undeniable. Just like every other second around that woman.
The punching bag rocks again from the force of my next hit.
My knuckles ache even through the gloves.
I don’t care. I need to hit something. Anything.
Because I don’t know what to do with the way this woman’s gotten under my skin, wrapped herself around my ribs, and taken up permanent residence in the part of me I swore I’d keep guarded.
I stop after another minute, bent over at the waist, hands on my knees. My sweat hits the rubber flooring in drops. My chest is heaving.
I need a fucking shower.
I peel off the gloves, sling them across the bench, and head to the bathroom. My room’s next to the gym, and the en suite is big, stone-walled, and quiet. I kick off my shorts, twist the water on hot, and step under the stream without giving myself time to think.
It helps.
A little.
The water beats against my shoulders, loosening muscles that haven’t relaxed in days. I lean one hand against the tile, bracing myself, and drop my head.
I’m falling for her. That’s the truth I’ve been trying not to admit. And it could ruin me.
I’m still under the water when I hear the knock. It’s quiet, just once. Then her voice follows. “Harrison?”
I straighten. “Yeah?”
“I didn’t mean to bother you,” she says, muffled through the wood. “I just…can we talk?”
I hesitate.
My towel’s on the hook beside the shower. I shut off the water, grab it, and wrap it low around my hips. Then I open the bathroom door.
She’s standing there, barefoot, in one of the oversized sweatshirts we keep folded on the bench. No makeup. Hair loose. Her eyes are wide, uncertain, and a little red-rimmed like she’s been thinking too hard.
And she looks like the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen.
Not because she’s sexy—though she is. Not because she’s half-undressed—though that’s definitely not helping. But because I want her.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Come in.”
She steps inside and closes the door behind her. Doesn’t sit right away. Just sort of…hovers near the bed, arms crossed over her stomach.
I sit on the edge of the mattress and wait.
She paces a little, then finally blurts out, “What’s going on with Gavin?”
I blink. “Gavin?”
“Yeah. One-on-one, he’s cold. Distant. But when it’s all of us—he touches me, looks at me, like he wants something. But then he vanishes again.”
I stay quiet for a moment. Then pat the space next to me.
She sits. Her hands twist in her lap. “Jack said it’s not personal.”
“It’s not.”
“Then what is it?”
I exhale. I’ve been waiting for this conversation. Not because I wanted to have it—but because I knew someone had to explain the mess behind the mask. “He’s scared.”
“Of me?”
“Of himself.”
She looks at me.
I shrug. “Vivian’s been grooming him to be perfect since he was in utero. Control everything. Don’t show weakness. Don’t want anything too much, or it can be used against you.”
She swallows.
“His dad didn’t help either,” I add. “You know Jamison’s history.”
She nods slowly.
“Gavin’s been trained not to want. Because wanting leads to disappointment. To exposure.”
“And me?”
“You’re impossible not to want.”
Her breath catches. And mine does too. She reaches over slowly, places her hand on top of mine. “I feel like I’m getting pulled in so many directions,” she says. “Like I’m trying to keep up with all of you, and I don’t know if I’m allowed to say I need something for myself.”
“If you need something, then your job is to fucking tell us.”
She swallows hard. “I want this to work.”
“So do I.”
“But I’m scared.”
“Me too,” I admit. “Because if we fuck this up, I lose everything I’ve built.”
She flinches.
“Not because of you ,” I say quickly. “Because I don’t have what the others have. Degrees. Family names. Clean slates. I climbed the ladder, one rung at a time, and if Vivian or the board decides I’m a liability…that’s it.”
Her eyes soften.
“I’ve never had anything handed to me,” I say. “And I can’t afford to lose what I’ve earned.”
She nods slowly, tears welling. “So what do we do?”
“We hold tight,” I say. “We protect each other. We stop pretending this isn’t important, whatever it is.”
She leans in, her forehead resting against mine. “I don’t want to be just another girl you guys have fun with and forget.”
“You’re not.” I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her into my lap.
“How can you know that? I’m sure you thought the others were here to stay too.”
I huff a laugh at that. “Not really. Certain relationships come with an obvious expiration date. At least, mine always have.”
She goes rigid. “And now?”
“Now, I want something else.”
“With me. And the two of them involved too? Is that normal for you guys?”
“We’ve had some shared fun in the past, mostly at kink clubs. Never anything like this.”
“Thank you for being straight with me about all of this. With Jack and Gavin?—”
“You always get the sense that they’re playing a game?”
She giggles. “Yeah, a little.”
I brush her hair behind her ear and revel in the warmth of her on my lap. “Smooth talkers always leave me with that feeling too. I’m not one of them. So, if you want someone to be direct with you, come to me.”
Her big blue eyes study me. My brow, my cheekbones, my jaw, before settling on my lips. “I appreciate that. Sometimes, in all of this, I feel like I’m just trying to catch up to you three.”
“Funny. I’m pretty sure the three of us think the same about you.”
She kisses me, her lips warm and soft. I kiss her back and take my time with it. Not rushed. Not reckless. She’s in my lap, legs folded on either side of me, arms around my neck, and I feel like I’m drowning.
But it’s not the bad kind of drowning—not the kind where you’re slipping under with no way back. This is something slower. Heavier. The kind where you realize you’ve already gone too deep to pretend you’re still safe.
She tastes like peppermint and coffee. Her fingers tighten in the hair at the nape of my neck, and I press a hand to the small of her back, holding her to me like I can make this moment last longer just by wanting it hard enough.
Her hips shift. Tentative. Questioning. I groan against her mouth. Can’t help it. She breaks the kiss first, eyes searching mine. “I don’t want to be a mistake.”
“You never could be.”
She rests her forehead against mine. “I feel like I’m floating and anchored all at once.”
“I know the feeling. Ever since the elevator.”
Her lips brush mine again, featherlight, then she pulls back and slides off my lap. I follow her with my eyes as she stands, then turns and walks toward the bathroom. She pauses at the door and glances over her shoulder.
No words. Just an invitation.
I rise without hesitation.
The shower’s still on. Hot, steady, fogging the glass and filling the air with heat that sticks to our skin. I shut the door behind us, then slowly and carefully undress her. When more skin is revealed, I kiss her there. Her quick breaths and sighs are the sweetest music.
Parker steps under the water first, eyes closing as the stream hits her shoulders. Her hair is loose, long strands clinging to her neck, her collarbone. I step in behind her, careful not to crowd her.
She leans back against me. I wrap my arms around her waist.
We stand like that for a minute. Maybe two. Breathing. Letting the water do what I can’t—wash away the doubt, the outside world, the impossible weight of what this could cost us. Her head tips back against my shoulder. My lips brush the side of her neck. She shivers.
Not from the cold.
I turn her in my arms. She looks up at me, water beading along her lashes, her lips parted, pink and wet and begging to be kissed again.
So I do.
Even slower now. Thorough. Like I’m tasting every ounce of hesitation she’s still carrying. She lets me take it from her. It’s an honor like no other.
My hands slide along her sides, across her stomach, over the curve of her hips. She arches into me, her fingers moving to my chest, down my ribs. Her touch is light at first, then firmer, more certain.
She wants this. So do I. But I want more than that.