Chapter 13 Harper
HARPER
Iwalk Mason down the hall and tuck him into bed, moving through the routine with careful precision because I need the structure more than he does.
Pajamas. Teeth brushed. I got some of his things out of storage, and his stuffed dinosaur is positioned exactly where it belongs.
He chatters sleepily while I smooth the blanket over his chest. “Are you okay, Mommy?”
“Yes,” I tell him, and this time it’s mostly true. “I promise.”
He accepts that the way kids do when they want to believe something is solid.
When his breathing evens out, I sit there for an extra minute, my hand resting on his back when he rolls over, grounding myself in the warmth and certainty of him.
Whatever happens next, whatever choices I make, they have to be made with my tiny miracle in mind.
I close his door quietly and lean my forehead against the wall.
Aiden heard everything. The way David said ‘man’ when he clearly meant something far worse, but edited himself in front of Mason. The custody talk. The lawyers… there’s no way Aiden didn’t hear that. The hallway carries sound too easily.
I can’t believe Aiden brought me ice cream after the initial confrontation. Can’t believe he didn’t complain about sitting through one of my true crime shows, didn’t roll his eyes or make a joke, just showed up quietly and did the thing that would make it hurt less.
He is exactly the person I thought he was six years ago. A good man, no matter how hard he’s tried to convince himself otherwise.
I find him on the balcony when I finally step back into the living room. The glass door is cracked open, city air slipping inside, cool against my skin. Aiden stands with his hands braced on the railing, his back to me, giving me space the way he always does when he thinks I might need it.
That, too, feels like proof.
I grab a blanket from the couch and wrap it around myself before stepping outside.
The Columbus skyline stretches out in front of us, lights scattered like constellations, steady and distant.
We don’t speak at first. We just stand there, side by side, breathing in the night, letting the silence do its work.
Finally, I break it.
“I’m sorry about David. He had no right to say those things.”
Aiden doesn’t turn right away. When he does, his expression is raw in a way I’ve only ever seen a handful of times. “Was he right? Was I the guy you couldn’t get over?”
I could lie. I could tell him David was jealous and insecure and grasping at whatever narrative made him feel powerful.
I could tell Aiden that none of it mattered, that my marriage failed for reasons that had nothing to do with him.
And because Aiden is a good man, he would believe me.
Or he’d pretend to believe me to let me save face.
But I’m done lying. To him. To myself. To the truth that presses against my ribs, demanding release.
I stare out at the skyline for a moment longer, giving myself a breath to decide whether I’m brave enough to say this out loud.
I’ve been careful for so long. Careful with my words, my choices, my heart.
Careful in ways that felt like survival at the time and look suspiciously like fear in hindsight.
But he’s a good man, and I deserve that. Mason does, too.
“Yes.”
Aiden’s breath catches, sharp and quiet, but he doesn’t interrupt me. He doesn’t rush me. He waits, and that alone makes my heart ache.
I swallow hard, the memory bitter and familiar. “I told myself it was practical to marry him. That it was the grown-up thing to do. That wanting you was reckless and that marrying David was the right choice.”
Aiden’s jaw tightens, but his eyes stay locked on mine.
“I didn’t forget you,” I continue. “Couldn’t. Not when I said my vows. Not when I got pregnant. Not when I built my bar from the ground up. I learned how to function without you, but that’s not the same thing as moving on.”
The night air feels colder suddenly.
“I kept thinking something was wrong with me,” I admit. “That if I tried harder, loved better, showed up more, the feeling would disappear. Who falls in love in a single night? It’s ridiculous. Childish. But the feeling lingered…”
Aiden turns then, fully facing me, the intensity in his eyes unmistakable. He looks like a man bracing himself against a truth he’s been circling for years. “Calling it a mistake was the biggest lie I’ve ever told.”
I’m not sure what to say. Everything is so messed up right now. Hearing this six years ago would have made a difference, but now? With so much on the line?
He exhales slowly, his gaze dropping to his hands as if he needs to see them to stay grounded. “I was thirty-four, a firefighter with more scars than prospects and a past I didn’t know how to outrun.”
“What past? You always hint at something you’ve done wrong, but even Carlie doesn’t know what that is.”
His voice goes raw. “I exist.”
“What are you talking about?”
He rubs a hand over his palm, jaw working.
“My dad always told me that I was his biggest mistake. And my dad was a huge asshole, so to be his biggest mistake meant something. He was cruel to me, to my mom. Not physically, but he was meaner than a viper. He walked out when I was ten. Just left one day and never came back. Carlie was little—she barely remembers him.”
“I’m so sorry you went through that—”
“And I watched my mom barely survive it. As much as he was a piece of shit, she depended on him. On his paycheck. He demanded that she be a stay-at-home mom, so she didn’t have anything when he left.
No career, no job skills to speak of. Nothing.
It took her years before she had anything to call her own.
Years of hard work, of fear.” He glances away.
“She doesn’t know it, and neither does Carlie, but there were nights that I pretended I wasn’t hungry so they’d have a little more to eat. ”
My throat tightens painfully. “Oh God.”
“He used to tell me I was just like him,” Aiden continues quietly.
“A waste of space. A boy who would ruin anything good he touched. I believed him… internalized it. Sometimes, I made it true, because when you hear a thing so often, it becomes your truth. I’d act out in school sometimes, or bully kids…
makes me sick to think of it now. Made me sick to do it, too.
But it made this weird kind of sense to take out my anger about my dad on kids who had everything handed to them. I can’t explain it.”
“I think I get what you mean—you saw someone with more than you, so you wanted to take them down a notch. Something like that?”
“Yeah, maybe. But I straightened up when I realized my mom and sister were depending on me. Got my grades right and got a scholarship for the fire academy.” He runs his fingers through his hair.
“But all that bullshit sticks with you when it comes from your dad. And when things are real and important, you feel it more. When I looked at you, all I could think was that if I loved you out loud, I would be just like him...”
I shake my head. “That’s not who you are, Aiden.”
He lifts his head then, eyes meeting mine again. “I pushed you away before I could break you the way he broke my mom. Because I couldn’t live with myself if I did that to you.”
I don’t have the words to comfort him, so I lay my hand on his forearm because I need to touch him right now.
His voice is thick and heavy. “And then I broke you anyway while trying to save you from me. Because even when I try to do the right thing, I fuck that up, too.”
Tears spill over before I can stop them, hot and relentless. “You didn’t break me,” I say, my voice cracking. “Losing you did.”
The air between us hums, charged and electric, like something ancient and fragile has been exposed to the light. The wind tugs at the blanket around my shoulders, grounding me just enough to keep my knees from buckling under the weight of everything he’s said.
Aiden breaks the silence first.
“I don’t want to be just friends, Harper.” His voice is steady, but there’s nothing casual about it. “I never did. I never could be just friends with you.”
My heart stutters hard enough that I have to press my lips together to keep from saying something reckless. This is the moment where I’m supposed to be careful. I have a child. I have a business. I have scars that took years to stitch closed.
I force out the words, because some part of me fights against me saying them. “Then what do you want with me?”
“You. All of you. The messy parts. The complicated parts. I want a real shot at this.” He hesitates, then adds more quietly, “But I’m scared I’ll screw it up again. And I’m in too deep not to try anyway.”
The honesty in that cracks something open in me. “So am I. I’m terrified of making another bad decision. But I refuse to be so scared that I don’t go after what I want anymore.”
He waits, giving me space even now, even with everything in the open between us. I close the distance instead, stepping into him and bringing my hands up to his chest. He peers into my eyes, still waiting for a sign.
Then I stand on my toes and press my lips to his.
The kiss is hot and immediate, all the restraint of the last few days collapsing under the weight of years of wanting.
His hands come around me, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.
I feel it everywhere—his grip at my waist, the heat of his body, the way he kisses me like he’s been holding back for far too long.
We don’t rush it. We linger, letting the moment stretch, letting the reality of it settle in. When we finally pull back, my forehead rests against his, both of us breathing harder than before.
“We go slow,” I say, even as every part of me wants to do the opposite. “Carefully. Mason comes first.”
He nods immediately. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
That’s what gives me the strength to step away. I gather the blanket closer around myself and force a smile. “I should go to bed. If I don’t walk away now, I’m going to do things I’m not ready for yet.”
His mouth curves into a smile that’s equal parts understanding and regret. “Goodnight, Harper.”
“Goodnight.” Every step is on shaking legs. I leave him on the balcony, my pulse racing, knowing that walking away like this is the only way to keep the promise we just made to each other.
Sleep does not come easily.
I lie in the guest bed staring at the ceiling, the city glow filtering faintly through the curtains, my body humming with the aftermath of everything that just happened.
The kiss keeps replaying itself in my mind, not in flashes but in sensations—the way his hands were steady at my waist, the heat of his body, the restraint layered beneath the want.
I turn onto my side, then onto my back again, the sheets twisting under my fingers.
This is exactly why I walked away.
Wanting Aiden has never been the problem. Wanting him has always been the easiest thing in the world. It’s what comes after that terrifies me. The decisions that follow. The compromises. The possibility of hurting Mason if I let myself believe too hard in something that might not hold.
Loving Aiden again might make me braver, but it also makes me vulnerable in ways I don’t get to indulge recklessly.
After a while, the clock on the nightstand clicks over to 1:47 a.m.
I sigh quietly and push myself up into a sitting position. Lying here pretending I’ll drift off if I just try harder is pointless. My mind is too loud, my body too awake. I wrap the blanket around my shoulders again and pad quietly out into the hallway, careful not to make noise.
The living room is dim, lit only by the city beyond the windows. The balcony door is still cracked open.
I pause for a second, my hand resting on the doorframe, debating with myself. This is a bad idea. This is how going slow turns into rationalizing. I know all of that, and I still step forward, drawn by something that feels less like impulse and more like gravity.
Aiden is out there again, leaning against the railing, the night air tugging at his shirt. He looks over his shoulder when he senses me, his expression softening in a way that makes my chest ache. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“I tried,” I say quietly. “I told myself to stay in bed. To be sensible.”
His mouth curves slightly, but there’s no humor in it. Only rogue lust. “Still feeling sensible?”
“Not even a little bit.” The honesty feels dangerous, but I’m too tired to pretend otherwise. Slowly, I walk to him and the words rasp out of me. “I can’t stay away from you.”
He hooks a hand around my hip and our bodies press together as he growls, “Then don’t.”