Chapter 19 Harper #2
The fear that’s been sitting in my chest for weeks has loosened its grip. It’s not gone entirely, but it’s quieter now, manageable in a way it wasn’t before. Marcus doesn’t get to dictate my future. He doesn’t get to define me by the damage he caused.
I glance at Aiden, who’s watching me with a small, proud smile he isn’t trying to hide.
“What?” I ask.
“You were incredible in there. I’m proud of you.”
I give his hand a squeeze. “Thanks.” I’m not sure how to take the compliment without crying, so I just keep moving.
We reach his truck, and as I pull the door open, I feel a strange sense of closure settle in.
Not the kind that wraps everything up neatly, but the kind that allows you to move forward without constantly looking over your shoulder.
For the first time in a long time, the road ahead feels open.
Aiden’s phone rings. He glances down at his phone, his expression shifting subtly as he checks the screen.
It’s not alarm yet. Not the sharp, immediate tension I’ve come to recognize when something is wrong.
This is something else—focused, alert, but contained.
He silences the call with a quick tap and looks back at me.
“It’s nothing urgent. We’re good.”
“I’m so glad Carlie took Mason for the day. I needed to not worry about him in a police station.”
“Hopefully, she will continue to be a great, impromptu babysitter.”
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” I admit quietly.
Aiden keeps his eyes on the road. “That’s normal. Doesn’t mean it will.”
I nod, appreciating that he doesn’t try to promise things he can’t control. We sit in companionable silence for the rest of the drive, the city humming around us in a way that feels distant instead of threatening.
“You hungry?” he asks.
I consider it, then shake my head. “I think I need… quiet.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll be in the living room.”
We settle into separate corners of the penthouse, not out of distance but out of mutual understanding. I curl up on the couch with a blanket, letting the stillness wrap around me. My phone buzzes once with a text from Roz—short, supportive, relieved—and I answer it just as briefly.
Thank you. I’m okay. We’ll talk tomorrow.
I set the phone aside and close my eyes, breathing slowly, deliberately. The images from the day replay in fragments—Marcus’s face, the interrogation room, the moment my voice didn’t shake when I told him he took nothing that mattered. I hold onto that part, letting it anchor me.
Aiden’s phone rings again, and this time he doesn’t silence it.
The sound cuts cleanly through the quiet, sharp enough that my eyes snap open immediately.
I hadn’t realized how close to sleep I’d drifted until that moment, my body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that comes after adrenaline finally burns itself out.
Aiden looks down at the screen, and whatever he sees there changes his expression in an instant.
This time, it’s serious.
He answers without moving away from me, his voice low but clear. “Sloan.”
I sit up slowly, blanket sliding down my shoulders, every nerve suddenly awake again. I don’t hear the voice on the other end, but I don’t need to. I recognize the shift in Aiden’s posture, the way his shoulders square, the way his attention narrows until the rest of the room seems to fall away.
“Yes, Chief.”
My stomach tightens.
Aiden turns slightly, pacing a short line along the window while he listens. He doesn’t interrupt, nods once or twice, his jaw tightening more with every second that passes. I watch him carefully, cataloguing every subtle change the way I did earlier with Marcus, and I don’t like what I’m seeing.
“Understood,” Aiden says finally. “I’ll come in.” He ends the call and exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. For a moment, he just stands there, staring out at the city like he’s recalibrating.
“What is it?”
He turns to face me, expression steady but serious in a way that makes my chest constrict. “That was Morales.”
“Okay,” I say carefully. “And?”
“They want me to go down to headquarters,” he continues. “Internal Affairs has questions. About my involvement in the investigation.”
My first instinct is disbelief, followed quickly by anger. “You saved lives. You helped them catch him. What could they possibly—”
“It’s procedure,” Aiden interrupts gently. “Because Marcus targeted both the bar and the firehouse. Because I was involved at both scenes. Because I’m close to you.”
Close to you.
The phrase echoes in my head, sharp and unwelcome. I stand up, crossing the room to him without thinking. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t ask.”
A familiar guilt rears up, cold and insistent. Of course, this is happening. Of course, my mess has reached into his life now, pulling him into scrutiny and risk. The old reflex kicks in hard, the instinct to create distance before someone else pays the price.
“This is because of me,” I say quietly.
Aiden’s eyes soften, but his voice stays firm. “No. This is because someone committed arson and tried to escalate it. I didn’t cause that. Neither did you.”
“When do you have to go?”
“Now,” he replies. “They want to talk tonight.”