Chapter 14
Eric
The house didn’t really sleep that night. By morning, Braden’s balloons had sagged, frosting plates were stacked in the sink, and the air had shifted from birthday noise to something sharper, more focused. Wedding day arrived the way big things always do, whether you were ready or not.
By noon, the yard behind the house had transformed into something out of a dream.
The music started before I could answer.
Elyna stepped out of the house, veil fluttering in the breeze.
Dad’s arm trembled as he led her down the aisle toward Phoenix, who was waiting with Braden in his arms, tears already gathering in his eyes.
When their vows began, the world seemed to still.
Elyna’s voice shook when she said “Always,” and Phoenix brushed his thumb along her jaw, whispering something that made her laugh through her tears.
Bean sniffled audibly beside Luc, who just shook his head and kissed her temple.
Becket stood stiffly beside me, hands in his pockets, staring past the altar like he was seeing something none of us could.
When Phoenix finally kissed his bride, cheers went up from every corner of the yard.
Even Dad wiped at his eyes, pretending it was dust.
The reception blurred into a warm hum of voices, music, and the smell of cider and roasted apples.
Braden tore through the grass chasing bubbles, and Elyna’s laughter carried over the music as Phoenix spun her around in his arms. Harmony stayed near the edge of the crowd, smiling but quiet.
Her gaze lingered on the newlyweds, a softness in her eyes that hit me square in the chest. I could see it then the ache she tried to hide.
The longing for a family that wasn’t fractured by the past. When she caught me watching, she looked away, busying herself with the flowers at one of the tables.
I waited until the next song started before walking over.
“Beautiful day,” I said.
She nodded. “It’s been perfect.”
“Everything you made looks incredible.”
Her lips curved, faintly. “Thanks. The thistle was your sister’s idea, but I made it work.”
“You always do.”
She looked up at me then, and for a second, the noise of the celebration faded. I could see the reflection of the orchard in her eyes, the way she took everything broken and found beauty in it anyway.
“Walk with me?” I asked.
She hesitated, then nodded.
We slipped away from the music, down the path that wound through the back of the orchard.
The ground was soft from last night’s rain, and the scent of apples and woodsmoke clung to the air.
We walked in silence until the old shed came into view.
The place had been abandoned for years, but the memories inside hadn’t faded.
“I used to come out here when I was a teenager,” she said quietly. “Back when it was just the orchard and the old house. It was the only place in town that didn’t feel like my father owned it.”
“I remember,” I said. “You’d drive out after dark. Park behind the fence like you were hiding.”
Her lips curved faintly. “I was hiding. From him. From the world.”
“And sometimes,” I said, stepping closer, “from yourself.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You sound like the kid who thought he could fix me.”
“You never needed fixing,” I assured her.
The air between us tightened. The hum of the wedding faded, replaced by the slow rustle of the trees and the quiet thud of my heartbeat. She looked out toward the orchard, her voice low.
“We used to meet here after your games. You’d still be in your jacket, smelling like cold air and adrenaline.”
“And you’d bring coffee in those paper cups from the gas station,” I said, the memory unfolding easily now. “Half milk, too much sugar.”
She laughed softly. “I didn’t know how you drank it.”
“I didn’t know how you lived in that house.”
Her smile faded. “Neither did I. That’s why I came here.”
I could still see it, her sitting on the hood of her car, steam rising from the coffee cups between us, frost clinging to her hair.
The night she’d told me her father was expanding his operation, that Nico had chosen to be part of it.
She’d cried then, furious at herself for caring, furious at a life that kept breaking everything good.
I’d kissed her that night, because words hadn’t been enough.
Because she looked like someone who needed to remember what it felt like to be wanted for something other than control or reputation.
She turned back to me now, the fading sunlight catching the copper in her hair. “It was easier back then,” she said softly.
“Yeah, we made it easy for each other. Until we didn’t.”
Her breath hitched. “You think we ever really stopped?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. The space between us disappeared.
My hand found her waist, hers slid up my chest, and the kiss came like gravity, inevitable, consuming, and familiar.
It wasn’t reckless teenage desperation this time.
It was slower, deeper, like we were remembering what it had felt like to need someone and realizing we still did.
Her lips were soft and warm against mine.
And just like in another lifetime, sparks erupted inside me.
The taste of her, the way my hand cupped her chin.
The way I wanted to breathe her in because there had never been anyone like her in my life.
Not before her and not after her. She was sweet sin.
That is what she had always been, but now this felt different.
We weren’t teenagers, we were older, wiser.
Our tongues collided in a way that hadn’t happened when we were younger.
Back then we were fumbling teenagers. Now we were adults taking what we wanted.
When she finally pulled away, her eyes shimmered. “We shouldn’t.”
“I know.” Why did I just say that? Maybe because she pulled away and that felt like rejection. I couldn’t feel that from her. Not ever again.
Neither of us moved until a flashlight beam cut through the trees.
“Eric?” Becket’s voice carried across the quiet. “Dad’s looking for you.”
Harmony stepped back; her voice barely steady. “You should go.”
Becket appeared at the edge of the orchard; expression unreadable. “Everything okay out here?”
“Yeah,” I said, forcing my voice to even out. “Just catching up.”
He looked between us, then nodded slowly with a playful smirk. “Right.”
When he was gone, Harmony drew a shaky breath, arms folded against the cold. “He’s always had the worst timing.”
I laughed, but my pulse was still racing. “Yeah.”
She hesitated, then turned toward the glow of the house. “Goodnight, Eric.”
I watched her go until the sound of her footsteps disappeared, the taste of her kiss still lingering like something I’d never really forgotten; something that felt a lot like the truth I wasn’t ready to admit.