Chapter 7
7
HARPER
M y eyes flutter open. The harsh sunlight streams through unfamiliar thin curtains and stabs painfully into my temples. A sharp ache pulses behind my eyes, making me groan as I turn my head. I glance over and see Brody asleep in the chair, his body cramped, his lips slightly parted. He looks peaceful, like we did when we were kids.
My mouth is dry, and my limbs are heavy with fatigue, like I barely have control. For a second, panic tightens in my chest as I glance around the motel room. My memory is fractured, and I try to piece together how I ended up here.
Then it all floods back—Micah, the pregnancy test, Brody climbing onto the balcony, his arms wrapped protectively around me, whispering reassurances into my ear as he carried me away. I press my palms into my eyes, battling nausea that’s as emotional as it is physical.
How did I let it come to this? How did I fail to see the truth that was right in front of me?
I sit up, swallowing hard against the bile rising in my throat. My stomach turns, and I barely make it to the cramped bathroom before I collapse over the toilet to empty my stomach. The cold porcelain grounds me, even as shame washes over me in dizzying waves.
“Harper?” Brody’s deep voice filters in from the doorway. “You okay?”
“Having the time of my life,” I croak out sarcastically, my voice hoarse and strained. But another violent wave of nausea hits, and I lean forward again, my body trembling uncontrollably.
“At least you have your humor.”
He enters, and while I don’t want him to see me at my worst, I don’t have a choice. Brody kneels beside me, gathering my tangled hair away from my face, holding it back. His touch is tender, and his warm hands steadies me more than I’d like to admit.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, puking again.
“You’re not,” he says. His voice calms me, and I turn to glance at him, only to see the tension in his jaw. “Let me help you.”
I sit back against the cold wall in the tiny bathroom with my eyes squeezed shut in humiliation. Brody doesn’t say another word as he wets a washcloth and presses it against my forehead. He swipes over my cheeks and my lips. His gentleness contrasts so starkly with the harsh reality of my situation that tears well in my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. The weight of everything—Micah, the pregnancy, the betrayal—feels suffocating. “I should’ve listened to you, to Billie, to Zane, everyone. I?—”
“Stop. You owe no one an apology.” He kneels lower, his gaze meeting mine, unwavering and intense. “This isn’t your fault. You’re not responsible for Micah’s lies.”
His words cut through my fog of self-blame, and for a quick, fragile moment, I actually believe him. I let out a shaky breath as he stands up and turns on the shower, checking the temperature before glancing back at me.
“Would you like a bath? You’ll feel better,” he says.
I nod, suddenly realizing how weak I am. He helps me stand, his strong arms steadying me as my legs wobble. When I stumble some, Brody wraps his arm securely around my waist. His touch sends a confusing warmth through me that I can’t deal with right now.
He helps me out of my clothes, keeping his gaze averted as he guides me toward the steaming tub. I don’t have the strength to be shy.
The water is hot, but I sink into it gratefully, wanting to feel anything other than guilt and disgust. I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes.
“Just call if you need me,” Brody says. He slips out of the bathroom, leaving the door cracked.
I scrub my skin raw, wanting to wash away every trace of Micah—his touch, his scent, his possessive grip. The water swooshes around me, and steam rises in the small space. My hands tremble as I wash my hair, memories of Micah’s smile and his manipulative whispers creeping back into my thoughts. He’s haunting me, and it’s too much.
“Brody,” I say, my voice sounding distant and fragile, even to me. I feel drained and disoriented.
He appears at the doorway, eyes closed. “You okay?”
“Can you help me get out?”
He nods without hesitation, stepping closer and extending a steady hand, eyes still shut. I cling to him as he helps me rise from the water. Quickly, he snatches a towel from the counter and wraps me in it.
“I laid out some of my clothes for you,” he says, leading me out of the bathroom to where a neatly folded shirt and sweats with a drawstring are on the bed. “Figured you’d be more comfortable in those.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, slipping them on as he turns away.
I breathe in his familiar scent on the soft fabric, and it calms my racing heart.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, my legs shaky. Brody sits beside me, close enough for comfort but still keeping some space between us. A lump forms in my throat.
“I’m scared,” I admit, feeling too exposed.
He immediately takes my hand, holding it securely. His thumb strokes across my knuckles. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever. Micah messed with the wrong fucking one.”
Tears fill my eyes again, spilling down my cheeks despite my best efforts to stop them. I look away, unable to face his intense gaze, but he doesn’t pull back. Instead, silence hangs in the air, heavy but somehow safe, like a protective cocoon.
“Harp, you need to rest,” he finally says, helping me lie down. “I’m right here.”
I curl onto my side, facing away, my heart still racing. As my eyes drift shut, Brody brushes wet strands of hair from my face—the simple gesture speaking louder than words.
Sleep comes quickly, but I’m thrown into restless nightmares. I jolt awake, gasping, my pulse hammering as fragments of memories crash through my mind. It’s relentless, like Micah poisoned my subconscious.
The door creaks open, and Brody steps inside, instantly calming the frantic rhythm of my heart. He holds two bottles of water and a packet of crackers. His phone is pressed to his ear, and when he sees I’m awake, he ends the call without a word.
“Sleeping Beauty finally awake?” he asks, concern softening his eyes.
“Barely,” I whisper, attempting a smile.
Brody keeps his distance. “You feeling any better?”
Tears blur my vision again. “A little.”
He exhales, tension tightening his jaw. “Harper, I’m sorry?—”
“Don’t,” I interrupt. “Don’t you dare apologize. I should’ve listened. You tried to warn me.”
His eyes soften further, guilt mixing with anger. “I shouldn’t have let you get that close to danger. It was reckless.”
My voice trembles as the truth cuts deeper. “I had to figure it out myself.”
Brody instinctively moves closer but pauses. “None of this is your fault. He targeted you, Harper. He knew exactly what to say to draw you in.”
I meet his eyes. “Did Billie know?”
“She figured it out at dinner,” he explains. “He fooled everyone.”
“But not you,” I whisper.
He shakes his head slightly. “No, never me.”
“Thank you,” I say, my voice breaking. “For saving me.”
His expression grows fierce. “Always, Harp.”
The simple promise unravels something deep within me, comforting yet unsettling. I inhale, trying to ground myself. “What happens now?”
“We leave,” he replies firmly. “You’ll stay with me until it’s safe to return to the city.”
I nod, accepting his words, clinging to the solid certainty he offers in this uncertain world.
“Eat and drink,” he instructs. “We have to hit the road soon.”
“Do you have a plan?” I ask, sipping water and feeling my strength somewhat trickle back.
He smirks slightly. “When do I not have a plan?”
“True.” I manage a small smile. “Does Billie hate me?”
He shakes his head immediately. “Never. Do you want to talk to her?”
“Eventually,” I admit. “Not yet. I’m not ready. Right now, I don’t know what was real and what wasn’t real.”
“I get it,” he says, handing me the crackers.
When I struggle to open them, he helps. I nibble one, and even though it’s stale, it’s good.
“Micah drugged me. He could’ve killed me. I want him to pay,” I whisper, determination in my chest.
Brody’s expression darkens with fury. “He will.”