Chapter 8
8
brODY
A n hour later, we’re finally on the road. Harper still isn’t herself, and it might take another day for the drugs to fully work themselves through her system. That motherfucker could’ve killed her.
I grip the wheel tighter, battling the fatigue from the little sleep I managed to get in that uncomfortable chair. Thoughts of Harper and what Micah did to her keep racing through my mind. Each mile we drive puts more distance between her and him, but it doesn’t ease my tension at all because I want revenge.
Harper shifts restlessly, her breathing still uneven. Quiet mutters slip from her lips, but I can’t make out a single word. Every time she stirs, I glance at her, and my heart squeezes a little tighter.
She looks fragile, broken in ways I’ve never seen. It didn’t have to be like this.
A chill shakes her body, and without thinking, I reach for the jacket I tossed in the back seat earlier and carefully drape it over her. My fingers linger, brushing over her shoulder. She sighs at my touch. This tenderness is dangerous territory, a place I promised I’d never go again.
The clock on the dashboard ticks forward relentlessly, minutes slipping away in silence. After another hour of driving, I dial Billie’s number, and she answers right away.
“Is she okay? Tell me she’s okay, Brody.” Her frantic energy is hard to ignore. It makes me wonder how many paces she took around her office today.
“Yes,” I assure her, keeping my voice low so I don’t disturb Harper. “We’re headed somewhere secure.”
“Where?”
“The less you know, the safer everyone is,” I explain firmly, glancing back at Harper to make sure she’s still sleeping. “Just trust me, little cousin.”
Billie sighs. “Keep her safe, Brody.”
“Always.” My voice comes out more intense than I meant to. “I’ll call again soon.”
Before she can say anything else, I hang up. The silence in the car feels heavy again, and it’s usually something I can handle. I prefer it. I crave it. But right now, it’s smothering me.
Harper shifts once more, but she settles back, snuggling my jacket tighter.
Guilt roars bitterly in my stomach because I know this could’ve been avoided. I should’ve gotten to her sooner. I should’ve protected her better. I should’ve taken her when she was alone outside of the restaurant, but I hesitated. There were too many people around.
My thoughts spiral as I get stuck in the should’ve loop.
I glance at Harper, noticing the soft lines of her face, how peaceful yet troubled she looks, even in sleep. I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone else in. Yet here I am, driving Harper Alexander to the one place I’ve avoided for five long years.
As the sun rises higher in the sky, brightening the highway ahead, I tighten my grip on the wheel. This isn’t just about keeping Harper safe from Micah anymore; it’s about protecting her from everything, including myself. But deep down, I know I’m fighting a losing battle.
I keep my eyes on the road, grip tight around the wheel. Memories of Eden flood my mind—the laughter, stolen moments, the loss that still stings. The fact that Harper doesn’t know this secret history feels like a blessing and a curse. She’s already suffering enough without carrying the weight of my hidden grief.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Harper eventually asks, breaking the silence. Her voice is soft, hesitant, as if she’s scared of interrupting my thoughts.
I glance at her briefly, noticing how the sunlight highlights the tired circles under her eyes. I think about not telling her, but I know the truth is the best policy with Harper. It’s what she responds to most, and it’s what I promised I’d always give her.
“Sugar Pine Springs. It’s off the radar.”
It’s not linked to me in any way—by design.
She nods, processing my words. “And Micah won’t find us?”
“He can try,” I reply, my voice hardening with anger, “but he won’t succeed. And if he does—well, he’d better not.”
“You sound sure of that,” she whispers, leaning her head against the window, eyes heavy with uncertainty.
“I am.” My confidence is unwavering.
Micah doesn’t know what he’s unleashed in me. My jaw clenches.
Harper shifts, turning slightly to face me. “Why do you care?”
The question catches me off guard. My heart pounds as memories of Harper and me over the years mingle with current emotions.
I keep my expression neutral. “You’re Billie’s best friend. Protecting you is part of the job.”
“I’m a job to you?” She exhales a soft laugh, bitter and disbelieving. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”
My pulse quickens, and I stare straight ahead. Harper is close enough to see the truth written on my face, but I can’t let her.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes,” she whispers. “There’s more. I can feel it.”
“You need to rest.” I deflect, avoiding her gaze. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”
“That’s not an answer,” she challenges, but her voice is softer now, tinged with disappointment or exhaustion—maybe both.
I exhale heavily, considering what I could possibly tell her without shattering the careful boundary I’ve kept around my heart for years. “Everyone has a past. Sometimes, that past shapes how we handle the present. You don’t need to know all the details to trust that I’m here for you and you’re not just a job.”
“Fair enough.”
Silence fills the car again, heavier this time. Harper eventually sighs, settling deeper into the seat.
As more miles pass us by, I glance at her from the corner of my eye, noting the slow rise and fall of her breathing as she drifts off again. I allow myself to look at her peaceful expression, and I think about Eden. The similarities between them tug painfully at my chest, but the differences—Harper’s stubborn defiance, her spirited resilience—are very clear.
Maybe history repeats itself, or maybe it’s giving me a chance at redemption. Either way, Harper Alexander has become my responsibility, my purpose, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.
When the tires finally crunch along the gravel driveway, I let out a slow exhale. I’ve avoided this place for five years. Memories of my past live here in the rustling leaves, the creak of the porch swing, and in every shadow that flickers past the windows. I told myself I’d never come back. Yet here I am, with Harper beside me, and there’s nowhere else on the planet I’d rather be.
Her presence eases the ache of my memories. She doesn’t know my history with this cabin or how deeply it’s woven into my past or my pain. It’s not the time. But someday soon, I’ll tell her everything, if she wants to know.
“We’re here,” I say, touching her arm to wake her.
Harper blinks a few times, her blue-gray eyes slowly finding focus as she gazes through the windshield.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, taking in the secluded cabin, surrounded by towering pines with dappled sunlight breaking through the branches. “You’ve always owned this?”
“Yeah,” I answer, my throat tight. It was my secret escape for years.
She yawns, pushing her hair away from her face. “It’s peaceful.”
“It used to be,” I say, mostly to myself. But she hears it and turns toward me, curiosity in her eyes. I quickly change the subject before she can ask any more questions. “Come on. Let me show you inside.”
Stepping out of the car, I take a deep breath, absorbing the scent of pine and moss that once felt like freedom. Today, it feels like a reckoning. I grab my bags from the trunk and lead Harper up the porch steps. My heartrate increases with every creak of wood beneath my boots.
When I push open the door, the familiar mustiness hits me instantly—a bittersweet reminder of happier days long gone. Harper steps inside behind me, looking around the cozy space—the stone fireplace; the worn couch and chair, both draped with old knitted blankets; the kitchen table I built one lazy summer afternoon from wood I’d chopped myself.
“It’s like stepping back in time,” she mutters, trailing her fingers over the back of the couch.
“In some ways, it is,” I admit, setting the bags down. “Are you hungry? Tired?”
“Mostly tired,” she says, turning to face me. Her gaze softens. “Are you okay? You’re tense.”
I force a smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. Memories, you know?”
She nods slowly, her eyes searching mine. “Good memories or bad?”
“Both.” My voice comes out rough, and I clear my throat, turning away. “I’ll get a fire going. It gets cold up here really fast. Even in the spring.”
I busy myself, stacking logs into the fireplace, my hands shaking slightly. Harper watches me, her silence heavier than any words she could say. She knows something’s off, but she’s giving me space to find my footing, which I appreciate.
“Brody,” she finally says, stepping closer, “whatever it is, you don’t have to tell me right now. But I hope you know you can.”
I meet her gaze, swallowing hard, emotions threatening to spill over. “I know. And someday, I will. I promise.”
She nods, her gentle acceptance nearly undoing me. “Okay. Until then, I’m here.”
This woman in front of me deserves to know every truth, every hidden scar. Yet Eden’s memory—my hidden grief—isn’t ready to surface, not yet.
“You should take it easy,” I say, guiding her toward the small bedroom down the hall. “We can figure everything else out tomorrow.”
She leans into me as we walk, her warmth easing some of the tension in my chest. For tonight, Harper is here with me and safe, and maybe that’s enough. But as darkness settles over the cabin, and the old, familiar stillness wraps around us, I know the hardest truths still wait ahead, buried just beneath the surface, waiting to be freed. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.