Chapter 12
12
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T he door creaks behind me as I step into the bedroom, half expecting Harper to claim the entire mattress like she’s a starfish.
Instead, she tucks herself neatly under the covers and props herself up on one elbow, grinning as if she’s been waiting her entire life for me to show up. She pats the empty space beside her, slow and deliberate, as if she’s inviting me to a death sentence. Crossing the line with her might be one. I’m not sure I’d survive Harper Alexander.
“Come on, Calloway,” she says, her voice teasing. “I don’t snore much. And I don’t bite too hard.”
I arch an eyebrow, shutting the door behind me without a word. Her grin widens, and it’s pure mischief.
She knows exactly what she’s doing. Hell, she’s counting on breaking me down, but two can play that game. I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head in one smooth motion, tossing it onto the floor.
Harper scans up and down my body as if she’s memorizing every tattoo I have, and I can’t help but notice how she eye-fucks me.
The air surrounding us thickens, and I raise my brow. “See something you like?”
“Mmm.”
Her smile says it all as she rests her chin against her fist, watching me strip out of my jeans. Then I’m left standing in a loose pair of black shorts that hang low on my hips. The room feels hotter and much smaller as she zeroes in on me.
“What are you waiting for?” Harper taps the mattress again, her fingers pulling down the comforter for me. “What’s the matter? Afraid?”
“You’re the one who should be worried, Harp.” I give her a pointed look. “Don’t cross the invisible line in the middle of the mattress.”
“Is that where it’s been hiding?”
I read the meaning behind her words. She’s referring to the invisible line the two of us are teetering and have been for years.
“Hilarious,” I say dryly.
“Look, I already warned you—no promises. I like to snuggle. Ask Billie.” She snorts and tilts her head, as if she’s daring me to do something about it. “Is this the center?” She reaches over, further teasing me. “Or is it here?”
“Don’t test me, Harp.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, fighting the smirk creeping across my face as I move closer. As I slide between the sheets, the mattress dips under my weight, and I keep a healthy amount of space between us—not because I want to, but because there is no uncrossing that line once we do.
Harper hums under her breath like she can feel the tension radiating off me. “Relax, Calloway,” she whispers.
“Easy for you to say,” I tell her as I reach over and turn off the lamp.
“I’m harmless,” she offers, but I can hear the smile in her voice.
“The fuck you are,” I reply.
I glance over at her, letting my eyes trace down the slope of her bare shoulder peeking out from the blanket.
I swear I can feel that gorgeous curve of her lips tilt upward without even seeing it. I turn onto my back, staring up at the ceiling with two feet of space between us. I hug the edge of the mattress even though I want to be close to her. So little distance is left between me and the one damn thing I want but know I can’t have.
She deserves better than me. Doesn’t she? She deserves a man who isn’t broken.
The night stretches around us, heavy with every word we’re trying not to say. I’m lost in my thoughts, and God help me, I’m already losing this battle.
The room settles into a still silence that makes my ears ring. I can hear every creak in this old house, coupled with the rustle of sheets as Harper shifts, trying to get comfortable. I stay on my side of the bed as if it’s a matter of survival, one arm slung behind my head. I focus on the wooden beams as if they’ll offer me some sound advice about this entire situation—they don’t.
The mattress gives slightly as Harper rolls closer, not all the way, but enough that the covers tighten between us. Enough that when she stretches out her foot, it brushes against my calf. My whole body goes rigid, every nerve suddenly aware of her. Neither of us moves. Not away anyway. I think she’s still awake and testing the waters. Harper doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t apologize or pull away. She just breathes, slow and steady, allowing the connection to linger between us, warm and reckless.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, inhaling a breath that feels heavier than it should. Two feet of space didn’t survive the first hour. At this rate, we won’t survive the night.
I don’t know how long we lie like that, trapped somewhere between exhaustion and desire, before her voice cuts through the dark.
“Brody?” It’s soft, barely a whisper.
“Yeah?” My voice comes out raw.
There’s a moment when I think she might back out and say nothing else. Maybe I can pretend she never said my name. Then she shifts again, and her hand brushes my arm under the covers, just the lightest touch, as if she needs to know I’m really there.
“I didn’t want to be alone,” she says, her voice low and a little shaky. “I’ve been having horrible nightmares about everything that’s happened.”
Something in my chest pulls tight. I turn my head toward her, even though I can barely make out her features in the dark.
“You’re not alone, Harp,” I say. Not tonight. Not ever, if I have any say in it. “I’m here. Always.”
I’ll make sure you’re never alone again.
It’s a promise that locks itself into my bones.
“You’re safe,” I reassure her.
Harper makes a soft sound, something like a sigh, and drifts closer, but doesn’t fully touch me. She’s close enough that I can feel her warmth beside me. I sense her breathing eventually even out, and it’s steady against the hush of the room. She’s already drifting, trusting me to hold the line between us. Trusting me to keep her safe.
I lie there, wide awake, staring into the dark, and make a second promise. One that’s just for me.
If anyone tries to hurt her again, they’ll have to go through me first.
What Harper deserves is protection, and it’s the one thing I can offer her without failure.
* * *
The first thing I notice when my eyes flutter open is how perfectly Harper’s body fits with mine. Her arm is draped loosely over my stomach, and the weight of her head rests just above my heart. I don’t shift, not wanting to disturb this fleeting moment. My breathing aligns with hers, each inhale and exhale blending together in unspoken harmony. The early morning sunlight slips into the room, washing everything in golden hues, and it’s almost too dreamy.
Today, I have to face reality, and I’m already dreading it.
Harper mutters something in her sleep, snuggling me tighter, as if she knows how temporary this might be. She’s never seemed more delicate than right now, and I want to shield her from the world that awaits beyond these cabin walls. But I know we can’t stay here, wrapped in something that feels so fragile that it could snap like a thread at any moment.
Exhaling slowly, I slide out from under her, careful not to wake her. She groans, her brows furrowing before relaxing again. A few seconds later, she slips back into her peaceful oblivion. I pause to watch her, memorizing her pretty face in the muted morning light and the way her long lashes curl on top of her cheeks. My heart beats unevenly, already mourning the loss of this moment. It’s one I’ll treasure for a long damn time.
I reach for a fresh T-shirt and slip it over my head. My footsteps creak over the old wooden floor as I make my way into the kitchen, the air growing cooler and emptier with each step away from her.
Before I settle myself at the small table, I make coffee and open my laptop. It’s something I’ve avoided for the last few days while Harper became more comfortable in this space. Truthfully, I needed a break from the bullshit too.
The sudden brightness of the screen is harsh. I type in Harper’s name, and the articles about her flood in relentlessly. The words that fill the page shatter the calm I felt just minutes ago.
HARPER ALEXANDER MISSING, FEARED IN DANGER
MICAH RHODES ISSUES DESPERATE PLEA FOR HIS FIANCéE’S SAFE RETURN
REWARD FOR ANY LEADS TO FINDING HARPER ALEXANDER
MICAH RHODES BELIEVES HARPER ALEXANDER IS PREGNANT WITH HIS BABY
My pulse increases as I scan the headlines. I click on a video where he’s acting like the upset man in love, but I know better. His grief is manufactured, and watching him turn Harper’s escape into a performance makes me fucking livid, especially after what he did to her.
“If anyone knows anything, please, bring her home safely,” Micah pleads, his eyes wet with perfectly timed tears. “Harper, I just want you back. I just want my family. I told you I would never let you go. I meant that.”
The last sentence is a fucking threat, and an intense rage builds so quickly that I can barely breathe. The media feeds off his lies, tearing apart Harper’s dignity and turning her into something she’s never been—a weak, helpless woman.
My knuckles strain against the tight fists I’ve formed. I slam the laptop shut, and the sudden sound cuts through the silence. Leaning forward, I place my palms flat against the table and take a deep breath. I need to calm down, but seeing him makes me want to drive to the city and rip his fucking face off.
Harper doesn’t know about this shitstorm yet, but I will have to tell her. I just hope the cruelty of the world doesn’t crash down around her. It’s a lot to take in at once after what she’s been through.
Last night, lying beside her, I silently promised to give her safety. Now it feels carved in steel. I take a sip of coffee, and my breath steadies enough for me to face the fire, knowing I’m not finished yet. I log in to my secure email and quickly scan the new messages.
One of my informants—one who trades dangerous truths for large sums of money—emailed me.
I click open the message, and dread spreads through my veins at the sight that greets me.
Photos. Emails. Bank transfers. Micah Rhodes is far more than manipulative; he’s corrupt. This may run deeper than any of us really knows, considering the photos clearly show him in back rooms, exchanging briefcases and shaking hands with known criminals.
All the evidence is full of hidden threats, wrapped in polite words—warnings about serious consequences if anyone crosses him. Bank statements show enormous money transfers, clearly revealing paths of bribery and shady deals tied to ruthless players. All information that’s impossible to ignore.
Then one quick message jumps out at me:
If Harper won’t comply willingly, then use force. She will make us a lot of money.
Fury rushes through me, sharpening my focus until it’s just me and the brutal reality of what I need to do next. Micah has turned Harper’s vulnerability into a weapon, publicly using mental warfare after he tried to destroy her.
Like a viper, I will strike back. He got one free pass; he will not get a-fucking-nother one.
Micah Rhodes believes he’s untouchable, protected by power, cash, and lies. He has no idea how far I’m willing to go for Harper, the depths I’ll dive to keep her safe. He’s started a battle without realizing one crucial thing—I’m ready to go to war, and he has no fucking clue what I’m capable of.
I’m still staring at the screen as I click back to the articles. The weight of Micah’s threats makes me want to lose control. I hear the faint creak of floorboards behind me, and before I can shut the laptop, Harper’s voice, soft and sleepy, cuts through the quietness.
“What are you reading?” she asks.
I turn, instinctively blocking her view, but it’s too late—her eyes are already scanning the brutal headlines on the screen. I forgot to close the fucking web browser.
“Oh my God.” Her voice shakes, barely above a whisper, filled with disbelief. She steps back, her hand covering her mouth, fingers trembling. “Is this—are they saying I’m pregnant?”
I quickly close the laptop, but the damage is done. Her eyes, wide and hurt, flicker to mine. Shock floods her face, quickly replaced by confusion, then fear.
“He promised he would make her delete that photo,” she whispers, as if she needs to defend herself. “Brody, I’m on birth control. I’m not pregnant. I swear, I?—”
“Harper—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Micah tried to convince me I was, even when I knew I couldn’t be. He kept saying I was. I’m not. I’m not .” Her voice rising in panic, she repeats it desperately, as if saying it enough times will make it true.
I stand up quickly, reaching out to steady her, pulling her toward me as her breathing gets shallow.
“Slow down. Breathe, Harp.” I rub my hands up and down her arms, wanting to help calm her.
Her breath catches on a sob. “He told everyone, Brody. Everyone believes him. They think?—”
“Listen to me,” I say, cupping her face in my hands, keeping my gaze steady. “It doesn’t matter what they believe. What matters is the truth. We’ll get a test and figure it out right now. No matter what it says, I won’t let you deal with this alone.”
She nods, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her forehead rests against my chest as she cries soft, broken sobs that shatter my heart with each shaky breath. “I hate him.”
“I know.” I hold her tighter, smoothing my hand over her hair, wishing I could protect her from this pain. “I’ve got you.”
She nods again, still trembling.
We get dressed quickly, our movements robotic. As we step outside into the chilly morning air, her body is tense. I help her into the passenger side of the Charger, closing the door before sliding into the driver’s seat. The engine purrs to life, then rises to a roar as we hit the empty road toward town.
Harper stares out the window, and she’s distant. The silence between us is uneasy, but I give her space, sensing the storm building inside her. When we finally pull into the pharmacy parking lot, I glance over at her, noticing how her fingers twist nervously in her lap.
“Stay here,” I say, squeezing her hand. “I’ll go in.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes meet mine, her vulnerability shining through.
Inside, harsh fluorescent lights buzz overhead. The air’s sterile as I quickly grab two pregnancy tests and head to the register, ignoring the cashier’s curious look. Minutes later, I’m back in the Charger, handing Harper the paper bag. She doesn’t open it, just grips it tightly like it’s her lifeline.
“Whatever it says, I’m with you,” I promise. I glance over at her.
Her eyes search mine. “But what if?—”
“No matter what, Harp,” I repeat firmly. “I’m here.”
“Do you promise?” She swallows back fresh tears as we drive toward the cabin.
“Yes,” I say matter-of-factly, hating seeing her like this.
Fuck Micah. Fuck his manipulation. Fuck what he’s done to her.
Harper’s eyes stay fixed ahead.
Just after we make it up the twisting road of the mountain, she reaches over and slides her hand carefully into mine. I tighten my grip, offering whatever strength I can through that simple touch as I rub my thumb against hers.
“The truth will set you free, Harp,” I say. “It always has. It always will.”