Chapter 13
13
HARPER
M y heart pounds painfully, each beat echoing louder in the tiny bathroom, drowning out everything but the rapid rush of blood in my ears. The small plastic pharmacy bag feels heavy, weighed down by anxiety, fear, and memories of Micah I’d give anything to erase. He is still there, vivid, haunting me from the edge of my mind.
I grip the porcelain sink, blankly looking at my reflection in the old mirror. My face is pale, eyes wide, terrorized by shadows I can’t quite shake. The version of myself staring back at me is fragile and close to breaking again. I am barely glued back together.
I knew he hadn’t asked that girl to delete that picture. For all I know, he’d planted her there to continue his sick narrative.
The last time I took a test, Micah stood over me and watched. His voice was cold as he snatched the stick from my hand, ready to turn the result into another means of control. My stomach rolls at the memory, his harsh whisper echoing, “I’ll never let you go.”
A shiver crawls down my spine, and I draw in a shaky breath, fighting to regain control.
I remind myself firmly that Micah isn’t here.
Instead, just outside the door, is Brody—quiet, patient, gentle Brody, who said, “Take your time,” and meant it.
Brody, whose eyes are always calm, doesn’t push or demand anything from me other than for me to be myself. He always waits, holding space for me without question.
It’s almost impossible to believe someone like him has always existed in my life after everything I’ve been through. The creak of the old cabin floor outside the bathroom reminds me he hasn’t left. He’s still here, just waiting patiently for me. That type of simple kindness feels as foreign as it does precious.
I’m filled with gratitude and an overwhelming ache of something I can’t quite place. How is it that in such a short time, Brody has made me feel safer than Micah ever did in months? And how terrifying is it that my heart is already starting to crave him and his presence?
I slowly open the bag, my hands trembling slightly as I pull out the tests. Such a small thing, yet it feels like it’s holding my entire future hostage. I stare at them blankly for a moment, gathering strength I’m not sure I have.
I remind myself once more, I am not alone . Brody promised I wasn’t.
As if he could hear my thoughts, he gives a light tap on the door. It startles me.
“Harp? You okay?” Brody’s voice is soft.
Something about his tone—genuine concern and gentle warmth—finally pushes away the lump in my throat.
My voice emerges softer, shakier than I want. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
There’s a pause, and I hear the shift of his weight. “No rush. Just making sure you didn’t fall into the toilet and needed a lifeguard.”
I snicker, and a wave of gratitude hits me so hard that my eyes burn with tears. Such a simple thing—a kind word, patient understanding, a silly joke to take my mind away—but it changes everything, washing away lingering shadows of fear and slowly replacing them with hope.
I move closer to the door, pressing my palm against the worn wood, drawing strength from knowing Brody stands on the other side. “Stay close?” I whisper, my voice timid but full of trust.
“Always,” he promises without hesitation.
In the heavy silence that follows, I finally unwrap both tests and do what needs to be done, hands still trembling. I set them down on the counter, forcing myself to breathe evenly, counting slowly as I wait.
I glance toward the door, knowing he’s still there, patiently guarding my peace, and for the first time since Micah turned my world upside down, I allow myself the smallest flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, I’m stronger now because this time, I’m not alone in the storm. Brody is thunder and lightning, and after the rainstorm, he brings flowers and rainbows. Brody is proof that clouds pass and there is life afterward—at least that’s what he’s shown me since being here.
The low hum of the cabin seems loud now, each passing second stretching until I can barely breathe. I stand motionless in front of the sink, my pulse racing, nerves fraying like a rope that’s unraveling.
A soft knock echoes, and Brody’s careful voice drifts through the door again. “Still doing okay, Harp?”
Something about his gentle persistence makes my throat ache. He’s not demanding answers, not rushing me—just checking in. It’s a type of support I’ve never known and a care I’ve never felt. I move toward the door, slowly opening it just a crack, feeling oddly fragile as our eyes meet through that small space.
Brody stands in the narrow hallway, leaning casually against the wooden wall, hands tucked into his pockets, his posture relaxed to hide any tension. But his dark blue eyes are filled with a concern that wraps around my heart.
“Hey,” I say, my voice barely audible.
He smiles faintly, his eyes warm and reassuring. “Hi.”
I look down, suddenly unsure of myself, fingers gripping the edge of the door. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take so long. I just …” My voice trails off, as I’m unable to express the tangled emotions inside of me.
Brody shifts closer, careful but deliberate, closing some of the distance without pressuring me. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Harper. Take all the time you need. I can stand here all night.”
His simple kindness and unwavering patience are felt behind every word, and it cracks something open inside me.
I swallow hard, my eyes stinging. “I keep remembering the last time. With Micah.” My voice breaks slightly on his name, bitterness mingling with pain. “He made me feel so … helpless.”
Brody’s jaw tightens, his eyes darkening protectively. His voice is an anchor in my choppy emotions. “You’re not helpless, Harper. You’re stronger than he ever knew. He manipulated you. He probably kept a positive test to continue his sick narrative. I know about men like him. They find weaknesses to destroy women.” His hand reaches forward, and his thumb brushes across my cheek. “You’re an Alexander. You’re indestructible.”
I glance up, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in his voice and the ferocity in his eyes. I don’t realize I’m moving until my hand reaches out instinctively, my fingertips brushing against his wrist, seeking comfort and connection.
“I’m glad you’re here with me,” I whisper. “I don’t know if I could face this alone.”
His gaze softens even more, the last traces of his carefully held distance fading. Slowly, gently, he takes my hand, threading his strong fingers securely through mine, the warmth of his touch sending comfort rushing through me.
“You don’t have to face anything alone,” he says, his voice powerful but sincere. “Not anymore. Not ever again, if I can help it.”
My throat tightens as emotions tumble through me—relief, gratitude, and something deeper, something more profound that I’m almost too scared to name. I step a little closer, leaning lightly against the doorframe, drawing strength from the silent certainty in his presence.
“Will you stay right here?” I ask, looking up into his eyes, trusting he’ll understand exactly what I mean and how desperately I need him close.
He squeezes my hand, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. “Always.”
I nod, swallowing back tears, feeling his response sink deeply into my heart, rooting itself in the place Micah’s cruelty once occupied. Brody is everything Micah never was—steady instead of controlling, patient instead of demanding, comforting instead of manipulative. And for the first time, that doesn’t terrify me.
With one last squeeze of my hand, Brody leans back against the wall again, giving me space. His presence remains solid under the shaky ground beneath my feet. As I step back into the bathroom, letting the door remain slightly cracked, I breathe deeply, drawing strength from the gentle promise Brody made me years ago—that he would always tell me the truth. It’s one he’s never broken. And right now, the truth is that I’m not alone, not anymore.
My stomach twists, and anxiety builds relentlessly. I know logically that it’s just a test, a simple result—positive or negative. But logic isn’t what’s strangling me right now. Instead, I’m trapped by memories sharper than glass, vivid enough to leave emotional scars I’ve tried to forget. But it’s been less than a week since I escaped Micah, and it’s clear that mental and emotional damage has been done.
The last time I stood like this, in a brightly lit bathroom, Micah watched my every move, impatient with bubbling anger. His voice was sharp as a knife, each word cutting deep as he ripped the test from my grasp.
I shudder, hugging my arms around myself, desperately trying to push the echo of his voice away. It’s too easy to fall back into that moment. I remember his eyes, cold and accusing, stripping away every ounce of dignity I tried to hold onto when he forced me to believe I was pregnant.
I beg the memories to fade, but they cling on to me, whispering doubt and self-blame into every silent second. My chest feels tight, my breathing shallow and uneven.
Then, just outside the bathroom door, I hear the creak of the old wooden floorboards where Brody is waiting. He doesn’t pace impatiently or demand an answer. He’s just there, giving me space while staying close enough to be a lifeline. That’s the way it’s always been with him. He’s always close but still so far away.
I focus on the rhythm of his breathing—calm, unhurried. It grounds me, pulling me back from the cliff edge of anxiety. The memories of Micah’s hostility slowly fade, replaced by the comforting awareness of Brody’s presence. The difference feels both terrifying and healing.
Drawing in another slow, shaky breath, I stop pacing and face myself in the mirror. My reflection stares back, calmer now but still vulnerable, still uncertain. For two long months, I let Micah define my worth, play with my weaknesses to mold new fears. But here, in this small cabin, I’m beginning to see glimpses of a different reflection, one that is stronger, safer, and whole. I deserve to be loved, even though no man has ever loved me.
I refuse to glance at the tests lying on the counter, and I demand my courage. I remind myself again that I won’t be alone, no matter the result. Not this time.
My gaze drifts to the partially open door, and I see Brody’s shadow stretched across the floor. He still waits, giving me room to breathe and find my strength. Something inside me settles gratefully into place.
“I don’t know if I can look,” I whisper, more to myself than to him, needing to hear my voice.
When he finally speaks, it’s firm with gentle reassurance. “You need the truth, Harp.”
Brody’s right. I need it in all aspects of my life.
I find myself breathing a little easier, my heart rate slowing, and the fear that had its grip on me finally loses some of its hold. Because now, in this small bathroom, Micah’s cruelty feels more distant. And Brody’s strength, his unwavering presence, feels like something I can rely on.
This time, I’m not trapped. This time, I have a choice. Whatever happens next, I know I’ll be safe.
My footsteps forward slice through the silence, and I know I have to do this. Right now. I step closer to the counter, and my gaze fixes on the tests.
Brody enters and moves behind me, not speaking, not looking. He just places his hand on my shoulder. It’s a reassurance I didn’t know I needed. The air is heavy with anticipation, and it smothers me. I swallow, gripping the counter with one hand, planting my feet before reaching out for one of the tests.
The result window stares back, clear and definitive.
Negative.
A sharp breath escapes me, more of a gasp than anything else. I stare at the simple line, relief surging through me in an overwhelming wave, so powerful and sudden that my knees almost buckle beneath me.
I glance at the second test. Same result. I sway slightly, gripping the counter tighter as dizziness washes over me.
Micah is a fucking liar.
Brody’s strong hand is warm and firm against my lower back, keeping me upright. He moves beside me. “Easy. I’ve got you.”
I lean into him instinctively, my heartbeat beginning to slow. My entire body feels lighter, released from a weight I didn’t realize had been crushing me. I lift my eyes to meet his, not bothering to hide the tears burning in them, not caring that he sees every exposed and lingering fear.
“It’s negative,” I whisper. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”
His eyes hold mine, endlessly patient, and a smile softens his features. “That’s good, Harp.”
A sob slips free, catching me by surprise. Brody immediately pulls me closer, his arms wrapping around me. I bury my face in his chest, inhaling deeply, finding comfort in him. He doesn’t speak again and doesn’t fill the moment with unnecessary words. He holds me until my breathing evens out as the result fully sinks into every muscle. I cry, tears pouring out of me, because I knew the truth, the truth that Micah tried to twist.
Slowly, I pull back just enough to look up at him again, my face still damp, my breath shaky but calmer. I reach up, brushing away tears with a weak, embarrassed laugh.
“Sorry. Still Little Miss Disaster after all these years,” I whisper.
“You’re not.” Brody shakes his head, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth, his eyes gentle and understanding. “You don’t have to apologize to me, Harp. Ever.”
I nod as he brushes stray strands of hair from my cheek. His fingertips linger against my skin.
“Feel a little better now?” he asks, still close.
“Much better,” I answer, finally feeling a genuine smile curl onto my lips.
Brody squeezes my shoulder, guiding me carefully toward the door. “Come on,” he says. “You could use some fresh mountain air. My mom always said it was healing.”
He leads me out of the tiny room, into the open cabin space, and outside.
We sit on the porch swing, and I breathe easier now. He opens his arm, and I lean into his strong body, enjoying his warmth at my side. The moment isn’t ruined with words, just fluttering heartbeats as the mountain breeze brushes my cheeks. He reminds me that he is my safety; this is comfort, and it’s real.
And for once, I allow myself to fully lean into it, grateful beyond words for this man who stays by me, even when my world feels like it’s spinning out of control.
Brody Calloway has saved me in more ways than one.