Chapter 19
19
HARPER
T he storm outside rages on. Wind-driven rain pounds the cabin’s roof in relentless waves. I step into the bedroom, tugging off my damp shirt and shivering slightly in the cool air. Brody’s in the kitchen, brewing coffee. The rich aroma drifts down the short hall, filling the cabin as The Beatles play on his phone. He’s such an old soul.
I open a random dresser drawer to see what’s inside, temporarily needing something dry and warm to chase away the chill. I stare into the drawer in confusion when I see women’s clothes, folded neatly, in careful stacks. My heart skips as I slowly lift a faded gray tank top. My fingers tremble slightly, and a strange sensation tightens my chest.
I remember Brody’s USMC jogging pants in my dresser drawer, planted to test the fragile, insecure men. The way I feel right now isn’t based on insecurity, but curiosity and a hefty dose of jealousy. I dig further and see a pair of shorts from Bellamore’s summer line, almost six years ago. I know because I designed them.
I glance toward the doorway, my pulse fluttering with uncertainty. I don’t have a right to feel jealous because I’m the one who’s here right now. An unsteady ache nudges me forward, and my thoughts drift to how secluded the cabin is and how special this place seems to be to Brody, and suddenly, I need to know whose clothes these are and why they’re still here.
“Harper?”
I jump, spinning quickly toward Brody’s voice. He stands in the doorway, holding two steaming mugs of coffee, his expression shifting from casual ease to tension as his gaze lands on the cutoff shorts in my hands.
A shadow flickers briefly in his eyes before he carefully adjusts his features. His jaw tightens, and the muscles in his shoulders go rigid. The quiet that follows is broken by the rain pounding against the roof.
“Who do these belong to?” I ask, keeping my tone light, forcing my voice to sound steadier than I feel. I hold up the shorts, my heart hammering at the guarded look settling on his face. “They have great taste.”
Brody remains silent, stepping forward slowly to set both mugs on the bedside table. His movements are measured and cautious, as though he’s preparing for battle.
When he finally meets my eyes again, his voice is low, edged with vulnerability he rarely reveals. “They were Eden’s.”
My breath stalls at the sound of an old friend’s name.
The air between us grows heavy. Carefully, as if this moment were porcelain, I lower the shorts and fold them back, placing them into the drawer. My fingers tremble as I let them go.
“Eden Banks?” I whisper, my voice tight.
My heart twists in confusion. Eden and I were friends, connected through Billie and casual coffees, conversations about Bellamore, and the future we assumed was endless. Her life was cut too short five years ago. I’m speechless as I understand the magnitude of what Brody has carried for so damn long.
“I … I didn’t realize you two …” I say.
Brody remains still, his dark gaze steady on mine, shadows deepening in his expression. He releases a slow breath, as if trying to gather his words carefully before speaking.
“No one knew,” he finally says. “Except Weston and Billie.”
My throat tightens slightly. “Asher?”
“He knows now, but he didn’t back then,” he replies, pain weaving through his voice.
Brody crosses the small distance between us, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. His gaze drops to his clasped hands, knuckles tight as he gathers strength.
“Eden and I … we were … brief. It was complicated. Just a fling. She wanted it to stay secret. It ended a week before she was killed.”
Silence stretches between us, broken only by the rain and my racing heart. I step closer without realizing it, sinking down beside him on the mattress. My shoulder brushes against his as I search for words.
“You never told anyone,” I say, pain flickering in my chest at the thought of Brody dealing with this alone for years on top of everything else he’s endured. “You’ve kept this bottled up?”
“Who would care?” He gives me a faint, weary smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I promised her it would stay between us. After she died, telling anyone felt like betrayal. It became easier to hold it in.”
I reach out slowly, resting my hand on his forearm, feeling the tension radiate through him. “You didn’t deserve to carry that alone. Eden wouldn’t have wanted that for you.”
His eyes find mine again. “I thought I could handle it. Then, over time, keeping secrets became second nature. Easier, safer for everyone.”
I grab his hand, turning to him, interlocking my fingers with his. “You protect everyone around you. But who’s protecting you?”
His lips part, but no sound emerges; the question catches him off guard. His eyes drift downward again; his expression moves into quiet resignation. “Myself.”
“No,” I say firmly, my voice steady despite how my heart aches for him. “You deserve to have someone be there for you, just how you’ve been there for everyone else. I’m so fucking sorry. I can’t imagine.”
Brody lifts his gaze again, watching me silently for a long, intense moment. The lines in his face begin to soften, gradually replaced by gratitude. “You’re the first person I’ve ever told.”
I smile. “Thank you for trusting me.”
Tenderness flickers across his face as he reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re the easiest person in the world to trust, Harp. Always have been.”
“I won’t tell anyone.” It’s a whispered promise.
“Thank you,” he offers.
The air between us grows warm and charged again. But this moment isn’t about passion; it’s about two hurt people finally laying down all their burdens and choosing to trust despite having every reason not to.
We sit close enough to share the comforting rhythm of each other’s breathing while the storm continues outside, washing away years of carefully built walls between us.
Neither of us says a word while the steady drumming of rain fills the silence around us, smoothing the edges of Brody’s confession. Our words linger between us as our thoughts wander. I never realized the weight he’d carried behind his guarded exterior. His sorrow runs much deeper than I could’ve guessed.
He slowly draws a breath, shifting his body toward mine on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “I’ve spent years convincing myself that everyone I cared about was better off if I stayed at a distance. I lose everyone I love.” His voice breaks slightly on the last word.
His tone shakes something loose inside me as I recognize the unbearable sadness in his words.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper.
Brody stares down at our entwined hands, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “It’s safer for everyone—and maybe for me too—if I keep those I care about at arm’s length. I’m fucking terrified because the world keeps proving me right.”
My throat tightens, tears prickling behind my eyes. I squeeze his hand, trying to pour every ounce of comfort and reassurance into that simple touch. “Losing people isn’t something you caused. None of it was your fault.”
When I meet his eyes again, I see years of hidden grief reflecting back at me. How did I miss this?
I reach up with my free hand, cupping his cheek. His eyes flutter closed at the touch, leaning slightly into my palm, as if craving contact but still afraid to fully embrace it.
“I’m here,” I whisper, brushing my thumb over his cheek. “You don’t have to go through this alone. Not anymore. Not ever again.”
His eyes open, meeting mine, and I’ve never seen him in this light before. His gaze traces over my face, searching, as if committing every detail to memory.
“You’ve always been able to see straight through me, Harp. Even when we were younger. It always scared me, but right now, I’m more grateful for it than ever. To be seen is the greatest gift a person can give to another.”
“You see me too,” I whisper, leaning forward, our foreheads touching. “Whatever ghosts you’re facing, we’ll greet them together, okay?”
Brody exhales, tension visibly leaving his shoulders.
For the first time, he lets go, allowing me into the guarded space he’s always kept closed. I breathe against him, realizing that he’s not just healing me while we’re here, but maybe I’m healing him too.
He breathes out, “Coffee’s getting cold.”
I stand, grab my mug, and tug him into the living room, leaving the emotions behind us. The rain is steady against the windows, creating a comforting rhythm that mirrors my heartbeat.
Brody moves toward the fireplace, arranging logs before striking a match. Fire engulfs the dry wood, and warm, golden firelight spills across the cabin walls, flickering and washing away the shadows in his expression.
I curl up on one end of the couch, tucking my legs beneath me, and watch him, noting the care and patience in his every movement. Even the smallest gesture seems full of intention, every touch deliberate.
He finally settles on the opposite end of the couch, leaning back against the cushions and stretching out his long legs. He’s thoughtful, staring into the fire. I watch him closer, no longer shy about studying the subtle shifts in his features.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice hesitant.
He glances over at me, his eyes softening as they meet mine. “Yeah, I think I am,” he says, lips curving upward.
He watches me closely for a long moment, and my heart flutters. The silence between us is filled with unspoken meaning—an acceptance of everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve shared, and how we’ll make it through to the other side together. The warmth in his eyes sends a flutter of butterflies through me.
“Harper,” he says, as though my name holds a thousand unspoken promises, “thank you.”
A faint smile touches my lips.
“Thank you for today. For being here. For not letting me run away from myself, even when I want to.”
“I’m not going anywhere. How does it feel to be stuck with Little Miss Disaster?”
He laughs, and the sound lights a fire within me. “Perfect,” he whispers, holding my gaze. “Because I don’t think I could survive letting you go.”
The honesty in his words steals my breath, leaves my pulse racing, yet somehow calms me, all at once.
I nod, my throat tightening with emotion as a few tears spill down my cheeks. “Me neither.”
“Come here,” he whispers.
I scoot toward him, and he wraps his strong arms around me, holding me tight against him, as if I’ll disappear. My fingers grasp his T-shirt as I inhale his skin, not wanting to let him go.
We fall into comfortable silence, snuggled together as the fire crackles. The rain sprinkles against the cabin windows and leaves long streaks.
Today, we’ve found one another, and everything is right in the world.