Chapter 31
31
HARPER
T he world is too still.
I sit on the edge of my couch, fists clenched in the hem of my sweater, trying to breathe normally, like it’s any other night, like I’m not waiting to find out if someone I love is safe. Billie’s beside me, flipping through a magazine she hasn’t looked at once. Her foot taps impatiently, but she hasn’t said a word in twenty minutes.
Then my phone rings, pulling us both away. I rush and reach forward, nearly lunging for it.
I see it’s Nick, and my heart jerks forward. I quickly answer and put it on speakerphone. “Nick?”
“Harper … Brody … there was a gun … he’s not …”
His voice hits me like a slap in the face. It’s ragged, breathless, and hysterical.
The call cuts out, and I stare at the screen. It’s just silence.
He’s not …
He’s not … what?
Billie’s brows are furrowed, and her jaw is set. I glance at her, growing as hysterical as Nick sounded.
He’s not what? Breathing? Conscious? Alive?
A strange noise claws out of my throat as the phone slips from my hand and drops to the rug with a thud. I don’t move to pick it up as panic rises in my belly. The edges of the room start to tilt, and my lungs seize.
“Harper?” Billie’s voice snaps toward me.
But I can’t respond. I can’t speak. I can’t even think. There’s a buzzing in my ears, high and sharp, drowning everything. I’m already falling. Backward. Forward. Into a mental pit that I cannot climb out of. I stand up, needing to feel like the couch isn’t sucking me in, but when I do, my knees hit the floor. Pain stretches up my legs, but it barely registers as a sob escapes me.
I can’t breathe, and I’m having a full-blown panic attack. There is no air in this room. My hands press against my chest as I gasp to breathe.
Billie drops to the floor beside me. “Harper, look at me. Breathe. Okay? Just breathe. Count to ten.”
I can’t remember the last time I had a panic attack like this, where I felt like I’d die. My heart shatters, and I try to suck in air; noises release from me, and I feel like I’m drowning, actually suffocating.
“Harp, please. Look at me. Look at me,” she repeats.
I try to meet her eyes, the tears blurring my vision.
Words won’t form. My throat closes up. The world narrows to three things—Billie’s hands gripping me, the ringing in my ears, and the memory of Brody telling me he’s going to make me his wife, that we have a future together. My chest collapses inward. I can’t do this. I’m not made for this life where the man I love is put into constant danger.
“Harper!” Billie shakes me. “You don’t know anything yet. You hear me? You don’t know .”
I know this feeling. I know this silence. I know what it’s like to have someone ripped out of your life mid-sentence. I know what it feels like to grieve a life I didn’t get to live with someone who’s ended too early. I think of my mother and the last time I saw her. Even then, I didn’t know it would be the last time. I was only a kid, eight years old, and I didn’t understand what was going on. And here I am, twenty-four years later, feeling the same despair, feeling as if my entire world is shattering around me.
My head drops, and I fold into myself, sobbing so hard that it hurts. The air still won’t come. My nails dig into my arms like I’m trying to hold myself together by force alone. Billie holds me tight, hugging me like she won’t let my dark thoughts swallow me whole.
“I can’t,” I cry. The words fracture; my sentences won’t form. “I can’t lose him.”
Billie rocks us like I’m the one who’s dying. And in this moment—this awful, breathless, breaking moment—it feels like I am. I feel like I might. I don’t want to live in a world where Brody doesn’t exist, where I don’t get to wake up snuggled in his arms each morning.
The phone rings again, and it pulls me from my kamikaze spiral before I completely crash out.
I don’t move. I can’t. I feel as if I’m glued to this moment in time, stuck frozen by grief.
I hear it again, the sharp, happy ringtone, cutting through my sobs like a blade, but I can’t bring myself to reach for it. My arms are heavy, and my breath is too shallow. My body is still caught in that last second before the world ended.
Billie grabs it from the floor, checks the screen, and freezes.
“Harper,” she says, her voice shaking, “it’s Brody.”
The name hits me like a slap to the face and snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. My heartbeat pounds loudly in my head as my lungs spasm for air. She hands it to me, and I look down at it, clumsy and desperate, fumbling to press the button, nearly dropping the device to the ground.
“Brody?” It’s barely a whisper. My voice is wrecked.
There’s static. A breath.
“Harp.” His voice is rough and hoarse, but it’s solid. He’s alive.
I burst into happy tears as every muscle in my body collapses. A sob rips through me, and I try to pull myself out of the hysteria, wanting to crawl through the phone to hold on to him tight.
“Are you okay?” I finally force out, sniffling. “Please.”
“I’m safe,” he says quickly. “I’m okay, Harp. I promise. I’m coming home to you.”
My whole body shakes. I can’t stop crying. I can’t get enough air between the gasps. “Nick said—he said there was a gun. He said you weren’t …” My throat closes around the words. “I thought …”
“I know. I’m sorry. The service out here is shit,” he tells me, and he sounds exhausted.
I cradle the phone in both hands like it’s my lifeline, and in a way, it is. “Are you hurt?”
“No. Just banged up. Nothing serious. Micah’s in custody. Mia’s okay. It’s over.”
I press a hand to my chest. “Come home.”
“I am.” He pauses. His voice drops lower. “I’m on my way to you. I’ll be there in less than an hour.”
A beat of silence stretches between us.
“It’s over, Harp. You and Billie don’t have to worry about this fuck anymore,” he says, his voice raw.
“And Asher?” Billie asks.
“Asher is safe. We’re all okay,” he confirms.
“I’m waiting for you. Please hurry,” I tell him.
The line goes quiet, not empty, not gone, just quiet. His call must’ve dropped.
I lower the phone, my chest still heaving, tears sliding down my cheeks. Billie holds on to me, eyes wide, hands wrapped around me.
“They’re okay,” I say breathlessly, my voice cracking.
My body trembles; the aftershock of everything is almost too much. I feel sick, like I need to throw up; the adrenaline is like poison in my blood. She exhales hard, relief shaking through her. We hold each other and cry, knowing that tomorrow will come, but Micah will never be able to hurt us again.
“This nightmare is over,” Billie finally whispers. Hope is laced in her voice. “He can’t hurt us.”
I don’t know how long we sit on the floor, holding each other tight. Time doesn’t exist as I replay everything that’s happened over the past two and a half months. I’m not the same woman I was; I can never be her again. I feel as if I’ve transformed, been burned completely to ash.
“Let’s get off the floor,” she says, her voice soft.
We move to the couch. I feel numb but calm as I cry. This time, I’m not mourning a life I thought I lost; I’m celebrating a miracle that Brody is still alive and that Asher and Nick are okay. The silence feels too loud as I sort through memories. Neither of us has words as we stare at the flames in the fireplace, licking up the sides.
Billie’s phone lights up with a ton of text messages, and then a call comes through. She squeezes my hand as she talks to Asher, and I see the relief wash over her face, along with the love in her eyes. The call ends.
“They’re fifteen minutes away.”
I nod, glancing down at the time on my phone. “You should go meet him.”
“Yes,” she says, and I can see how emotionally drained she is. Billie grabs my hands. “I’m so sorry, Harp. I’m so sorry. Sometimes, I think that maybe had I done something differently, Micah wouldn’t have targeted us.”
She wraps me in a tight hug, and I shake my head.
“Hey. I hate that any of this happened, but without Micah, as much as I want him to burn in hell, I don’t know if Brody and I would be where we are. I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for you and your friendship and the fact that you didn’t give up on me when I was too blinded by his charm to see the reality of my own horrible situation. Without you, I don’t know if I’d be breathing right now. I owe so much to you.”
We hold each other for a moment longer, and then we break apart, and she stands. I walk her to the elevator, my movements feeling too mechanical.
“Can we get together soon?” I ask, just wanting to hang out with my best friend.
“Yes,” she confirms with a nod.
I give her a smile as the doors slide closed, then return to my penthouse. It’s too quiet, too big, too empty. I miss the cozy feel of the cabin and how I felt safe and secure in that small space. I try to quiet my thoughts as I wait for Brody and light a candle. I even walk out onto my balcony and inhale the cool night air. The city hums with the hustle and bustle I’m so accustomed to, but I feel indifferent, being here, and for the first time, I understand why my brother escaped to Cozy Creek.
My body is still running on adrenaline and dread, caught between the moment I thought I’d lost Brody and the moment I heard his voice. I’m curled on the couch, knees to my chest, eyes fixed on the door like I can call him into existence. I wish I could snap my fingers and he’d magically appear. I replay everything—that crushing pressure in my chest, the ringing in my ears, the images of us.
Then I hear the elevator and the muted knock against my door. I stand before I can think, my bare feet slap across the floor, and my hand fumbles with the lock. When I open the door, I’m overwhelmed when I see him standing in front of me with messy hair.
He’s backlit by light, his shoulders wide and solid, but his posture is just slightly off—like he’s holding pain somewhere in his ribs and won’t let it show. His jaw is bruised. His lip is cracked. There’s dried blood on his shirt, and his eyes are wild.
Brody looks wrecked and relieved. The second he sees me, it’s like the last thread that was holding him upright finally snaps.
He exhales, and it sounds like it’s been trapped in his chest for hours. I wrap my arms around him, holding him tight, never wanting to let him go, never wanting to feel that way ever again. I sob in his arms, happy that he’s here, that he’s safe, that he’s breathing.
“Harp, I love you.”
“I love you so much,” I cry out.
He pulls me inside with him, arm wrapped over my shoulders. I hold him tight, both hands needing to confirm he’s really here and I’m not dreaming.
He catches me in his arms and pulls me into him without hesitation. My fingers curl into the back of his shirt, holding on to him with everything I have. My body shakes, and I don’t even try to hide it. He smells like sweat and salt and something raw beneath the surface, like he just came through a storm and hasn’t quite shaken the wind off yet.
“I thought I’d lost you,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I thought …” I can’t finish. I press my forehead to his chest instead, listening to the steady thud of his heartbeat.
His arms tighten around me, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of my head. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice rough and full of guilt. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. It will never happen again.”
I pull away from him and look up into his eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m retiring. I’m done,” he says. “I can’t lose you, lose this life we have. It’s not worth it to me. Before, I didn’t have a reason to live. Sacrificing myself to protect the people I loved the most felt right. But now, the only person I want to protect is you and the life I dream of having with you. I’m fucking done, Harp. I never want to put you through that again. I won’t. That was my last mission.”
“You’re serious?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, and I feel it in the way he holds me—like he needs me to survive this moment too. “Easton and Weston know.”
I look up at him, and the second our eyes meet, something inside me buckles. He brushes a thumb under my eye, catching a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
“I’m yours, Harp,” he says again. “You’re my purpose, and you will be for as long as my heart beats.”
Happy tears stream out of me. He kisses me, pours everything that he is into me, into us, into the beautiful future that we both imagine so clearly. I take his hand, guiding him to the couch. He doesn’t resist. He follows me, unsteady in a way that breaks my heart all over again. He says he’s fine, but I can tell he’s not. He’s hurting.
Brody sinks into the couch and opens his arms, and I crawl into them without hesitation. This right here is the light at the end of my tunnel, and having him home safe is proof that we made it to the other side together.
The tension in his shoulders hasn’t fully released, but he’s trying. I can tell by his steady breaths that he’s trying to soften the edges of whatever he’s still carrying.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, looking up at him.
He shakes his head. Silence takes over.
Brody doesn’t just let me sit beside him, but he pulls me closer, his arm sliding behind my back, fingertips resting just above my hip, like he needs to keep touching me or risk unraveling completely. The penthouse is quiet, except for the low hum of the city beyond the windows. It’s a faraway sound that makes me feel even more separated from the world.
I rest my head against his shoulder, letting the weight of the last few hours drip out of my eyes, piece by piece. My fingers lift his shirt. Every breath he takes feels like proof of something I still can’t fathom—I didn’t lose him. No matter how much Micah tried to ruin my life, I was allowed to keep Brody.
He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for days.
“I didn’t know how deranged Micah was,” he finally says, his voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it. “Until I saw Mia. When I looked at her, I saw you. And I realized if I didn’t walk out of there, if something happened to me, that it would destroy you.”
A sharp ache cuts through my chest. I lift my head, turning so I can really look at him. His eyes are rimmed with exhaustion, the bruise along his jaw already darkening. But beneath it all, there’s that familiar vulnerability that gives me a glimpse of when we were in Sugar Pine Springs.
“I thought I’d lost you, and I had a horrible panic attack. I felt like I was dying,” I whisper, reaching up to touch his face. My thumb brushes beneath the shadow of the bruise. “I broke. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I’ve never felt anything like that in my life.”
I wonder if that’s how Eden’s death affected him, but I don’t ask. I can’t.
Our eyes meet, and he doesn’t speak for a second, just presses his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling in the narrow space between us.
“I never want you to experience that again.”
“Thank you,” I say, my voice trembling. “The way I feel about you isn’t something I can undo. I can’t live without you. I don’t want to. And I feel selfish, saying that, but twice in the past few days, I’ve been faced with the reality of losing you, and I understand what you told me back at the cabin about not being able to survive that either.”
Something flickers in his expression as he holds me, kisses me, and runs his fingers through my hair. “You won’t ever have to live in a world without me, if I can help it,” he says. It’s a promise, and it does something to me.
My throat tightens, my body tenses, and before I can stop myself, I lean in and return my lips to his without hesitation. His mouth moves against mine with the same urgency he had when he pulled me into his arms, like we’re both searching for something we thought we’d lost today. It’s not desperate. It’s not even about lust. It’s about survival. It’s about still being here and needing to feel something real after the chaos.
My hands slide up to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepens. He shifts beneath me, adjusting until I’m straddling his lap, my knees on either side of him. Brody’s hands stay planted on my hips, holding me steady, grounding me. I break the kiss, only to rest my forehead against his again, our noses brushing as we breathe each other in.
“I just need to feel you,” I whisper. “I need to know you’re really here.”
“I understand,” he confesses, as if he hasn’t fully recovered his ability to speak. “I need you always.”
My heart clenches, and I nod because I can’t find words for the way that makes me feel. My hands slide down his chest, over the ridges of muscle, and I memorize every inch like it might vanish again.
When I tug at the hem of his shirt, he lifts his arms, letting me pull it over his head. I toss it aside and press my hands to his skin, my palms flat against the warmth of his chest. His heartbeat thrums under my fingers. It’s fast but steady, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding all night.
Brody reaches for me then, his touch careful but sure as he slips his hands beneath the hem of my sweatshirt and lifts. The moment it clears my head, his eyes meet mine, and something in the charged air changes.
His fingers trace a path along my ribs with a featherlight touch, as if he’s memorizing something sacred. My body responds instinctively, leaning into him, aching to be close in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with belonging .
He kisses me again until the tears finally stop burning behind my eyes, until the fear vanishes, until there’s nothing left between us but skin and breath and love. His hands move with purpose, but not urgency—like he’s rediscovering every inch of me, not to take, but to remember. His fingers trail along the curve of my waist, up my spine, down my arms. Each touch is intentional, like he’s asking me a silent question and waiting for my body to answer.
I kiss him deeper, my mouth parting against his as the last thread of fear snaps. All that’s left is this—his warmth, his scent, the rasp of stubble against my skin, the steady beat of his heart. My thighs tighten around him as I straddle him, and his breath hitches as I roll my hips once, just enough to let him know I need more. He exhales my name like a prayer, his lips dragging along my jaw, down my throat.
Brody lifts me, guiding me backward until my spine meets the cushions, his body lowering to cover mine. We move like we’re rediscovering how to exist in the same space again, like the closeness has to be relearned and rebuilt in this new freedom we have. Every kiss, every brush of skin stitches us back together until we’re whole again, like we were at his cabin.
His hands skim beneath the waistband of my leggings, dragging them down inch by inch, his gaze never leaving mine. There’s nothing rushed about it. No games, no facade. Just this. Just us.
When he finally pushes inside me, I gasp, my arms wrapping around his back as my body arches into his. It’s not the kind of gasp that comes from pain or even surprise. It’s the kind that says, Finally . Like my body’s been holding a space for him, waiting for him to come home.
We move together like the world has narrowed down to this specific moment. We make love, losing ourselves in one another. We are all that matters. Our love keeps me going. Every thrust is deep, steady, grounding—not about taking or rushing, but about cementing what we have, making it permanent. Every stroke says, I’m here. You’re safe. We survived this.
We stay close, his forehead pressed to mine, our ragged breaths mingling. Tears prick behind my eyes again, but they come from something that can only be felt deep inside as he breaks me open.
“I love you, Harp,” he whispers, like he can’t hold it in any longer.
My breath catches on the inhale, and he kisses me like tomorrow will never come.
“I love you, Brody,” I say against his hot mouth that’s desperate for mine. “I’ve been in love with you for a long damn time,” I confess.
We keep moving like time bends around us. It’s the kind of intimacy that doesn’t burn, but glows bright in the darkness.
Brody Calloway is my sunshine, and his love for me lights the way.