Chapter 24 Harper
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
HARPER
Iwake up alone.
For half a second panic flares in my chest. Too much has changed too fast for absence not to feel like loss, but I remind myself to stay calm and see where the guys are.
Padding out to the living room, I don’t see Connor or Harrison anywhere, but then I see the note on the kitchen counter, a piece of yellow paper with Harrison’s handwriting, slanted, a little rushed, like his thoughts ran ahead of his pen.
We went to the rink. He couldn’t sleep. Back soon. I love you.
—H
I press my hands against my face, trying to gather myself, the emotions of the past twenty-four hours swirling inside me like a frenzy I can barely contain.
Relief that Connor knows the truth. Terror that he might never forgive me.
My throat tightens as I press the note to my chest and let myself breathe, last night playing back in fragments, not clean or linear, just raw feelings.
Connor’s face crumpled with confusion and anger.
“Why didn’t you let me have a dad?”
The way his voice broke when he asked why he didn’t get a dad. The weight of knowing I caused that pain, even if I thought I was protecting him at the time.
I hurt my son.
And I hurt Harrison.
And I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.
The ache is still there, deep and sharp in my chest, but at the same time, it’s layered now with something fragile and hopeful.
Connor didn’t shut down and he didn’t try to run.
Instead, he cried, he yelled, he let himself feel, and the thing I’m even more grateful for, he let us see it.
He let us feel his pain, and God, did we.
My eyes sting.
And then there’s Harrison.
The memory of finding him in the bathroom flashes through me, fully clothed, standing under the spray like he deserved punishment for something he never chose. The look on his face when he realized I was there. Not totally broken beyond repair. Just hurting.
Both of us.
All of us.
We didn’t fix anything in that shower.
We didn’t pretend the night hadn’t wrecked us.
We held each other instead. We cried, we breathed, and we touched like people who needed reassurance more than pleasure. Like two souls clinging to the same lifeline, whispering truths we’d been holding in for years.
“I love you.”
“I’ve always loved you.”
“I need you.”
It wasn’t said lightly and it wasn’t said out of habit or obligation.
Last night the world as we knew it had cracked open and somehow we were still standing.
Together.
I swipe at my cheeks and sit up, pulling Harrison’s shirt tighter around me. It still smells like him.
Clean.
Warm.
Safe.
I close my eyes, remembering how it felt when Harrison’s body pressed against mine under the spray of the shower.
How the water cascaded between us, turning every touch slick and desperate.
My skin still tingles at the memory of his hands—strong and certain—sliding over my body like he was rememorizing every curve, every hollow, every place that he knew would make me gasp.
Last night’s shower may not have been our first time being together in our adulthood, but it felt more emotional, more personal, and more intimate than anything we’ve ever done.
God, how I needed him last night. Not just physically, but completely.
The way he looked at me with such raw vulnerability, his eyes dark with desire but also shining with something deeper, something that spoke of ten years of absence and longing.
I felt it too and I was desperate for that connection, that security in the middle of our emotional chaos.
The fullness of him, the way he stretched me, claimed me, it was like coming home after being lost for so long. Each thrust was both passionate and reverent, like he was trying to erase the decade between us and simultaneously honor every second of it.
A couple hours later, laughter echoes down the hallway.
Real laughter.
I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat as the front door opens.
Connor comes in first, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, talking a mile a minute.
“And then he totally missed it—like, completely whiffed—and I told him that means he has to retire—”
“Hate to break it to you, buddy,” Harrison says behind him, voice lighter than I’ve ever heard it, “but that means you retire too. I taught you that move I also taught it to Roche.”
Connor snorts. “Yeah, but I’m eleven. You guys are old.”
“Rude.”
They both stop when they see me.
Connor grins. A real one. Unforced.
“Morning, Mom.”
Harrison’s eyes meet mine over his head.
Everything unspoken passes between us.
We’re not healed.
But we’re trying.
“Good morning, bud,” I say, plastering a smile on my face and trying to gauge his reaction. “I think I can guess where you two have been this morning. You smell like ice.”
Connor shrugs. “Harrison couldn’t sleep and I was already awake so he took me to the rink because that’s where we work out our shit.” He turns to look at the man behind him. “Right Harrison?”
From the look on his face, Harrison is a bit surprised at Connor’s colorful language but decides to pick his battles and takes it all in stride.
“That’s right. We men had to go work out our shit the only way we knew how.
” He gives me a bright smile behind Connor and tosses me a wink letting me know everything is okay.
“Oh. Phew! Well, that’s good. And did you get all your shit worked out?”
“Yep.” Connor nods. “And now we’re starving and Harrison said we could have pancakes so we’re here to get you so you can come too.”
“Pancakes sound perfect,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the emotions swirling through me. I stand from the couch. “Just give me a few minutes to get ready.”
“Take your time. We’ll wait,” Harrison says, his eyes lingering on me with a warmth that makes my cheeks flush.
Connor bounces on his toes. “But don’t take too long, Mom. I’m seriously starving. Like, might-die-of-hunger starving.”
“Drama queen,” I mutter affectionately, and something in my chest loosens when he rolls his eyes at me, just like he always has, just like nothing’s changed.
As I slip into the bathroom, I catch my reflection in the mirror.
My hair is a bit messy, and my eyes are still puffy from last night’s tears, but there’s something different on my face.
The weight I’ve carried for so long hasn’t disappeared, but it’s shifted somehow, distributed across stronger shoulders than just my own.
I can hear them in the kitchen. Connor’s excited chatter about some trick shot Harrison showed him, Harrison’s deep laugh rumbling in response.
When I emerge dressed in yesterday’s now-dry clothes, they’re waiting by the door.
Harrison catches my eye over Connor’s head, and something passes between us; relief, understanding, a shared breath after holding it for so long.
He mouths “okay?” and I nod, because despite everything, we are.
Not perfect, not healed, but okay. And right now, that feels like enough.
“Can we take Harrison’s truck?” Connor asks.
“You bet,” Harrison says, already pulling his keys from his pocket. “And guess what? You can even sit shotgun.”
Connor’s eyes light up. “Seriously?” He turns to me. “Can I, Mom?”
I nod, smiling at his excitement. “Just this once.”
As we walk to the truck, Connor races ahead, and Harrison falls into step beside me. His fingers brush against mine, a whisper of contact that sends warmth through my entire body.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, bumping my shoulder against his arm as we walk.
“For what?” He glances down at me, those blue eyes so much like Connor’s.
“For taking him this morning. For…whatever you said to him.” I swallow hard. “He’s looking at me again.”
Harrison’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently. “He loves you, Harper. He was just hurt.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I just—”
“Mom! Come on!” Connor calls from the truck, already buckled in and waiting impatiently.
Harrison chuckles. “Pancakes wait for no man.”