Chapter 142 Harper
Harper
The safehouse had gone still. The chaos of sirens and gunfire had been replaced by the low murmur of voices, the clink of mugs, the shuffling of boots as the team finally let themselves come down from the high wire we’d walked all night.
I leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, arms folded tight across my chest. My body felt like it didn’t quite belong to me—every muscle taut, every breath shallow. Adrenaline had kept me upright, but now it was gone, leaving me shaky and hollow.
Gideon was slouched at the table, a bandage fresh across his thigh. Cyclone had commandeered the coffeepot and was arguing quietly with River about whether caffeine counted as food. Faron had his feet kicked up, humming some country song under his breath. They all looked worn, battered, alive.
Carter found me in the doorway like he always did, as if he’d wired himself to know where I was. His hand brushed against mine, fingers curling gently until I let him lace them together. That one small touch steadied me more than any deep breath could.
“You should sit,” he said, his voice low and steady.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, though it wasn’t true. My body ached, and my mind was still replaying the monitors in Redwood’s lair. Those faces. Those names. Evidence of every horror he’d orchestrated.
Carter’s brow furrowed. He stepped closer, tipping his head until his eyes caught mine. “Fine doesn’t look like that.”
A laugh broke out of me, sharp and tired. “You don’t miss much, do you?”
“Not when it comes to you.” His thumb swept gently across the back of my hand. “You carried us tonight, Harper. You faced him head-on. Don’t tell me you’re fine when you’re still bleeding on the inside.”
The words hit me deep, cutting through the wall I’d tried to keep between what happened and what I felt. My throat tightened, and I looked away, afraid if I held his gaze too long I’d come apart completely.
Gideon’s gravelly voice broke the silence. “She’s stronger than she knows, Robinson. Don’t let her forget it.”
Heat prickled behind my eyes. I swallowed hard, squeezing Carter’s hand. “I won’t,” he answered for me.
I managed a shaky smile. “One of these days I’ll believe that.”
“You already do,” Carter murmured, pulling me in close enough that his chest brushed mine, his breath warm against my hair. “You’re just too stubborn to admit it yet.”
For the first time since the fight, I let my head rest against him. Just for a moment. Just long enough to remember that we weren’t broken anymore—we were still here.
Carter’s arm stayed firm around me, but when Gideon barked for another round of coffee and River started teasing him about acting like an old man, Carter bent his head to murmur in my ear.
“Come with me.”
It wasn’t an order, though I would’ve followed it if it had been. He guided me down the short hall, away from the clatter of mugs and the scrape of chairs, into one of the side rooms that hadn’t been touched yet. The cot inside was still neatly made, the air cooler, the silence almost startling.
He shut the door behind us and leaned back against it, watching me in that way that stripped me bare. “You held yourself together out there,” he said quietly. “Better than most seasoned soldiers I know.”
I shook my head, my throat tight. “I almost broke. If you hadn’t been there—”
“I was,” he cut in, stepping closer, his voice low but fierce. “I am. That’s the part you keep forgetting, Harper. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”
His hands framed my face, calloused palms cradling me with a tenderness that made my chest ache. His forehead touched mine, and I could feel the steadiness of him in every breath.
“You don’t have to be fine all the time,” he whispered. “Not with me.
The dam cracked. My eyes stung and my breath shuddered, but instead of shame, I felt relief—like I could finally stop holding it all in. I leaned into him, letting his strength be mine, and for the first time since Redwood’s smile had haunted me, I felt something else: safe.
Carter’s mouth brushed mine before I even realized I’d leaned in. It wasn’t desperate—just steady, claiming, the kind of kiss that said we’d earned this moment after hell itself tried to tear us apart.
My hands slid up his chest, finding the strong lines of him beneath the gear, and he groaned softly, deepening the kiss. The cot creaked as we tumbled onto it together, his weight covering me, grounding me in a way nothing else could.
For the first time in so long, I let myself feel without fear. His hands mapped my body like he was reminding himself I was real, alive, his. Every touch was fire and comfort, every kiss a promise.
“Harper,” he murmured against my skin, voice rough with emotion. “You’re everything I never thought I could have.”
Tears burned hot, but he kissed them away with my lips, my breath, my body pressed against his. “Then don’t let go,” I whispered. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
He didn’t.
The night folded in around us, and for a little while the world outside—Redwood, the files, the darkness we’d fought through—disappeared. All that remained was Carter and me, tangled together, hearts beating in sync, finding our way back to something like hope.