Wade
She didn't look at him. “No.”
At least she wasn't lying anymore. “Want to talk?”
“No,” she breathed.
“Okay,” he said.
She only waited a few seconds before saying, “Sarah's alive.” He wasn’t sure if she was telling him that or saying it to remind herself.
“Yeah, she is,” he said.
“At least she was three days ago.”
Wade tightened his hands around the steering wheel. “Yeah, she was.”
“And my father knew where she was this whole time,” she breathed. He didn't answer. What the fuck was he supposed to say? Richard Kane was a piece of shit? Wade already thought that, and Harlow was only beginning to accept it.
“I keep thinking about all the times I defended him,” she said.
“You didn't know,” he reminded.
“I should have known,” she said.
“No, you couldn’t have known any of this,” he insisted.
She finally looked at him. “You told me earlier that I should've called Sarah.”
“Yeah, I did,” he admitted.
“Now you're telling me I couldn't have known?” she said.
“Both can be true,” he said with a shrug.
She frowned. “You're surprisingly reasonable sometimes.”
“Don't spread that around,” Wade grumbled.
“I wouldn't want to ruin your reputation,” she said.
“Appreciate it.” Silence settled between them again, and Wade reached over and turned down the radio.
Harlow's hand was resting on the seat between them, and he looked at it, then back at the road.
Fuck it. He reached over and offered his hand, palm up.
He didn't grab her or assume that she’d accept his offered hand.
He just waited. Harlow looked down and then slipped her fingers through his, and Wade's chest tightened.
That shouldn't have felt as good as it did.
They were just holding hands. He'd done a hell of a lot more with women than hold their fucking hands, but this was Harlow, and everything with her felt different.
More importantly, it felt more dangerous.
She squeezed his hand. “Wade?”
“Yeah?” he whispered.
“Are you scared about tomorrow?” she asked.
He could've lied, and probably he should have. Instead, he told her the truth. “Yeah.”
Her fingers tightened around his. “You don't act scared.”
“Being scared doesn't mean you stop moving, though,” he said.
Harlow looked out the windshield. “Princess said something like that.”
“Princess is smart,” he said. “Don't tell Butcher that I said that, though.” Wade laughed, and so did Harlow.
“Wouldn't dream of it,” she said. Another mile passed before Harlow whispered, “Come back tomorrow.”
Wade looked at her. She was staring straight ahead. “Harlow.”
“I know that you won't make a promise you can't keep,” she said. Her voice cracked slightly. “I just needed to say it.”
Wade lifted her hand and pressed his mouth against her knuckles. “I'll do everything I can.” She nodded. That was all he could give her, and she knew it.
Wade checked the house twice before he let Harlow inside. “You think somebody's here?” she asked. He hated hearing the fear in her voice.
“No,” he said.
“Then why are you checking?” she asked.
“Because thinking and knowing are two different things.” She followed him through the living room, and Wade checked the back door, along with the windows and the kitchen.
Nothing had been disturbed, and there was no sign anyone had gotten inside.
He walked back to the bedroom and pulled the curtains before locking the bedroom windows.
When he turned around, Harlow was standing in the doorway.
“You're really worried,” she said.
“Nope, just being cautious,” he said.
“It’s the same thing,” she insisted.
“Not even close,” he argued.
She leaned against the doorframe. “What happens if they come here?”
“They won't,” he insisted.
“Wade,” she said.
He sighed. “If they do, they're gonna have a really shitty night.” That earned him a small smile. “Go get ready for bed.”
She looked down at herself. “I don't have pajamas,” she said. “I didn’t buy any.”
“You can wear one of my shirts,” he offered.
Her eyes lifted to his, and that fucking look was nearly his undoing.
Wade immediately regretted offering her his shirt again, because now he was remembering last night and Harlow walking into his kitchen wearing his oversized Savage Bastards shirt and not much else. Fuck.
“Right,” she said. Her mouth curved. “Your shirt.”
“Don't,” Wade whispered.
“Don't what?” she asked, playing dumb.
“You know what,” he growled.
“I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about,” she said sweetly, batting her eyes at him.
“Bullshit,” he barked. She smiled and disappeared into the bedroom. Wade stared after her. “Pain in my fucking ass.”
“I heard that,” she called back.
“You were supposed to,” he shouted back.
Her laugh drifted back to him, and Wade smiled before heading to the kitchen.
Water—he needed water. Hell, he possibly needed something stronger—definitely something stronger.
He poured two fingers of whiskey and stared at it, and then he put the glass down untouched.
Tomorrow mattered too much, and he needed his head clear.
By the time Harlow returned, Wade had changed into sweatpants and was pulling a blanket from the hall closet to make up the sofa for himself. She stopped, and her gaze slowly traveled over his bare chest. Wade noticed every fucking inch of her stare.
“You done?” he asked.
Her eyes snapped to him. “Done what?” she asked.
“Looking at me,” he said.
“I wasn't looking at you,” she lied.
“Sure,” he said under his breath.
“You're very full of yourself,” she chided.
“Got reason to be,” he insisted. She rolled her eyes at him, and he quickly looked her over. She was wearing his shirt again, with her legs bare and messy blonde hair pulled up on top of her head. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but she didn’t need to. She was beautiful without it.
Wade swallowed. “Bed's yours.”
He tossed the blanket over his shoulder, and Harlow frowned. “Where are you going?”
“To the couch,” he said.
“No,” she said, and Wade stopped. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You should sleep in the bed,” she insisted. “You have a busy day tomorrow and need your sleep.”
“Nope, the couch works fine for me,” he said.
“Why won’t you sleep in the bed?” she asked.
“Because you're sleeping in it,” he said.
“It's a big bed,” she insisted.
“Not big enough,” he mumbled.
Her eyebrows lifted. “It's a king-sized bed,” she said.
“Still not fucking big enough,” he insisted.
“I need you rested for tomorrow,” she said.
“I'll sleep just fine on the sofa,” he lied. That thing was lumpy and uncomfortable, but it had to be better than sleeping in a chair.
“You didn't sleep last night,” she reminded.
“I got some sleep,” he lied.
“Liar,” she said, calling him on his bullshit. Wade sighed, and she stepped closer. “You sat in that chair most of the night.”
“Because you asked me to,” he reminded.
“I know.” Something softened in her expression. “And I'm asking you for something different tonight.”
His grip tightened around the blanket. He was holding onto it like it was his damn life preserver and he had just jumped overboard. Maybe he had. “What are you asking me for, Harlow?” he asked.
“Stay with me,” she said.
Fuck. “Harlow, don’t ask me for something that you’re not ready for,” he insisted.
“Just to sleep,” she assured him as though that was a possibility with her lying next to him.
“You're wearing my fucking shirt,” he growled.
She looked down and then back up at him. “So?”
“Don't act like you don't understand the problem.”
Her lips twitched. “I thought you had self-control.”
“I do,” he insisted.
“Then prove it,” she challenged. She was drawing a line in the sand, and he wanted to fucking erase the entire thing.
“That's not how this works,” he growled.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because I'm tired,” he insisted.
“So am I,” she assured.
“And you kissed me tonight,” he said.
She smiled. “I remember.”
“Not helping,” he grumbled.
“I'm not trying to help,” she insisted.
Jesus fucking Christ. Wade tossed the blanket onto the couch. “Harlow.”
Her smile disappeared. “I don't want to be alone tonight.” That changed everything. He studied her face. She wasn’t teasing or challenging him anymore. She was just being honest with him. She didn’t want to be alone tonight.
“Are you afraid of nightmares?” he asked.
“Maybe.” She rubbed her hands over her arms. “Or maybe I’m worried that I'll just lie there thinking about Sarah, and my father, and tomorrow, and whether you're coming back.”
Wade's chest tightened. “I'll stay until you fall asleep.”
“No,” she breathed.
“Harlow—” he started.
“I'm not asking you to sit in a chair.” She stepped closer, but was careful not to touch him. “I'm asking you to sleep beside me.”
Wade stared down at her. “You sure?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“You change your mind at any point—” he said.
“I'll tell you,” she promised.
“You want space—” he breathed.
“I'll tell you,” she assured.
“You want me out—” he said.
“I'll kick you,” she joked.
That made him smile. “Probably would too.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed.
He nodded toward the bedroom. “Go.” She turned, and Wade watched her walk away. This was a terrible fucking idea, but he followed her anyway, because apparently, terrible ideas were his new wheelhouse.
Wade stayed on his side, and Harlow stayed on hers for approximately thirty seconds before she rolled toward him. Wade stared at the ceiling. “Go to sleep, Harlow,” he said.
“I can't,” she whispered.
“Try harder,” he ordered.
“I am,” she said.
“Then try quieter,” he insisted. She poked his side, and he caught her hand. “Harlow.”
“What?” she asked.
“You're supposed to be sleeping,” he said. “That was the deal.”
“You’re supposed to be sleeping too,” she said.
“I would be if you'd stop touching me,” he insisted.
“That wasn't touching,” she countered.
“You poked me,” Wade pointed out.
“That's barely touching,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. He turned his head to face her, which was a big mistake. She was close—too fucking close. Her hair spread across his pillow. Her pale eyes watched him in the darkness.