Wade #2
“Doesn't mean everybody working for him suddenly became decent human beings.”
She sighed. “Where exactly am I supposed to go then?”
Wade didn't have an answer for her because the answer he wanted was for her to stay here, with him, which defeated the entire fucking purpose of their discussion this morning.
A knock sounded at the front door, and both of them went still. Wade's hand automatically moved toward the gun at the back of his waistband. Harlow noticed, and her face tightened. “Stay here,” he ordered.
She rolled her eyes. “Bossy to the end.” He ignored that. Wade checked through the window and saw Butcher's truck. Princess sat in the passenger seat. Wade opened the door, and Butcher looked him over.
“You look like shit,” he assessed.
“Fuck you,” Wade spat.
“Morning to you too,” Butcher said. Princess stepped out of the truck, and she took one look at Wade's face and frowned. She looked at Harlow standing behind him, holding her bag, and understanding dawned in her eyes.
Her eyes narrowed at him. “Oh, what did you do?”
Wade frowned. “Why'd you assume I did something?”
Princess laughed. “Because I know Harlow, and I know you.”
“You've known her for a week,” Wade reminded.
Butcher looked past Wade. “You good, Harlow?”
“I'm fine,” she lied.
Princess looked at the bag again. “You leaving?”
Harlow hesitated. Wade hated how much that pause bothered him. Then she nodded. “For a little while.”
Princess looked at Wade. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Nothing,” he insisted.
“Bullshit,” Princess said.
Butcher sighed. “Maybe we shouldn't—”
Princess held up a hand. “Quiet.” Butcher's eyebrows rose. Wade would've enjoyed that under different circumstances.
Princess stepped inside the house. “Where are you going?”
Harlow shrugged. “Motel, maybe.”
“No,” Wade and Princess said at the same time.
Harlow looked between them. “Oh, for God's sake.”
Princess ignored Wade. “You can stay with us.”
Harlow blinked at her. “What?”
“We have a guest room,” Princess said. Butcher opened his mouth, and Princess looked over her shoulder at him, giving him a death stare. “We have a guest room,” she said again.
Butcher nodded. “We have a guest room.” Wade almost laughed, but he couldn't, because suddenly the idea of Harlow leaving became real. It wasn’t hypothetical anymore, and not some bullshit conversation about space.
She would get into Butcher's truck, go to their house, sleep somewhere Wade wasn't, and wake up somewhere Wade wasn't. His stomach twisted.
Harlow looked at Princess. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Princess said.
“You don't have to—” Harlow started.
“I know,” Princess said.
“Are you good with this, Butcher?” she asked.
He shrugged. “My woman already decided.”
Princess smiled. “Smart man.” Harlow laughed softly. Wade felt like somebody was twisting a knife between his ribs. Good. He deserved it.
Princess looked at Harlow's bag. “That's everything?”
“For now,” Harlow said.
“I can come back for anything I’ve missed,” she said.
Wade looked at her. She said she’d come back, like this wasn't her place anymore. Fuck. “Your stuff can stay.”
Harlow looked at him. “Wade.”
“You don't have to take everything,” he insisted.
“I know,” she breathed. “I think it would be for the best, though, if I did.”
“Leave it,” he growled. Why did he sound angry? Maybe it was because he was mad at himself, and at her, and at the whole fucking situation.
Harlow studied him. “Okay.” That should've made him feel better, but it didn't.
Princess quietly took the bag from her. “I'll give you two a minute.”
“No need,” Wade said. Harlow flinched again, and Butcher's expression changed. Princess stared at Wade like she wanted to punch him. Maybe she should.
“Harlow already knows what I think.”
“Apparently, I do,” Harlow whispered. Wade immediately wanted to fix it. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Because if he touched her, he'd lose every ounce of resolve he'd managed to scrape together. Harlow walked toward him and stopped a few feet away. “So this is what you want?”
No. Absolutely fucking not. “It's what you need.”
Her lips tightened. “I didn't ask what I need.”
There it was—the entire fucking problem. Wade looked at her. “No, you didn’t.” Her face changed, and he forced himself to finish. “And for the record, it isn't what I want.”
Harlow stared at him. “Then why are you doing this?” Because I fucking love you.
The thought hit so hard that Wade nearly said it, but he stopped himself.
Jesus Christ. Could he really be in love with her already?
That was impossible. Hell, it was insane, but it didn't matter.
The word was there, and he couldn't unthink it.
Wade looked away. “Because I need to know that if you choose me, it's because I'm what you want. Not because I was there when your life fell apart.” Harlow's expression softened, and he almost reached for her.
Then she whispered, “And what if taking space makes me decide I don't want this?” Wade's chest felt like it cracked open, but he forced his shoulders up and forced the asshole mask he usually wore back into place.
“Then I guess I'll have my answer at least,” he said.
Harlow stared at him long enough that he almost broke, and then she nodded.
“Okay.” She stepped back, and Princess came toward her.
Wade watched Harlow walk to the door, and every instinct in him screamed to stop her.
He wanted to tell her he'd changed his mind.
He wanted to tell her he'd been full of shit, and that she wasn't walking out of his house, but that was how Richard treated her.
It was how Frank treated her, along with every man who had ever decided Harlow's life for her.
Wade wouldn't be one of them, even if doing the right thing felt a hell of a lot like cutting out his own heart.
Harlow stopped at the doorway, and she turned. “I'll see you later.”
Wade nodded. “Yeah.”
Her eyes searched his face. Maybe she was waiting for more, but he didn't give it, because he couldn't. Harlow left, and Princess followed her. Butcher lingered, and Wade glared at him. “Don't,” he growled.
“I didn't say anything,” Butcher insisted.
“You're about to,” Wade said.
“Yep,” Butcher admitted. Wade walked into the kitchen, and Butcher followed. “You're a fucking idiot.”
“Fuck you,” Wade spat.
“She wants you,” Butcher said.
“You don't know that,” Wade insisted.
“I have eyes,” Butcher said.
“She's been through hell,” Wade countered.
“So?” Butcher asked.
“So I'm not taking advantage of that,” Wade said.
Butcher leaned against the counter. “You really think giving her a safe place to live, a job, and letting her make her own choices means you're taking advantage of her?” Wade didn't answer, and Butcher shook his head. “You're scared.”
Wade laughed bitterly. “Of what?”
“That she'll choose you,” Butcher said.
Wade looked at him. “That makes no fucking sense.”
“It does if you think you're not good enough for her,” Butcher insisted.
That hit too close, and Wade's expression hardened. “Get out.”
Butcher smiled. “Thought so.”
“Seriously. Fuck off,” Wade spat.
Butcher walked toward the door and then stopped. “For what it's worth?”
“Nothing you say is worth shit,” Wade grumbled.
“She didn't look like a woman who wanted space,” Butcher said.
Wade's jaw clenched. “But you forced it on her anyway.” Then Butcher left and the door shut behind him.
Silence filled the house, and Wade stood there alone.
He looked toward the bedroom. The bed was unmade.
Her pillow still had an indentation in it.
Her shampoo was still in his shower, and some of her clothes were still on his dresser.
Everything looked exactly the same, except Harlow wasn't there.
Wade walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the mattress.
Fuck. He'd wanted to give her space. He wanted to make sure she chose him for the right reasons.
He wanted to prove he wasn't another man trying to keep her, so he'd let her leave.
That was the mature and decent thing to do.
It was the right fucking thing to do, so why did it feel so wrong?
Wade rubbed both hands over his face, and his phone buzzed.
For one stupid second, his heart jumped when he thought that it might be Harlow.
He grabbed it and saw that it was from Butcher.
BUTCHER: She's staying with us, and we’ll keep her safe.
Wade stared at the message and then typed.
WADE: Good.
Three dots appeared.
BUTCHER: You’re still an idiot.
Wade tossed the phone across the bed. “Fuck you.” The empty room didn't answer. Wade lay back on the bed. Her scent still clung to the sheets, and that made everything worse. He'd told Harlow she needed to decide whether she wanted him.
Now he had to live with the possibility that she'd decide she didn't, and for the first time since she'd walked into Wade's Watering Hole wearing a wedding dress, Wade understood something that scared him more than Frank, Richard Kane, or any gun pointed at his chest. He didn't just want Harlow; he'd fallen in love with her, and like the fucking idiot Butcher accused him of being, he'd just sent her away.