Chapter 27
Harlan
I step outside, onto my backyard patio, feeling fucking defeated.
Do you think you could ever love us like you love her?
Quinn fell asleep before I could figure out how to answer her. Before I could explain.
But would I have explained?
No.
I walk across the patio and sit down on a chair by the pool under the moonlight.
This patio is why I bought the house. I didn’t care about the rest of it, other than having some vague understanding that this is the kind of house I’m expected to live in—expensive. I don’t care about furniture or square footage or views.
I just want this private spot surrounded in hedges and trees where I can be alone, breathe fresh air, and fucking think. It’s not that I want to be totally disconnected from everything and everyone around me. I like going into the office, sometimes. I like having staff coming and going.
I just prefer to be alone in the middle of it all. The tight, innermost circle I’ve built around myself just doesn’t have room for anyone in it but me.
At least it didn’t until Quinn came along.
Now, the space around me feels eerily empty without her in it.
It makes me think that Damian was right. Maybe I’ll die alone because I just push people away. I expect the worst of them. I just hate people in general until they somehow prove themselves worthy of my hard-won respect. And sometimes, they do.
But there’s no one, outside of my family, who’s ever won my love.
Maybe no one’s ever wanted to before.
But with those words tonight, Quinn told me that she wants my love.
Maybe I just need to learn how to love her like she deserves. Because everything I’ve been doing so far to try to take care of her and show her I care isn’t fucking working.
Somehow, it’s doing the opposite.
I’ve made her feel unloved. And it fucking kills me.
I sit back in this quiet spot with the hum of the city beyond, where I’ve found the answers to so many of my problems over the years. And I notice a strange sound that doesn’t belong. This small, indistinct mewling.
At first, I think I’m imagining it. It’s just a child playing off in the distance, or a bird… but then it comes again, much clearer.
I get to my feet, adrenalin spiking.
I follow the sound, and the automatic lights come on as I circle the house, lighting my way through the dark. And right under my bedroom windows, low down under the edge of a bush, I find her.
Her green eyes shine at me when I crouch down.
I can tell that something’s not right.
I reach in, and when I try to put my hands around her, she mewls again. It’s a sound of fear. Or pain.
She’s hurt, I think, but I can’t tell where. “It’s okay,” I tell her gently. “I’ve got you.”
When I pick her up as carefully as I can, her hind leg flops strangely. She makes a pained little cry.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I swear at myself as I carry her into the family room and lay her down on the sofa. I think her leg is injured. And if it is… maybe she fell off the fucking roof? Just like I said she would.
I fucking knew this would happen.
I should’ve just let her into the house.
Would it have killed me to leave a window open for her on the first floor? Or put in a fucking cat door?
Now this sweet, small thing is in pain.
She’s broken, and it’s my fault.
I’ve just come home from school.
I’m standing in the foyer of my family’s house. I’m alone. But I can hear sounds in the distance, coming from upstairs—a door closing. Then the muffled voices of my siblings. My mom.
More than I can hear them… I can feel their sorrow.
I’m supposed to be there, with them.
I can hear Mom crying.
As I climb the stairs to the second floor, I hear helicopter blades.
When I get to the top of the stairs, I see the door to the room where the terrible thing is going to happen, and I know they’re waiting for me.
I hear my dad’s voice, calling to me, and I start to cry.
I hear the whump whump whump of the helicopter blades as I walk toward the door. The black cat runs across my path, startling me.
I’m confused.
She doesn’t belong here.
When I finally reach the door, I start to open it. But I can’t hear my dad’s voice anymore.
I wake up in a panic.
I’m sitting in the vet’s waiting room the next morning when Quinn walks in. When our eyes meet across the room, I can see her concern, and I sit up as she comes over. She sits down next to me.
“I’m okay. Everything’s okay,” I tell her automatically, taking her hand in mine. I’m exhausted. I barely slept. But I can see that she’s worried and I don’t want that.
“What’s going on?”
“How did you know I was here?”
“You let me track your phone, remember?” She puts her hand on the back of my neck as I rub my face. I did. When I insisted she let me track hers. “Is everything really okay?”
“It’s fine.” I pull her into my arms. “Don’t worry.” I put a hand on her belly but I’m distracted.
“You were gone when I woke up. And I was worried.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t need anything. I just… I missed you.”
I laugh humorlessly. “You missed my obsessive, overprotective stalking? Isn’t that what you called it?”
“Yes,” she says sweetly. Then her expression turns worried again. “I see I was right to be worried. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed this casually before.”
She’s right. I’m a mess. I’m wearing jogging pants and a sweatshirt. I check my watch. “I didn’t realize how late it is.” It’s almost ten in the morning already.
“You didn’t go into work today?”
“No.”
“I can only imagine one reason you’re here.” She squeezes my hand and says gently, “Something happened to your kitty?”
My eyes instantly tear up and I press my fingers into them.
“Oh, Harlan.” She wraps her arm around me. “What happened?”
“I think she fell off the roof.”
“Oh my gosh.” She looks toward the empty reception desk, and the doors into the doctor’s offices, as I’ve been doing for the last half hour. There’s no one else here except for some guy with a golden retriever in the far corner.
“She’s alive,” I reassure her, realizing she might be wondering.
She sighs with relief. “I thought cats always land on their feet, though…?”
“Yeah. That doesn’t mean the feet don’t break.”
“Shit.” She puts her head on my shoulder. “I’m here, okay?”
“Okay.”
Does she know how good it feels to hear her say that?
The warmth that floods me when she cuddles into me and tries to make me feel better is intense.
Maybe I’ve been so afraid of losing my inheritance and my place in my family, and so focused on keeping my secrets, that it snuck up on me that I’ve become so much more afraid of losing her .
I’m terrified she’ll uncover the truth about Darla, and I’ll lose her over all the lies.
She wants to be properly introduced to my family—as herself—and she deserves that. She’s having my baby.
How can I expect her to play Darla forever to cover up my lies?
I can’t.
But what else can I do? Invent another Darla to play the role of my ex-lover?
My go-to solution is to just create another lie. Because in the past, that’s what I would’ve done. But my lies are just digging a deeper and deeper hole. It’s become an impossible problem I can’t solve, and I don’t know how to get out unscathed.
“I should’ve let her into the house,” I say out of nowhere.
“This is not your fault, Harlan.”
“But I took her for granted. I kept pushing her out. I just didn’t want to get attached to her. But now she’s hurt, and maybe she will die.”
“So, she’s really yours? You always said she was a stray.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I just didn’t want her to be mine. But she kept showing up, and… maybe I got attached. I didn’t even want to know who owned her, because then I really would lose her.” I’ve started picking at the seam of my pant leg, my finger incessantly spelling out the word. ATTACHED . “The woman working the twenty-four-hour desk when I brought her in last night said they’d contact her owners. But she isn’t in today. I’m waiting for an update.”
“You love her,” Quinn concludes.
“She’s just a cat.”
“Then why are you sitting here looking like hell and fighting back tears in the middle of a workday?”
I know she’s right.
And for some reason, I can’t just turn off that love, even though I want to.
Fuck.
“No offense, Harlan, but you look worse than I’ve ever seen you.”
I don’t doubt it.
I don’t think I was this much of a mess when Granddad died.
Actually… I don’t think I’ve allowed myself to feel real grief or sorrow since Dad died. Nothing else has ever made me feel so helpless to my emotions. But maybe that’s because his death also felt like…
My fault.
It’s definitely not just the cat that’s made me this much of a mess.
But I don’t say so.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” Quinn asks me worriedly.
“Not much.”
After driving the cat to the vet, they said I should go home and get some sleep while they took care of her and kept her overnight. I tried to sleep in a guest room so I wouldn’t bother Quinn. But the bit of sleep I did get was interrupted by the old dream.
I look at Quinn, really seeing her for the first time since she walked into the vet’s office. She looks really worried.
And so fucking precious.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about me. The only ones you need to take care of right now are the baby and Lorraine.”
“Is that why you had the adjustable bed delivered to the house for Mom this morning?”
“I just wanted her to be comfortable.”
Quinn shakes her head in wonder. “You know how many times I’ve talked to her about investing in a bed like that, so she can sit up easily in it when she has those tired days, and she just wants to stay in bed and watch a movie or read a book? She says they’re for old people. She wouldn’t even hear of the idea from me. But when she found out the delivery was from you… Jesus. She sent me like twenty photos of it already, from every angle. I think she would’ve accepted a dirty diaper if you sent it.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“What I’m saying is my mom thinks you’re the shit, and she has reason to. Because you pay attention, and you treat us like family.” She sighs. “I know how much you’ve been doing for us, Harlan. And I haven’t thanked you enough.”
But I don’t want her thanks. I’ve never wanted that.
Maybe I’ve just always wanted her , but been too fucking terrified to admit it, to either of us.
“But you were right,” I tell her. “I’ve been taking care of you with money and thinking that’s enough. Maybe I just don’t know how to be enough for someone else. Especially a child.”
“I mean, who does? I have no idea how to be a mom. But I trust that I’ll figure it out.”
“Maybe that’s because you have such a great mom.”
She squeezes my hand reassuringly. “Look what you’re doing for this little kitty, though. Clearly, you’re trying to give her what she needs right now. Doesn’t that give you even a glimmer of hope that you’ll figure out the fathering thing?”
“I don’t know, Quinn.” I can’t even look at her when I say, “What if I pass all my fucked-up flaws on to our child?” Because it’s entirely possible, and that terrifies me, too. That I’ll somehow fail my child, genetically, before they even get a chance to be normal.
No, not normal. Incredible, like her.
I know she probably thinks I mean my obsessive nature. My OCD. But that’s only part of it.
“Then you’ll be understanding, because you know exactly what it’s like,” she says easily. “Who better than you to help and support them? You’ll teach them how to be amazingly successful. Just like you’ve been.”
Maybe she’s right.
Maybe my mom could’ve been more supportive. And maybe my dad should’ve helped me more, protected me, like I’m trying so hard to do for my kid, before I even meet them.
Maybe part of the reason I’ve been pushing Quinn away is because I’ve been trying to protect her and the baby from me . Because I’m afraid that I’m not good enough. That I won’t figure it out in time to be a decent father.
Maybe all my obsessive behavior toward Quinn—trying to keep her safe and protected and mine —are all because I’m afraid of losing her and the baby, but I’m self-sabotaging, too. Because I’m just pushing her further away.
What she needs is to know that I love her. That I’ll be her emotional support.
That was what I needed from my parents the most, but didn’t get.
Or maybe I need it so badly because I didn’t get it?
I don’t fucking know.
“It’s okay to be afraid,” Quinn says. “My mom said to me the other day that becoming a parent is terrifying.”
“Yeah. She told me the same thing.”
“Well, I think she’s right. Because how can you bring someone into the world that you know you’re going to love beyond all else, and one day, one way or another, you’re going to have to say goodbye to them? Nothing is forever.” She looks into my eyes with a tender hope that makes my heart burn. “But don’t you want to love someone with everything you’ve got, while you can? Even if it’s ‘just a cat’?”
A door opens, and I manage to tear my eyes away from Quinn long enough to register that the vet’s assistant is walking toward us. She smiles.
“Good news,” she says. “We got a hold of Darla’s owners. They’re coming to take her home.”