Chapter 44 Unraveling
Unraveling
Cole
The house is too quiet.
Harper’s not here. She’s at Maddie’s because she needs space.
Space.
I check the bedroom first—her side of the closet is thinner, clothes missing from hangers.
The bathroom—her shampoo and conditioner are gone from the shower, toothbrush missing from the holder.
My chest tightens. The desk in the corner where she usually studies—her laptop gone, her textbooks, the stack of note cards she was using to prep for finals.
She didn't just leave for the night. She packed like she's not coming back.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, pulling out my phone to read her last text again.
Harper: I love you too.
Does she? Because running away when I need her doesn't feel like love. It feels like abandonment. Like I'm not worth fighting for.
My hands are shaking. The adrenaline from the fight is wearing off, leaving behind this hollow ache that spreads through my entire body. My knuckles are split and swollen. My eye is throbbing. But none of that compares to the pain in my chest.
Rex appears in the doorway, whining softly. He can sense something is wrong. He always can.
"She's coming back," I tell him, but my voice doesn't sound convincing.
He pads over and puts his head on my knee, looking up at me with those big, soulful eyes. I scratch behind his ears, but it doesn't soothe me the way it usually does.
I stand and start pacing. Through the bedroom, down the hall, into the living room where Harper and I watched movies last night. Where she curled into my side and told me she loved me. Was that really just yesterday? And now she needs space.
Finn emerges from his room, takes one look at my face, and retreats back without a word. Smart man.
I pull out my phone and call Sirus. It rings four times before going to voicemail.
"Sirus, it's Cole. Call me back. Please."
I try again. Same result.
He's probably with Harper and Maddie, listening to them talk through everything, being the supportive ear I should be if I wasn't the one who fucked everything up.
I can't stay here. Every corner of this place has Harper in it. Her favorite mug in the kitchen. Her books on the shelf. The throw blanket she bought because mine weren't "cozy enough." The dent in the couch cushion where she always sits.
I grab my keys and leave before the walls can close in completely.
I drive with no destination in mind. Through campus, past the arena, down streets I don't recognize. The city blurs past my windows, streetlights creating halos in the darkness.
I should go to Maddie's. Knock on the door, tell Harper I'm sorry, beg her to come home. But she asked for space. And after everything—after fighting Liam at a party, after proving I'm exactly the kind of guy who loses his shit and throws punches—maybe space is what I deserve.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. What did Liam say to her in that hallway? What could he possibly have that would make Harper look at me with that expression, like she didn't know who I was anymore?
It's only a matter of time before you see his true colors.
What the fuck does that even mean?
Before I realize where I'm going, I'm pulling into the parking lot of a liquor store. The neon sign buzzes overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow.
I sit in the truck for a long moment, engine running, debating. This is a terrible idea. I should go home, sleep it off, deal with everything with a clear head in the morning.
But the thought of going back to that empty house makes me physically ill.
I kill the engine and go inside.
The fluorescent lights are too bright, making my black eye throb worse. I walk down the aisles until I find what I'm looking for—a bottle of whiskey that Liam and I used to split after particularly brutal games freshman year. Before everything got complicated he was my boy.
The irony isn't lost on me as I pay for it.
In the parking lot, I take out my phone and snap a picture of the bottle sitting on my passenger seat. I send it to Liam.
Me: Peace offering?
The response comes almost immediately.
Liam: Fuck off.
Me: We really need to talk.
I stare at my phone, waiting for those three dots to turn into actual words, but they disappear. He's not going to respond.
Me: Fine. You come here.
I send him my address.
Liam: (Laughing emoji)
That's it. A laughing emoji. Like this is all a fucking joke to him.
I throw my phone onto the passenger seat and drive home in silence, the bottle of whiskey rattling every time I take a turn too fast.
Back at the house, I grab a glass from the kitchen and pour two fingers of whiskey. Then I think better of it and pour more. I'm not measuring, not being careful, not doing any of the things responsible Cole Richardson would do.
I sit on the couch and down the first shot. It burns going down, sharp and cleansing.
One shot for Harper not being home. One shot for her clothes missing from the closet.
I pour another.
One shot for her telling me she needs space. One shot for those three words that feel like a death sentence.
Another pour. My hands are steadier now, the alcohol working its way through my system.
One shot for Liam's dirty gut punch in the hallway, for whatever poison he whispered in Harper's ear that made her look at me differently.
The glass fills again.
One shot for the fight. For losing control in front of everyone. For proving that maybe I'm not as put-together as I pretend to be.
Another.
One shot for the look on Harper's face when she left the party. Like she couldn't get away from me fast enough.
And another.
One shot for the townhouse that feels like a tomb without her in it.
I lose count. The room is starting to blur at the edges, my thoughts growing fuzzy and disconnected. Rex has given up trying to get my attention and is curled up on his bed in the corner, occasionally lifting his head to check if I'm okay.
I'm not okay.
My phone is in my hand before I consciously decide to pick it up. I scroll to Liam's contact, my fingers clumsy on the screen.
It rings once. Twice. Three times.
Voicemail.
The beep sounds, and then I'm talking, words spilling out in a rush.
"Liam. It's me. Cole. Obviously you know that because caller ID.
I'm..." I laugh, but it sounds wrong. "I'm drunk.
Not as drunk as you were that night but getting there.
Harper's gone. She left. Took her stuff and just..
. left. Because of us. Because I couldn't keep my shit together.
Because you said something to her and I don't even know what it was, but it worked, man. It worked."
I take another shot, the whiskey sloshing over the rim.
"I fucked everything up. Our friendship, Harper. Everything I touch turns to shit. You know what's funny? You said I got everything you wanted but look at me now. I've got nothing. Empty house, girlfriend who can't even talk to me, best friend who hates my guts. So congrats, I guess. You win."
My voice cracks.
"I just... I don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to make it right. I'm sitting here alone, and everything reminds me of her and I can't breathe, Liam. I can't fucking breathe without her."
Silence.
"I'm sorry. For everything. For falling for her, for not handling it better, for fighting you at practice and at the party. For being a shitty friend. I'm sorry."
The line beeps again, cutting me off. Message too long.
I set the phone down and pour another shot, but my hand is shaking so badly that half of it spills on the coffee table. I don't bother cleaning it up.
Rex whines from his bed.
"She's coming back," I tell him again, but this time I don't even convince myself.
The bottle is half-empty when I finally pass out on the couch, Harper's name still on my lips, the apartment silent and cold around me.