Chapter 11 Harper
Iplunge my hands into the soapy water, grab a glass and give it a good scrub before rinsing it.
I keep my eye on the wall clock as I have to leave to pick up Julian in about an hour.
The Vipers are playing the Boston Eagles at home tonight and I’m nervous, partly because I’ve become a big fan in a short time and partly because this is the first game I’ve driven him to since the one when he invited me to sit in the suite.
I have absolutely no expectations of such a repeat invite, but I can’t help but wonder if he will. I’ve decided that if he does, I need to firmly decline. I can’t keep letting him blur the line between employer and employee this way, because… well, it’s weird.
The front door opens abruptly and Dylan calls out, “Harper… you’ll never guess what happened!”
The glass nearly slips out of my hand, and I catch it at the last second as my heart lurches over the near catastrophe.
“What?” I turn toward Dylan, still barely gripping the glass. “What happened?”
His backpack is half hanging off one shoulder, his entire face lit up in a way I don’t see nearly enough these days. “Julian ‘Freaking’ Langley gave our entire senior class tickets to the Vipers’ game tonight,” he gushes.
I blink at him. “What?!”
The tap is still running behind me, water rushing steadily over a pile of dishes I’ve forgotten about because all I can focus on is him—and what he just said—and the way my brain is trying, unsuccessfully, to catch up.
Dylan nods so hard he looks like a bobblehead. “The entire class! I can go, right? I got all my homework done today at study hall so I’m good.”
“Wait,” I say, shaking my head slightly, like that might help rearrange the information into a coherent thought. “No, that doesn’t—why would he—how would—”
Dylan laughs, pushing himself off the doorframe and stepping into the kitchen.
“They’re doing this whole thing,” he says, dropping his bag onto one of the chairs.
“Like, trying to get more kids into hockey. Social media, school stuff, whatever. We had an assembly about it last week, but I didn’t think I’d actually—” He cuts himself off, grinning again, running a hand through his hair.
“They picked a few public schools and just… gave out tickets. Like, a bunch of them.”
I turn off the water without looking, the sudden quiet in the kitchen disorienting. “To tonight’s game?” I ask, my mind spinning on how to get him there. I mean, he can take the subway, but I’d be more comfortable if he was going with some friends.
“Yeah. Tonight’s game. Are you working tonight?”
I set the glass down carefully this time and nod, trying to figure out logistics. A strange, dizzying sensation stirs in my chest, and I’m caught somewhere between disbelief and joy. I dry my hands on a towel.
“Really?” I manage.
Dylan looks at me like I’ve asked a ridiculous question. “Yes, I’m serious,” he says. “We all got them. They gave us, like—actual legit good seats. Not nosebleeds or anything.”
I press the towel between my hands, grounding myself in the motion. “That’s… really good,” I say finally, and this time I mean it. “That’s actually—really good.”
Dylan’s smile softens a little. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”
I glance at him again. For him, this isn’t complicated. It isn’t layered with context or connection or whatever strange orbit my life has suddenly fallen into.
It’s just… a hockey game.
A night out.
Good fortune landing, unexpectedly, in the middle of everything else.
And standing there in our too-small kitchen with water still drying on the counter and dishes waiting in the sink, I let it be that simple too.
My phone buzzes softly against the counter, the sound threading its way through the quiet just as I’m settling back into the rhythm of dishes and water and everything comfortably ordinary.
I try to ignore it, but the timing, or maybe instinct, pulls my attention down anyway.
It’s a text from Julian, and somehow… that seems right.
I pick up the phone, my thumb hovering for the briefest second before I open it.
Hopefully you know by now we have some special guests coming to watch the Vipers. Dylan should ride with us tonight, so you don’t have to worry about him.
I exhale, steadying myself, though I’m not entirely sure what I’m steadying against.
I should decline his offer for Dylan to ride with us.
The offer is beyond generous and would alleviate my concerns about how he will get there, but it seems decadent to accept when I’ve done nothing to deserve such a thing.
However, I know that even if I politely decline, he’s just going to strong-arm me into accepting. He’s done that on more than one occasion, and I’ve learned enough about Julian Langley to know he won’t accept no for an answer.
“Dylan,” I say, turning toward him. “Mr. Langley said you can ride with us to the game, so I need you to get ready.”
His mouth hangs open. “No way.”
“Yes way,” I say, a small, incredulous laugh slipping through. “He just texted me.”
“You mean the owner of the Vipers is going to give us a ride to the game?” he asks.
I lift a shoulder, tip my head back and forth. “Well, technically, I’m giving the ride since I’ll be the one driving, but it will be in Mr. Langley’s car and on his dime, so yeah.”
“Sweet,” he yells with a fist pump and takes off for his room.
The preparation before we leave comes together in a blur.
Dylan changes his outfit three times, presenting each version to me. Luckily, my attire for this evening is easy and I put on my uniform and pull my hair back into a low ponytail. I also touch up my makeup and put an extra coat of gloss on my lips.
By the time we leave, the sky has already deepened into night, the cold chillier now, more insistent. Dylan fills the space beside me with restless excitement, his energy constant, buoyant.
We pull up outside Julian’s building, the townhome spellbinding in its grandeur each time I see it. I barely have it in park before the front door opens and Julian is trotting down the steps with a white shopping bag in hand.
Julian moves with the same precision he always does. “Aren’t you supposed to get his door or something?” Dylan asks from the back seat. I put him there, advising him that Julian likes to ride in front.
“He’s told me not to, so I don’t,” I reply just as Julian reaches the Range Rover.
He opens the door and slides in, leveling me a smile. “Good evening, Harper.”
“Good evening, Julian,” I reply, mimicking the formality. I then shift in my seat and look back at my brother. “This is Dylan.”
Julian twists to the left and shoots a beaming smile. “Pleased to meet you, Dylan.” He holds out his hand and they shake. “Excited about the game?”
“I’m so excited,” Dylan gushes. “Thank you so much for the tickets. Everyone in my class is losing their minds.”
Julian chuckles. “I’m glad. I hope you all sing the Vipers’ praises on social media after.”
There’s a brief pause—not awkward, not quite—but it lingers just long enough to be felt before Julian reaches into the bag. I’m stunned when he pulls out a Vipers’ jersey.
“Figured you should dress the part,” he says, handing it to Dylan. “I got you a Grizz McAvoy jersey since he’s the star of the team.”
Dylan takes it like it’s a fragile and priceless heirloom, unfolding it just enough to see the logo before breaking into a disbelieving grin. “Oh—this is—thank you,” he manages, words tripping over themselves as he tries to keep up with his own excitement.
Julian watches him with a smile before pulling another out of the bag and handing it to me. “And one for you.”
For a second, I don’t move. Because that same warmth from earlier returns and it’s more potent. “For me?” I ask.
“If you’re going to be there,” he says, as though the logic is simple, obvious, “it seemed appropriate.”
There it is… the invitation to watch the game from inside again. I reach for the jersey, my fingers brushing briefly against his as I take the sweater from his hand, the contact fleeting and accidental, yet it lingers in a way it shouldn’t.
“You can wear it in the suite tonight,” he continues. “You’ll be watching the game with me.”
And as I sit there, the jersey in my hands and Dylan practically glowing from the back seat, I feel that subtle sensation again, like I’ve stepped outside the life I understand and into a new one that’s almost too unreal to believe.
“Thank you,” I breathe out. “I really appreciate it.”
At the arena, Dylan peels off to the section where he’ll meet his friends, and I follow Julian up to the owner’s suite. As before, the atmosphere inside is overwhelming, packed with the who’s who of New York society here at Julian Langley’s invitation.
Julian deposits me at the buffet, promising to return after he has a few words with someone, and I’m left staring at trays of things I can’t immediately identify—delicate, artfully arranged, each piece looking more like it belongs in a display case than on a plate.
There’s caviar laid out with small spoons, sushi so cleanly cut it doesn’t look real, and other items I don’t have names for but instinctively know are expensive.
I linger near the edge of the food table, scanning, calculating, trying to decide what’s… safe. What won’t immediately mark me as someone who doesn’t belong in a room like this.
And then I see it: a silver platter piled with hot dogs.
I let out a breath and reach for one, putting it on a small plate of fine china. I doctor it up with mustard before taking a bite. The familiar taste grounds me instantly, pulling me out of my own head. I eat the hot dog and consider another, but that’s when I notice the éclairs.
A whole tray of them, lined up neatly at the end of the table, glossy and perfect. They’re Dylan’s favorite and I know his eyes would light up if he were standing here right now.
I glance around quickly, making sure no one is paying too much attention, and reach for one. I quickly wrap it in a napkin, knowing that the chocolate will stick to it, but it should taste fine all the same. I slip it into my bag with a small, satisfied sense of victory.