Chapter 22 Grayson
GRAYSON
All I’ve been able to think about for the last week is that I shouldn’t be this aware of my phone.
It sits in my pocket like a weight I can’t name without turning it into a confession.
Heavy enough that I keep checking it without taking it out.
Like if I don’t look, the thing I’m avoiding won’t exist. Harlow texts me first, and every excuse I’ve stacked up like sandbags just… collapses.
Harlow: You busy?
I stare at my screen like an idiot. I don’t think I’m supposed to feel this way over a text with two words.
Grayson: no. you?
Harlow: Trying to be normal. Failing.
A slow exhale through my nose. The closest thing to a laugh.
Same.
Grayson: want help failing somewhere quieter?
A pause.
Harlow: Coffee shop?
Grayson: five minutes.
I shove my phone back into my pocket before I can overthink the part where my chest feels lighter just because she texted.
That’s a problem.
Not because she did anything wrong.
Because I’m starting to crave it.
Her reaching out.
Her choosing me.
Her showing up in my day like it’s allowed.
And somewhere, deep in the back of my head, there’s the other thread I’ve been avoiding like a bruise.
LittleTooMuch.
The username I haven’t looked at because I can’t look at it without thinking about the way Harlow says maybe like it’s a shield. Without thinking about the way her fingers go white around a cup when a room gets too loud. Without thinking about a dozen tiny things that shouldn’t add up…but they do.
As much as I know I’m right…
I’m terrified that I am. Harlow has trusted me with so much, and the last thing I want to do is break that.
She’s already there when I get to the coffee shop—same window seat, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands like she’s braced for contact with the world. There’s a half-finished drink in front of her. A napkin folded into a perfect little rectangle, like it’s doing the work of keeping her here.
She looks up when I walk in. The second our eyes meet, something in her face eases. Not a smile. Just…less fight. It hits me in the ribs anyway. Harder than it should. Like my body recognizes victory even when my brain refuses to call it that.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” she responds.
I go order a coffee I don’t want because having something in my hands makes me look like I belong here. Like I’m not just a guy who walked into a crowded room because a girl asked.
When I sit down, I don’t take the chair beside her. I take the one across.
Not distance like rejection.
Distance like, I’m not here to crowd you.
Her gaze drops to my cup. “Vanilla?”
I blink. “You stalking me?”
Her mouth twitches. “It’s obvious.”
“Rude,” I mutter.
She lifts a shoulder, deadpan. “Accurate.”
Outside, campus is loud with afternoon life—bikes cutting through foot traffic, laughter that bounces off concrete, some guy shouting into his phone like volume equals importance.
Inside, it’s…manageable.
Harlow’s eyes drift to the window. “Did you guys win last night?”
“Mm,” I say. “We did.”
She looks at me like she’s deciding if she can say the thing she wants to say without it becoming a thing.
“Did you score any goals?”
My lips kick up on one side, because yes, I did.
“I did,” I say, choosing to take the humble route and not mention just how great of a game I had. I shrug like it doesn’t matter, because right now, it doesn’t. “It’s easy to be good at the one thing people let you be. I’ve worked hard, and that shows.”
Harlow’s gaze sharpens. “That was…a lot of honesty for you.”
I snort. “I’m full of surprises.”
She studies me, curiosity building like she’s testing the ice. Like she’s deciding if I’m safe enough to lean into. Good. That’s what we need. I glance at her drink. Then her hands. “You eat today?”
Not a roll call. Not a performance.
Just a check.
Her eyes flash. “Kai already did his check-in.”
“I’m not doing that,” I say quickly. “I’m kinda hungry and wanted to grab something. Was just going to see if you wanted to tag along.”
Harlow holds my gaze for a beat, then looks away like she hates that she cares about the answer at all.
“I tried,” she says. “It’s not a great day, but I managed a bagel and a banana.”
Something in my ribs loosens. Just a notch. Like the part of me that’s been holding its breath all week finally gets air.
“Okay,” I say. “Good.”
Her brows lift. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” I confirm.
Her exhale is sharp, like she’s not sure if she’s relieved or irritated. Probably both. Then she says, like she’s changing the subject but not really, “Weston warned me that you were bad at small talk, but I didn’t believe him until now.”
Weston is dead.
“I’m great at small talk,” I say.
Harlow’s mouth twitches. “Liar.”
I lean back. “Fine. I’m bad at it.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Because it’s boring? I don’t know. It feels kinda pointless. Why talk about the weather when I can ask questions that I actually care to know the answers to?”
She must accept my response as the truth, since silence follows in the moments after.
Harlow breaks it first. “Okay. My turn.”
“Your turn for what?”
She sits up like she’s decided we’re doing this. Like she’s claiming the right to know me the way I’m starting to want to know her.
“Real questions,” she says.
My pulse ticks up.
“Go ahead.”
“When’s your birthday?”
I blink. Not what I expected.
“January twenty-eighth,” I say. “Why?”
Harlow’s gaze drops to her hands like she’s deciding if she wants to hand me something personal.
“Just curious. I want to know more about you.” Then she looks up. “Mine’s soon.”
“Oh yeah? When?” I ask.
“November twenty-first.”
The world narrows instantly. My stomach drops like I missed a step, like my body found the bottom of a staircase it didn’t know was there. I don’t move. I don’t speak. My brain just lit up with a name I don’t often say out loud unless I’m already bleeding.
Harlow watches my face and immediately knows she hit something.
“Gray,” she says softly. “What is it?”
I swallow.
Once. Twice.
“Owen,” I manage.
Her brows knit. “Owen?”
“My brother,” I say, and my voice stays steady because I make it. “You guys have the same birthday.”
Harlow goes still, her eyes a mix of sympathy and shock.
“Oh. That’s why you understood what was happening in the bookstore.”
It’s barely a whisper.
I nod once, jaw tight like it can keep the grief contained if I clamp down hard enough.
Harlow doesn’t fill the space with cheap comfort, with lines of “I’m so sorry” or anything like that.
She just sits beside me, letting me calm down, and doesn’t force this into a conversation I don’t want to have right now. And I tell her what I can manage.
“He died in an accident when I was fifteen. On his way to my game.”
Her eyes grow shiny with unshed tears. It confuses me at first, but then I understand. She’s sad for me. Not in the sense of pity, but because she knows how precious it is to have a sibling, especially one you’re close to.
“Is that why November is hard?” she asks.
I nod again.
“Not just because of the birthday coming up,” I say, voice flattening. “It’s like…everything stacks up. The world gets loud, and it doesn’t stop. The holidays are coming, which is hard to navigate alone, and then the anniversary of losing him isn’t far after.”
Harlow watches me like she’s listening with her whole body.
“Were you with him?” she asks softly.
I shake my head. “No, I was already at my game.”
She doesn’t push for details, thank God.
She tugs her sleeve down again, then says quietly, “Happy early birthday.”
I blink.
She gives a small, awkward shrug, a grin tinged with sadness toying on her mouth. “To both of us.”
Something in my chest cracks. I look away quickly, because if I let myself hold her gaze too long right now, I might do something stupid, so I hug her quickly, not trusting myself to let it linger longer than a few seconds.
Pulling away, I fight the urge to bring her back to me. To tilt her chin up and cover her lips with my own. To lose myself in her, even for just a moment.
Instead, I anchor myself with a question that feels safer than the one burning a hole through my pocket.
“What’s your favorite birthday memory?” I ask.
Harlow’s eyes widen slightly. “Why?”
“Because,” I say bluntly. Then softer, “I want to know.”
She studies me. Cautious. Then she answers anyway.
“When I was nine,” she says, her voice going distant. “Kai took me skating, just the two of us. We got hot chocolate after, and he let me get extra marshmallows.”
My chest does something weird because I can picture it perfectly.
Her small and bundled up, eyes bright on the ice. Kai being…softer. Before captain mode became his armor. Before a teammate took pieces of her that no one should take.
“You remember the marshmallows, huh?” I say, a slight teasing in my tone.
“Of course.” Harlow smiles, a small giggle working its way out. “That was the best part.”
I smile before I can stop it. Harlow’s eyes flick to my mouth like she caught it. And there it is—the moment where she looks like she’s deciding if she’s allowed to act on whatever this is between us.
I decide for her.
I look away. Give her room.
A beat passes.
Then she says quietly, “Your turn.”
“What?” I ask.
“Tell me something about him,” she says. “About Owen.”
My throat tightens again.
I swallow. Then I give her a truth. One that’s been sitting under my ribs for years. “He always came back,” I say, and my voice goes rough. “No matter how mad we were. No matter what.”
Harlow’s eyes shine. She blinks fast like she hates herself for feeling.
I hate it too. I hate that the world made her someone who has to fight her own softness. I hate that I want to be the place she doesn’t have to.
She clears her throat. “He’d be proud of you, you know.”
The words land low, heavy.
“Yeah?” I manage.
Harlow nods. “Yeah. You work hard, you take care of your friends, and you’re kind. You’re a good guy, Gray.”
I stand before I do something reckless with my feelings. Or worse, blurt out another truth I haven’t figured out how to explain yet. “Walk you to class?”
Harlow’s mouth twitches. “You’re changing the subject.”
“I absolutely am,” I say.
She stands too, laughing, and we step back into the noise of campus together. My shoulder brushes hers when someone cuts too close, and the contact lights my skin on fire. She doesn’t move away, and neither do I.
Halfway down the sidewalk, I force myself to do the thing I’ve been rehearsing in my head since this morning—before I can chicken out.
“Harlow,” I say.
She looks up at me. “Yeah?”
I keep my voice casual, like my heart isn’t trying to punch through my ribs. “There’s a donor dinner this weekend.”
Her brows lift. “Okay?”
“It’s…not fun,” I say because honesty is easier than pretending. “A lot of talking. A lot of people pretending they’re not judging you.”
Harlow’s mouth twitches. “Sounds awful.”
“It is,” I confirm. Then, quieter, because this part matters, “I don’t want to go alone.”
Her steps slow just a fraction.
I keep walking beside her, letting her decide if she wants to stop or keep moving.
“Come with me?” I ask. “As my date.”
Harlow stares at me like she’s trying to figure out if this is a joke.
It’s not.
I don’t let myself fill the space with explanations because I’ll ruin it.
So I just add, honestly, “I want you there.”
Her throat moves. She looks away, then back.
“And if you don’t want to,” I say quickly, “that’s okay. I’ll survive the chicken and the rich people.”
Harlow huffs a small laugh. It’s startled, but it’s real.
Then she says, softly, “That’s…a lot.”
“I know,” I admit.
Her gaze drifts over my face like she’s reading for intent.
“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable,” I say, and the words come out rougher than I planned. “I’ll keep you close, but if you get anxious or anything, we can leave as soon as you say the word.”
Harlow’s eyes soften in a way that makes my chest ache.
She nods once, slowly. “Okay, I’ll go.”
Relief hits me so hard I almost stop walking.
I don’t. I just breathe it in like I’ve been holding my lungs hostage.
“Okay,” I say back, voice low. “It’s a date.”
Harlow’s mouth twitches. “But if Weston tries to introduce me to rich people like I’m a new dog, I’m leaving.”
A laugh slips out of me, real and brief. “Deal.”
We reach her building.
At the door, we pause in that awkward space where leaving feels wrong.
I want, no, need, to touch her, but I don’t, shoving my hands into my pockets.
“I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah,” she says, biting her lower lip, indecision clear in her expression. She turns toward the building, only to make it one step away before she turns back around, coming to a stop right in front of me.
Leaning up, she presses a quick kiss to my cheek, and I think I might pass out.
“Thanks for the walk, Gray. It made my day pretty great.”
With that, she turns back to the building, heading into class, leaving me absolutely stunned speechless on the sidewalk.
When I finally turn and head to the parking lot, I can’t stop smiling even if I tried.