Chapter 31 Harlow
HARLOW
Just a square on a page, a number on my phone screen that I can just overlook.
Except my body doesn’t treat it like that. My body treats it like a bruise. Something you touch by accident and then spend the rest of the day trying not to flinch from the pain.
I wake up before my alarm, eyes open to the sun not yet up and the anything but quiet hum of my dorm building. Somewhere down the hall, a girl laughs far too loudly for this time of day. I can hear a shower running, feet padding along the hallway, and everyone else just moving about their lives.
I lie there and try to decide what kind of birthday this is going to be. The kind where I disappear. Or the kind where I show up.
So I get up.
Shower. Hoodie. Mascara because I’m stubborn and refuse to look like someone who didn’t sleep, even though that’s exactly who I am.
I’m tying my shoes when there’s a knock on my door.
Not the quick, impatient kind.
The careful kind.
My heart trips, because I already know who is standing on the other side of my door.
Knocks have patterns. Weston knocks like he’s starting a fight with wood. Kai knocks like he’s announcing himself. Grayson knocks like he’s hesitantly asking if he can exist here with me.
I stand there for one stupid second, staring at my door like it might open itself. Then I walk over and pull it open.
Grayson is standing in the hall with two coffee cups in a drink carrier in one hand and a paper bag in the other. Wearing a PCU hockey shirt and athletic shorts, eyes a little tired in a way that makes him look more human than hockey god.
He looks at me and his face shifts. Not a smile. Just something soft, like his whole chest unclenches.
“Happy birthday,” he says quietly.
It hits me low. Warm and sharp at the same time.
My throat tightens. “You do know it’s literally seven a.m. on a Saturday, right?”
His mouth twitches. “I know. I’m trying to be first.”
I blink. “First at what?”
“Making you smile,” he says, like it’s obvious.
My mouth tries. It fails. It tries again and succeeds just enough that he sees it. His gaze catches the tiny curve like it matters. God, I hate him a little for being like that.
Something closer to I don’t know what to do with how much I feel.
He lifts the paper bag. “I came with gifts.”
I stare at a blueberry muffin. The exact kind I told a username in the dark didn’t feel scary. My chest squeezes. I hate that my eyes sting instantly. Grayson’s gaze flicks to my face, to the way I go too still.
He doesn’t say, Are you okay?
He doesn’t say, I remembered.
He doesn’t give it more attention.
He just shifts his weight like he’s ready to leave if I need him to.
I swallow and step back. “Come in.”
His eyebrows lift like he didn’t expect the invitation.
Then he walks in like he’s careful with his feet, like my small dorm room is a sacred space and not a beige box with a twin bed and a desk that wobbles if you breathe too hard.
He sets the coffees down on my desk and places the muffin beside them.
Then he stands there for a beat like he doesn’t know where to put his hands.
It’s ridiculous how attractive that is.
The fact that he can be confident on ice and still look slightly uncertain in my room, like he’s afraid to take up the wrong kind of space.
I close the door and lean back against it for half a second, grounding myself. Grayson turns his head, watching me without staring. His eyes feel like a hand at my back. Not pushing. Just present.
“You have a lab today, right?” he asks, like he’s reminding me we live in reality.
“Unfortunately,” I mutter.
His mouth quirks. “Hopefully it goes by quickly.”
I glance at the coffees. “Which one is mine?”
He points. “Vanilla.”
I narrow my eyes. “You remembered?”
“I listened,” he corrects.
I pick up the coffee cup and hold it like it’s warmth that I’m allowed to keep. Then I look at the muffin again. I hate that my brain still does inventory at times.
But today is my twenty-first birthday. I refuse to let anything from my past have any hold over my future.
I slowly take a breath. In through my nose, out through my mouth.
Grayson doesn’t move. Doesn’t watch my hands. Doesn’t look at my mouth like he’s counting bites. He turns slightly, gaze flicking toward my window like he’s giving me privacy to make my own choice.
Which somehow makes the choice easier. I open the bag and take a bite.
Blueberry has always been my favorite. Soft, sweet, and still slightly warm, with the perfect amount of crumble on top.
Grayson turns back slowly, eyes on my face instead of the muffin.
“How is it?” he asks.
I swallow, using my free hand to cover my mouth. “So good.”
His gaze warms as he smiles. “I’m glad.”
There’s a beat where the air between us feels thick with things we don’t name.
My birthday, yes, but also his brother’s.
The fact that we share a date like the universe tried to stitch us together without asking permission. Grayson clears his throat, like he can feel the weight too.
“I can walk you,” he says. “If you want.”
I hesitate. The hall outside is loud. Students passing. Doors slamming. The kind of chaotic morning energy that makes my head start hurting before I even get a chance to truly start my day.
I nod once. “Okay.”
We leave my room, and it’s weird how quickly the hallway noise sharpens my senses again.
My shoulders rise, my steps get smaller, and Grayson adjusts without commenting.
He moves slightly to the outside as we walk, putting himself between me and the biggest flow of people.
A guy barrels out of a door too fast and nearly collides with me.
Grayson’s hand lifts—not touching me, just hovering at my elbow like a guardrail.
The guy mutters sorry and keeps going. Grayson’s hand drops immediately, like he knows the difference between helpful and hovering.
My stomach does that tight-warm thing again.
We make it outside, and the fresh air instantly has my shoulders relaxing.
“Better?” Grayson asks quietly.
I nod. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t say, Good girl.
He doesn’t say, Proud of you.
He just walks with me like this is normal. Which is the most dangerous kind of kindness.
At my building’s steps, he stops. He doesn’t crowd the doorway. Doesn’t come too close. He just looks at me like he’s taking a mental picture.
“Tonight,” he says, careful, “I want to take you out.”
My pulse stutters.
“Like a birthday dinner?” I ask.
He nods once. “If you want to. No surprise party or anything crazy like that.” He shrugs. “Just us.”
I can feel a smile on my lips. I love that he knows I wouldn’t want anything big or loud, that I’d truly prefer just doing something with him.
His mouth twitches, like he wants to smile wider but is holding himself back.
Then, softer, “It’s your day. It should be however you want it to be.”
And it makes my chest ache because my brain immediately responds with its old reflex.
Don’t be too much. Don’t take up too much space. Don’t say the wrong thing.
I look down at my coffee and force air into my lungs.
Clearing my throat, I meet his eyes again. “I better get to class.”
Grayson’s gaze stays on me like he can tell I’m fighting my own head.
He doesn’t push. He just smiles. “Definitely. Text me after you’re done for the day?”
I nod, agreeing, and he pulls me in for a hug, and I let myself breathe him in, even just for a moment. The mixture of his soap and the rhythm of his heartbeat are the most calming things I’ve ever found.
Breaking contact, he gives me one more small smile before heading in the opposite direction of where I need to go.
I watch him walk down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, shoulders a little hunched, like he carries more than he shows.
And I stand there for a second with a muffin in my stomach and coffee in my hand and the unfamiliar sensation of being cared for.
Not watched. Not worried over.
But cared for.
By the time I make it back to my dorm after my lab, I’m tired in the physical and mental sense of the word. I want to crawl into bed and disappear. Instead, I go to the mirror and fix my hair because tonight is mine, even if I have to fight for it.
My phone buzzes.
Gray: hey beautiful, still up for dinner?
Harlow: Absolutely.
Gray: good :) i’ll pick you up at 6:30?
Harlow: Sounds good. Kai is about to come get me for lunch.
Gray: i know, or i’d be seeing you sooner than tonight
I can’t help the smile that takes over my face. He always seems to know what to say to make me feel better.
After coming back from lunch with Kai, we just get settled into my dorm when there’s another knock at my door.
I open the door and—
Wren stands in my doorway like a sunbeam that forgot how to be subtle.
Balloons in one hand, a bakery bag and gift bag in the other.
Her bright eyes are full of happiness as she squeals, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEETCHEEKS!”
I open my mouth, but all I can do is laugh.
So Wren does what Wren has always done; she steps forward and wraps her arms around me like she’s claiming space for both of us.
“Hi,” she says into my hair, with her voice muffled.
I laugh, breathless. “Hi.”
I hug her back hard and realize just how much I missed the version of myself that exists around her.
We pull back, and her eyes skim my face like she’s checking for cracks.
Then her grin returns, bright and unapologetic.
“I do think you’ve gotten taller since high school,” she declares.
“I’m not taller,” I deadpan.
“You are,” she insists, then points a finger at me. “Also, you look hot.”
I blink. “Wren.”
“What?” she says innocently. “I’ve been abroad for the last nine months, babe. I speak the truth now.”
I snort, and she beams like she won.
Then I remember a very important detail, and my stomach drops.
“Kai,” I say quickly.
Because Kai is—
I glance over my shoulder.
And there he is.
Standing near my desk like he was mid-sentence in whatever he’d been about to say.
He’s frozen, as if his whole body pauses because his brain just hit a memory it didn’t prepare for.
Wren’s smile falters as her eyes follow mine.
The room goes quiet in that unnatural, electric way that happens when history walks into a space you didn’t clear for it.
Kai’s throat bobs.
He looks…stunned.
Like his mouth forgot how to work.
“You’re back,” he blurts.
Wren’s eyes sharpen for half a second, then soften again like she’s practicing calm.
“I’m back,” she says, her voice steady. “Hi, Kai.”
Kai’s jaw tightens.
His gaze flicks to me, like he’s realizing I’m here in the middle of this, watching it happen, and it’s not fair.
It’s not fair to any of us.
He swallows hard and looks back at Wren, eyes too bright in a way that makes my stomach twist.
Then he does the least Kai thing possible.
He bolts.
Not literally running, but the emotional version of running.
He steps toward the door, one hand already on the knob like the room is on fire.
“I—” He exhales hard. “I’ll…I’ll let you two talk.”
Wren’s mouth tightens.
“Okay,” she says.
Kai nods once, sharp, like he’s confirming a decision.
Then he’s gone.
The door clicks shut behind him with the careful quiet of someone trying not to make it worse.
The silence after is thick.
Wren blinks a few times, apparently just as dazed and confused as I feel about whatever that was. Then she looks at me like she wants to laugh and scream at the same time.
I exhale. “Well.”
Wren’s mouth twitches. “That was…awkward.”
“That was very awkward,” I confirm.
Wren steps into the room fully and drops the bags and balloons on my chair like she owns it, then turns back to me and opens her arms again.
“Come here,” she says.
On one hand, I’m thrilled to have my best friend here. On the other, her being here means Kai has to see her, which, judging by his reaction today, may not be the best thing.
Wren’s mouth tightens as if she hears my thoughts.
“I know,” she says softly. “It’s…complicated.”
“Understatement,” I mutter.
Wren’s eyes flick to me. “How is he?”
I hesitate, because how do I answer that? Because Kai is fine. Kai is not fine. Kai is a hurricane pretending to be a person.
“He’s…trying,” I say finally. “He’s captain now. He’s…intense, as usual.”
Wren snorts softly. “He was intense at fourteen.”
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s worse now.”
Wren’s mouth twitches. “Great.”
I glance at the time, then at my closet, then back at Wren.
“I have dinner later,” I say carefully.
Wren’s brows lift. “With who?”
I feel heat crawl up my neck. “Grayson.”
Wren goes still for a beat, then a wicked smile slowly takes over. “Oh.”
I narrow my eyes, doing my best to glare. “Don’t even.”
Wren leans closer, stage whispering, “Is he a freak in the sheets?”
I blink. “Wren.”
“What?” she says innocently. “I was celibate the entire time I was in London. I deserve joy.”
I huff, but my mouth twitches.
Wren’s eyes brighten. “And does he treat you like you’re precious and not fragile? Because there’s a difference.”
I think about that for a second, even though I already know the answer.
Being with Grayson is the only time I actually feel stronger.
He makes me feel more confident and brings out a boldness that I’ve never experienced before.
He never treats me like I’m broken or something that might shatter if he makes the wrong step.
He simply gives me space and time to find what it is I want or need and supports me in whatever that is.
“Yeah, he does.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Now,” she says, clapping her hands together, “let’s watch a movie and figure out what you’re wearing tonight. I want that man's jaw to be on the floor.”