Chapter 11 Harper
HARPER
The firehouse feels different when the police are standing in it.
It’s still loud, still full of motion and chaos, but the presence of two detectives changes the temperature of the room.
Conversations lower. The crew keeps working, but their attention keeps sliding back to us like magnets snapping to metal.
I’m acutely aware of Mason at my side, his small fingers curled into the hem of my shirt, his helmet slipping slightly as he shifts his weight.
This is exactly what I didn’t want him to see. But maybe if he sees them working toward a solution, he’ll feel better about the fire.
Not that I want him wrapped up in all this. I’m just not sure which is the better option for his mental health. Ignorance or information.
The detectives’ voices are calm, practiced, the kind of calm that’s meant to keep people steady while they ask questions that make everything worse. They don’t rush me. They don’t push. It’s like they’re taking Mason into account.
Mason’s watching the dalmatian again, thankfully distracted, but he’s not oblivious. He knows something serious is happening. He always does.
Detective Harris—the tall one—says, “This could take a while.” Then his gaze dips to Mason.
I can’t tell if he wants to talk about this without my son around, or if he’s genuinely being considerate, but I’ll take his advice. “Understood. Give me a minute.” I pull my phone out and text Carlie with quick, efficient fingers.
Can you come grab Mason? Aiden’s firehouse. Please.
And then it hits me that I don’t know if she’s at work or not. But her response comes almost immediately.
On my way. Fun aunt rescue mission engaged.
Relief loosens something tight in my chest.
The detectives start with the basics. My name. The bar. The date of the fire. Then they move where I knew they would. “Marcus Chen,” Detective Yellowstone says. “You terminated his employment?”
“Three months ago.”
“For cause?”
“I caught him stealing from the register. Multiple times.” I swallow. “I had it on camera.”
They exchange a look and nod. “How did he react?”
“Not good. He said I was ruining his life. He made some vague threats.”
“What kind of threats?”
I hesitate. My stomach twists. “Nothing specific. On his way out, he shouted that I’d regret it. Social media stuff about getting revenge on people who screw you over. He tagged the bar’s social pages so we’d see it.”
Aiden stiffens beside me. I can feel it without looking at him.
Detective Harris asks, “Did you report these threats?”
“No,” I admit quietly. “I didn’t think he’d actually hurt anyone. People say things online all the time.” Saying it out loud makes it sound thin, and Detective Harris’ expression tells me I’m an idiot for not taking it seriously.
But Detective Yellowstone looks unperturbed. “You didn’t do anything irresponsible by not reporting vague posts. If we were called to investigate every online threat, we’d never get anything done.”
The reassurance helps, but it doesn’t absolve me of my part in this. Guilt settles in, heavy and insistent. I should have done more. I should have taken it seriously. I should have protected my business better.
I should have protected my kid better.
“We’re actively looking for him,” Detective Harris continues. “He hasn’t been home. His roommate says he’s been acting strangely.”
My chest tightens. “Strangely how?”
“Agitated. Paranoid. Not sleeping much.”
I nod slowly, absorbing that. None of it makes me feel better.
“You should go home and get some rest,” Detective Yellowstone advises. “We’ll be in touch. This will take time, so if you don’t hear from us after a week, reach out.”
Aiden isn’t having it. “She’s not going anywhere without security.”
I turn toward him sharply. “Excuse me?”
“Someone tried to burn down your business,” he says, voice low and unyielding. “You’re not doing this alone.”
“I can take care of myself,” I snap.
“This isn’t about independence,” he replies. “It’s about keeping you and Mason safe.”
The crew is openly watching now. No one pretends otherwise. Garrett actually leans against a truck, arms crossed, grinning like this is better than cable. Asshole.
“You don’t get to swoop in and play hero after six years of nothing,” I say, heat rising fast.
“I’m not playing anything,” Aiden fires back. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
The words hang between us, heavy and dangerous. And we both know we’re not really talking about the arson anymore.
Aiden’s jaw is tight, his posture rigid, like he’s physically holding himself back from saying more. I’m doing the same, my hands curled into fists at my sides.
This is exactly how bad decisions start.
Detective Harris clears his throat to cut in. “You said he made posts online. Do you still have access to those?”
“Yes,” I answer. “I can pull them up.” I do, scrolling through the bar’s social media pages to where Marcus tagged us. At the time, it had felt like bluster. Angry, vague language. Now every line reads differently, stripped of context and comfort.
People think they can screw you over and walk away.
Everyone gets what’s coming to them eventually.
No one takes what’s mine.
Memes about justice, revenge, bars, and that one Simpson’s meme that reads, “Kill it with fire!”
I swallow and turn the phone so the detectives can see. They study it carefully, nodding, taking notes.
Carlie finally appears then, breezing into the bay with the kind of confidence that suggests she knows exactly how to read a room and doesn’t care who’s watching.
She crouches immediately in front of Mason, eyes lighting up.
“There you are,” she says brightly. “I hear there’s a dog and a fire pole involved in today’s activities. ”
Mason grins, instantly distracted. “And a helmet!”
She knocks her knuckles on it. “Ready, kiddo?”
I kneel in front of him, smoothing his hair back after removing the borrowed helmet. “You’re going to have a fun aunt afternoon, okay?”
“Can we get ice cream?” he asks.
“Obviously,” Carlie says.
I stand as she takes his hand, my chest tight as he chatters excitedly about Argyle and trucks and how he might be a dog walker when he grows up.
As they head for the door, Carlie slows just long enough to lean in.
“Talk to him,” she murmurs. “Really talk. You both deserve closure. Or a second chance.”
I don’t answer. I don’t trust myself to. The firehouse feels emptier without Mason in it. Emptier still when the detectives leave a few minutes later.
The crew drifts back to work, disappointment faintly visible now that the entertainment is over. Aiden and I stand facing each other in the sudden quiet, neither of us willing to be the first to move.
“Harper,” he starts.
“Don’t. Not here.”
He nods, restrained but clearly unhappy about it. By the time we leave the firehouse, the sun is lower in the sky, the day slipping toward evening whether I’m ready for it or not. And the truth presses in, unwelcome and unavoidable.
Being alone with Aiden is going to be harder than talking to the police ever was.
The penthouse feels different without Mason.
It’s quieter, obviously, but it’s more than that. There’s no buffer anymore. No reason to keep my voice calm or my reactions measured. Just me and Aiden and raw honesty, standing in a space that’s been charged since the night before, pretending we don’t both feel it.
I set my keys on the counter with more force than necessary and shrug out of my jacket. My body is tired in that deep, vibrating way that comes from adrenaline finally draining out. My mind, unfortunately, is wide awake.
“We should talk,” Aiden says.
I let out a short breath that’s almost a laugh. “That’s what everyone keeps saying.”
“I’m serious,” he replies. “About earlier. About what I said.”
I turn to face him, crossing my arms automatically. “About you deciding I need security?”
“About you acting like this is just another problem you can muscle through alone,” he says. “Someone tried to burn down your business, Harper. That changes things.”
“It doesn’t change who I am,” I snap. “Or how I make decisions.”
“It changes the stakes.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Not really.”
He looks like I smacked him in the face. “Marcus tried to kill you!”
“He didn’t know when that leak would be a problem—”
“He didn’t care when it would be a problem!”
“Sure, but Aiden, it’s all the same for me.”
His brow lines in confusion. “How can you say that?”
“The stakes are always the same for me now. I’m a single mom, with an ex-husband across the country.
Our lives are on my shoulders. So, the math is always the same—will this decision be the end of me and my son?
Will that risk be what does us in?” I shrug.
“The stakes never change for me. I do what I can to be smart about it, but it’s all on me. Do you get that?”
His stormy blue eyes narrow. “All the more reason to be extra careful right now.”
I can’t tell if he understands me yet. “I have spent six years rebuilding my life. Making careful choices. Thinking things through. David was one of those choices that didn’t pan out, and now, I’m a divorced mom, so I have to be even more choosy.
” I grit my teeth to say the cruel thing out loud.
“I cannot afford to make bad decisions again just because something feels familiar.”
His face goes blank. Empty. “You think I’m a bad decision.”
“I think you’re a temptation,” I shoot back. “And that makes you dangerous.”
He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not asking you to give up control. I’m asking you to accept help.”
“That’s what David used to say,” I reply before I can stop myself.
The name lands between us like a dropped plate.
Aiden flinches. “I’m not David.”
“And that’s why this is harder. Because I want…”