Chapter 11 Harper #2
Silence stretches as I fight the urge to go to him. To touch him. My resolve wobbles, the familiar pull creeps in the longer we stand here, the longer I look at him and remember how easily I trusted him with my heart in a single, wonderful night.
But I can’t let that happen again. Mason comes first. Always.
“Because I want to handle things my way. I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But I need to handle this in a way that doesn’t cost me myself. Not again.”
He studies me for a long moment, then nods once. “Okay.”
We move into the kitchen without really deciding to, each of us finding something to do that doesn’t require eye contact. I pour water that I don’t drink. He straightens something that was already straight. The tension hums, low and constant, threaded through every movement.
“This isn’t over,” he says quietly.
“I know.” And that’s the problem. Because part of me doesn’t want it to be.
Evening settles in whether we acknowledge it or not.
The light outside the penthouse windows shifts from bright to gold to something softer, the city easing into night. I turn lamps on one by one, needing the space to feel lived in instead of cold. Aiden watches me do it without comment, his presence heavy and unignorable even when he isn’t speaking.
We end up in the kitchen again, orbiting the same argument from different angles.
He wipes the counter. “I can take some time off at work and stay with you. Not hovering. Just… here.”
“That’s still hovering,” I reply, setting a glass down harder than necessary. “And it’s not what I asked for.”
“What you asked for was to pretend a murder attempt didn’t change anything.”
I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms. “It changed my bar. It changed my schedule. It does not change my autonomy.”
“You’re not hearing me,” he counters. “This isn’t about control. This is about risk.”
“And you’re not hearing me,” I fire back. “Every time a man has told me he knows what’s best for my safety, it’s ended with me giving something up.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m not asking you to give anything up.”
“Yes, you are,” I say. “You’re asking me to trust you with decisions that belong to me.”
Silence stretches between us, taut and brittle.
I hate how much effort it takes to hold my ground.
I hate that some part of me wants to fold, to let him take over, to believe that this time would be different.
I’ve already walked that road. I know how it ends.
With regret. With apologies that come too late.
With a kid who learns what disappointment looks like earlier than he should.
He turns, heading out of the kitchen. But before he’s gone, he mutters, “I’m not those men, Harper. I’m not asking you to give anything up. I’m not trying to take anything from you. The only thing I want out of this is to know you and Mason are safe.”
“I know—”
“No, that’s not entirely true.” He turns to face me. “There’s one more thing I want out of this.”
“What?”
He stares at me for the longest minute of my life, and something inside of me cracks wide open. Then, he leaves the kitchen, and I can finally breathe again.
We drift apart after that, each of us claiming separate corners of the penthouse, pretending to be occupied. I answer emails from my phone. He checks something on his laptop. The distance doesn’t make the tension go away. It just gives it room to grow.
Every so often, I catch his eyes on me, like he’s holding himself back by sheer force of will. I look away before I can lose the nerve I’ve spent all day building.
How is it that a simple fire and a night with a man makes all those therapy sessions feel like nothing?
I remind myself that loving someone doesn’t mean letting them steer your life.
That wanting him doesn’t obligate me to repeat old mistakes.
That Mason’s safety is nonnegotiable, even if my heart wants to gamble.
The sound of my phone cuts through the quiet like a crack of thunder.
I glance down at the screen without thinking, expecting Carlie or a number I don’t recognize. My stomach drops when I see the name instead.
David.
I don’t move right away. I just stare at it, the familiar dread flooding my system so fast it makes me dizzy. I swallow and answer. “Hello.”
“Harper.”
“What do you want?” I ask, keeping my voice flat.
“Nice to hear from you too,” David says. His tone is casual, practiced, the way it always is when he thinks he has the upper hand. “I heard you’re shacking up with some guy in Columbus.”
My grip tightens on the phone. “My living situation is none of your business.”
“It is when our kid is involved,” he replies smoothly. “I’m coming to get Mason this weekend. We need to talk about the custody arrangement.”
“We have a schedule. You don’t get to change it. One weekend a month that we agree on the month before, a week in the summer, and one of the major holidays.”
“I get to interrupt the schedule when I think something’s not safe,” David counters. “It’s bad enough that you’re running some trashy bar and exposing Mason to who knows what there—”
“For God’s sake, we have a kids’ menu, David! It’s not a strip club. Calm down!” Rage flares hot and fast, but underneath it is fear. Real fear. The kind that crawls under your skin and sinks its teeth in. “It’s perfectly safe!”
“You had a fire, Harper. That’s not safe for my son!”
“You don’t get to use this against me,” I say through clenched teeth. “Any building can have a fire.”
“I’m not using anything,” he replies. “I’m being a parent. You should try it sometime.”
Behind me, I hear Aiden move. I don’t turn around, but I know he’s there. Can’t focus on him. “You’re being an ass again, David. You don’t get to pick apart the life I’m building for us when you’re not even around to help with Mason.”
“I’ll be around,” David continues. “In person. This weekend.”
“Expect a call from my lawyer.”
He laughs quietly. “Right.” The line goes dead.
I lower the phone slowly, my hands shaking now that I’m no longer forcing them steady. The penthouse feels suddenly smaller, the walls pressing in.
Aiden’s voice is low when he speaks. “What happened?”
I close my eyes for a moment before looking at him. “David’s coming to visit with Mason this weekend.” Suddenly, keeping my heart out of this feels a lot less important than keeping my son safe.