Chapter 18
CONNOR
Iwoke to chaos.
The sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs, loud and urgent, the kind that said emergency in a language older than words. Then Jaxon's voice, sharp and commanding in a way I'd only heard when he was dealing with Daniel last year.
“Get up! Get dressed! Now!”
I sat up on the couch, disoriented and groggy, my neck stiff from the uncomfortable angle I'd been sleeping at. The blanket Anna had given me slid to the floor as I swung my legs over the edge. My brain was still foggy with sleep and the remnants of whatever nightmare I'd been having.
The living room was dark except for the pale glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains.
My phone sat on the coffee table where I'd left it after silencing it hours ago, unable to bear looking at Harper's name on the screen, unable to handle the urge to call her and apologize even though I'd been right to leave.
She'd lied. Kept secrets. Tried to make decisions about my life without including me.
But even thinking it made my chest ache with longing and regret.
Jaxon appeared at the bottom of the stairs, and the look on his face made my blood run cold.
I squinted at the clock on the wall and confusion ran through me when I noticed he was fully dressed at midnight.
Jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt thrown on over his t-shirt like he'd gotten dressed in a hurry.
But it was the gun in his hand that made my heart stop.
The Colt he kept in his bedside safe, held with the casual competence of someone who'd been a Marine and knew exactly how to use it.
“What's wrong?” I was on my feet before I'd consciously decided to move, adrenaline washing away the fog of sleep. “What happened?”
“Someone broke into your house.” Jaxon's voice was hard, controlled, the voice he used in emergencies when panic wasn't an option. “Harper called. She's okay, she's not hurt, but someone shattered your living room window trying to get in. Deputies are there now.”
The air rushed out of my lungs.
Harper.
“Is she—” I couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't push words past the terror constricting my throat.
“She's okay,” Jaxon repeated, moving toward me. His free hand gripped my shoulder, steadying and grounding. “Connor, listen to me. She's okay. She must’ve called 911. Chester went after whoever it was, she's shaken up but not hurt.”
I left her alone. The thought hit like a physical blow.
“Keys.” My voice came out rough, demanding. “Where are my keys?”
“Counter. But Connor—” Jaxon stepped in front of me as I moved toward the kitchen. “You need to breathe. You need to calm down before you get behind a wheel.”
“Get out of my way.” I tried to push past him, but he was solid and immovable and apparently determined to be reasonable when I wanted to be irrational.
“Connor.” His voice was sharp enough to cut through the panic. “I get it. I do. When Anna was in danger, I lost my mind too. But you driving in this state isn't going to help Harper. You'll wrap your truck around a tree before you get there.”
“Then you drive.” The words came out like a snarl. “I don't care. But I need to get to her. Now.”
Anna appeared at the top of the stairs, her blonde hair mussed from sleep, wearing one of Jaxon's old t-shirts over pajama shorts. “Connor, she's okay. Sheriff Davies is with her. She's safe.”
My phone. Where was my phone?
I lunged for the coffee table, grabbing it with hands that shook. The screen lit up, showing notifications I'd silenced hours ago.
One missed call. Thirty minutes ago.
Harper.
Harper had been alone and terrified while I'd been sleeping on Jaxon's couch, wallowing in hurt feelings and righteous anger.
“She called me.” My voice broke on the words. “She tried calling me and I didn't answer because I was being a stubborn asshole.”
Jaxon opened his mouth, a look of pity crossing his face before he could completely hide it, but I cut him off from whatever he was going to say.
“I have to go.” I was already moving, grabbing my jacket from where I'd thrown it over a chair, shoving my feet into my boots without bothering to tie them.
“Then let's go.” Jaxon was already grabbing his own jacket, his keys. “I'll drive. Anna, call Harper, let her know we're on the way.”
The drive to my house was the longest five minutes of my life.
Jaxon drove fast but safely, his Jeep ate up the dark road with the kind of controlled speed that came from years of emergency responses. Anna sat in the back, her phone pressed to her ear, talking to Harper in a low, soothing voice that I could barely hear over the roaring in my ears.
“She's okay,” Anna kept saying. “We're almost there. Just breathe. Stay with the deputies. We'll be there soon.”
I stared out the window at the darkness rushing past, my hands clenched into fists on my thighs, my jaw so tight it ached.
Images kept flashing through my mind. Harper alone in my house. Someone breaking in. The window shattering. Harper running upstairs, terrified, trying to call me while I slept with my phone silenced because I'd been too proud and hurt to answer.
What if Chester hadn't scared them off? What if the deputies hadn't been close? What if—
“Don't,” Jaxon said quietly, his eyes never leaving the road. “Don't go there. She's okay. That's what matters.”
But she wouldn't have been alone if I hadn't left. Wouldn't have been terrified in my house, hiding in my bedroom, if I'd swallowed my pride and stayed.
“I was an idiot,” I said, the words hollow. “She was trying to protect me, and I was so busy being angry that she didn't trust me that I—” My voice cracked. “I left her alone, Jax. What kind of man does that?”
“The kind who's human,” Jaxon said. “The kind who makes mistakes. Connor, you had a right to be upset. She kept something huge from you.”
“It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except—” I swallowed hard. “I told her I loved her and then I walked out.”
Anna made a small sound from the back seat. “You told her you loved her?”
“Right before I left. Right before I said love wasn't enough if she couldn't trust me.” The memory of Harper's face, devastated and breaking, made me want to punch something. “God, what was I thinking?”
“You were thinking you deserved honesty,” Jaxon said. “Which you did. But Connor, people make mistakes. They fuck up. The question is whether you can forgive her for trying to handle things alone, or if this is a dealbreaker.”
I knew the answer immediately. Had known it the second Jaxon said someone had broken in.
“It's not a dealbreaker. Nothing is. I just—” I scrubbed my hands over my face. “I need to see her. Need to know she's really okay.”
The rest of the drive passed in tense silence, broken only by Anna's quiet phone conversation with Harper. Reassurances and updates and the sound of Harper's voice in the background, shaky but alive.
When we finally breached the wood lined trail, I could see the lights from a mile away.
Red and blue flashing against the night sky, illuminating my ranch like a disaster scene.
Three sheriff's department vehicles were parked haphazardly in front of the house.
Deputies with flashlights were sweeping my property, focusing on the area around the rental cabins and the barn.
And through my living room window, the one that should have been dark and whole, I could see movement inside and light, the jagged edges of broken glass catching the illumination.
“Jesus,” Jaxon breathed as he pulled up behind one of the patrol cars.
I was out of the Jeep before he'd fully stopped, my feet hit the gravel and carried me toward my house with single-minded focus. A deputy tried to intercept me, some young guy I didn't recognize, his hand up in a stopping gesture. “Sir, this is an active crime scene—”
“This is my house.” My voice came out harsh. “My girlfriend is inside. Get out of my way.”
“Connor.” Sheriff Davies appeared in my doorway, his weathered face sympathetic but firm. “Come on in. But prepare yourself, it's a mess.”
I pushed past him, my eyes scanning the interior frantically.
The living room looked like a war zone. Glass was everywhere, scattered across the hardwood floor in a thousand glittering pieces, crunching under my boots as I moved.
The large picture window I'd installed five years ago was completely shattered, jagged shards still clung to the frame like teeth.
Cold night air poured through the opening, making the curtains flutter.
My coffee table was overturned. A lamp had been knocked over. There was blood on the floor near the door, not much, but enough to make my stomach clench.
“Chester bit whoever it was,” Davies said, following my gaze. “Good dog. Probably saved Ms. Walsh's life.”
Then I saw her.
Harper sat on my couch, the one piece of furniture that hadn't been disturbed, wrapped in a sheriff's department jacket. She looked small, fragile in a way that didn't fit the Harper I knew. Her red hair was tangled, her face pale, her eyes huge and shell-shocked.
Chester sat at her feet, his golden head resting on her knee, his mouth still stained with blood. Protecting her even now.
“Harper.”
Her head snapped up at my voice, and the relief that flooded her face was like a physical blow.
“Connor.” She was on her feet before I could move, stumbling slightly over the dog, and then she was running toward me.
I met her halfway, catching her as she collided with my chest and my arms wrapped around her so tight it had to hurt. But she just burrowed closer, her face pressed into my neck, her whole body shaking with sobs she'd probably been holding back.
“I'm sorry,” she gasped against my skin. “I'm so sorry. You were right and I was wrong and I should have trusted you and—”
“Shh.” I pressed my face into her hair, breathing in her vanilla shampoo. “I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have left. I should have stayed and talked it out instead of running away like a coward.”