Chapter 22 #2
The truck ate up the miles, familiar roads I'd driven thousands of times suddenly feeling too long, every curve and hill another obstacle between me and Harper. My hands clenched tighter on the wheel until my knuckles went white, until I could feel the steering wheel digging into my palms.
She was probably blaming herself right now.
Probably thinking this was her fault for not accepting their deal, for being stubborn, for daring to believe she could have something good without the universe taking it away.
That's how Harper's brain worked when things went wrong.
She turned it inward, made it about her failures instead of other people's cruelty.
My foot pressed down harder on the accelerator, the speedometer needle climbed past eighty-five in a way that would get me pulled over if any deputies were around.
I didn't care. Let them try to stop me. Harper needed me and every second I spent on this road was another second she was dealing with this alone.
Thirty-five minutes later I careened into town, probably leaving rubber on Main Street as I took the corner too fast. Three Sheriff's department vehicles were parked in front of Harper's boutique, red and blue lights flashing silently in a way that made everything feel surreal, like I was driving into a crime scene from a TV show instead of my girlfriend's destroyed business.
I pulled up behind Davies' patrol car, parking at an angle that probably blocked traffic, and was out of the truck before I'd fully processed stopping. My boots hit the pavement and I was moving, my whole body focused on one thing.
Getting to Harper.
Jaxon stood in the doorway like a sentinel, his body blocking the entrance, his expression grim in a way that said it was worse than he'd described on the phone.
Deputies stood outside by their cars, looking over images on a camera and looking towards the boutique with the kind of clinical detachment that came from seeing too many crime scenes.
Davies stood on the sidewalk talking into his radio, his weathered face showing every one of his sixty-some years.
But I didn't care about any of that.
I cared about the woman I could see through the front window, kneeling on the floor surrounded by destruction, and the sight of her like that made something crack in my chest.
I rushed past Davies without acknowledging whatever he was saying, past deputies who tried to stop me with words about crime scenes and preserving evidence that I ignored completely.
Past Jaxon who reached out like he might try to slow me down but then just stepped aside with a look that said Harper needed me more than they needed protocol.
The sight inside made my chest fill with a rage so intense I had to actively fight to keep it under control.
Everything was destroyed so completely like someone had spent hours making sure every single thing Harper loved was ruined.
Glass covered the floor in a glittering carpet that crunched under my boots.
Clothing racks lay bent and broken. Mannequins were scattered like bodies.
Mirrors had been shattered, and the walls were punched full of holes.
It looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer with pure spite and had gone to town on everything Harper had built.
But I barely registered the damage to the boutique itself.
All I could see was Harper.
She was on her knees in the center of the chaos, surrounded by bins of clothes, and the sight of her like that made something in my chest crack wider.
Harper, my Harper, who faced down everything life threw at her with sarcasm and stubborn determination, was on her knees sorting through ruins with mechanical precision.
Her face was streaked with tears she probably didn't even know she was crying, tracks running through what looked like dust or soot on her cheeks.
Her hair had fallen out of the ponytail she'd put it in this morning when she'd been smiling at me over coffee, pieces hanging around her face in a way that made her look younger and more vulnerable than I'd ever seen her.
There was a smudge of something dark on her cheek, dirt or soot or the remnants of someone else's cruelty.
She looked broken in a way I'd never seen before, and I'd seen her survive a lot. Seen her climb out of burning buildings and face down threats and keep going when most people would have given up. But this? This had finally cracked through her armor in a way nothing else had managed.
I looked back at Jaxon who stood in the doorway watching us with an expression that said he'd tried everything he could think of, and nothing had worked.
He met my gaze and shook his head slowly, then stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind him.
Giving us privacy. Giving me space to reach Harper in whatever way I could.
I crossed the room carefully, my boots crunching on broken glass with every step, each sound making me more aware of the destruction surrounding us.
I lowered myself to my knees beside her, close enough to touch but not touching yet because I wasn't sure if she wanted to be touched or if she needed space.
“Sweetheart…” The word came out quiet, gentle, a question and an offering all at once.
Her hands froze mid-motion, a ruined dress clutched in her grip, something that looked like it had been deliberately shredded with scissors.
Her entire body went rigid, every muscle locking up like she was bracing for another blow.
But she wouldn't look at me, wouldn't turn her head, just kept staring at the dress in her hands like it held answers to questions she couldn't articulate.
“Harper, look at me.” A request that was also a command because I needed to see her eyes, needed to know how bad this was.
Slowly, so slowly it hurt to watch, she turned her head.
The devastation in her green eyes nearly broke me. They were red-rimmed from crying, unfocused with shock, swimming with tears that wouldn't stop falling. But underneath the tears, underneath the shock, I saw something worse than pain.
Defeat.
Complete and utter defeat, like she'd finally hit the wall she couldn't climb over, like this was the thing that would break her after everything else she'd survived.
“It's all gone,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken in a way that made my chest ache. “Connor, six years. Six years of work and it's all just…gone.”
“I know, sweetheart.” I reached out slowly and took the ruined dress from her hands, set it aside in the trash bin where it belonged because there was no saving it. “I know, and I'm so sorry.”
Sorry I wasn't here. Sorry I couldn't stop this. Sorry the world kept throwing shit at her that she didn’t deserve.
“I was stupid.” The words came out flat, emotionless, which was somehow worse than if she'd been screaming them. Worse because it meant she'd already accepted this as truth. “I thought it was over.”
“You're not stupid—”
“I am.” Her hands trembled as she reached for another piece of clothing only to have it fall from her grip, her fingers not quite working properly.
“I should have taken the deal and signed over the boutique when they first offered.
None of this would have happened if I'd just given them what they wanted.”
“Harper, no.” The words came out sharper than I intended, but I needed her to hear this. “Don't say that. Don't you dare blame yourself for—”
“Why not?” She finally looked at me fully, and the pain in her eyes was visceral, raw enough to cut.
“This is my fault, Connor. All of it. The fire, the break-in, this—” She gestured at the destruction around us with a hand that shook.
“If I'd just accepted their offer, none of this would have happened.
You'd be safe. The boutique would still be standing. Everything would be fine.”
“Or you'd be trapped in something worse.” I moved closer, my hands finding her shoulders, feeling how badly she was shaking under my touch like she was barely holding herself together.
“Harper, these people are criminals. They don't make deals in good faith.
Even if you'd signed over the boutique, they wouldn't have just left you alone. They would have found another way to use you, another thing to threaten, another way to control you.”
“You don't know that.”
“Yes, I do.” My hands tightened on her shoulders, firm enough to ground her, to make her focus on me instead of the spiraling thoughts I could see consuming her. “Harper, look at me. Really look at me.”
She did, her eyes met mine even as tears kept streaming down her face.
“This isn't your fault,” I said, enunciating each word clearly so there was no room for misunderstanding. “You didn't do this. Some psychopath who thinks threats and destruction are acceptable business practices did this. Not you. Never you.”
“But—”
“No buts.” I kept my voice firm but gentle, the voice I used with spooked horses that needed to know they were safe.
“Harper, you're a victim here. You didn't ask for any of this.
You don't deserve any of this. And I'll be damned if I let you blame yourself for the actions of people who belong in prison.”
Her face crumpled, fresh tears spilling over, and she looked so young and broken.
“I don't know what to do. Connor, I don't know how to fix this. The insurance will take weeks, and even then—” Her voice broke completely.
“What if they won't cover vandalism? What if I can't afford to reopen?
What if this is it and I've lost everything I worked for?”