Chapter Three
Harlan
"Son of a bitch," I groan, my hands in fists as soon as Sophie appears in the great room. How the fuck she manages to look edible dressed from head to toe like she's going to war with a goddamn snowman, I don't know, but she does.
Her pink ski jacket is the exact same color as bubblegum. So are the pants. Her hair is in a high ponytail on top of her head, with thick, glittery earmuffs covering her ears.
She's the only woman alive who could make this much pink sexy.
Her eyes narrow, then flick to my boots, up to my eyes, then straight back to her phone. She sniffs, the sound so full of disdain I can't help but smile. Then she turns on her heel, ignoring me completely, and heads for the espresso cart.
"Motherfucker," I growl.
Hattie giggles beside me. I turn a dark glower on her, but she just beams up at me, her cheeks already pink.
"I didn't say anything," she says.
"You didn't have to say it. That laugh said it for you," I mutter, shaking my head. "You're loving my misery."
"Only a little." She nudges me, laughing again. "She's only mad because you hurt her feelings."
"You know what happened?"
My baby sister shrugs. "She might have mentioned wanting to set you on fire after that article came out."
Dammit. I hoped she'd unblock me last night. She didn't. I refreshed her profile for a good three hours once I made it back to my room, just waiting for it to load, but it never did.
"You like her, don't you?"
I hesitate and then nod. There's no point denying it when it's already pretty fucking obvious to everyone with eyes. I didn't make a secret of chasing after her at dinner last night.
Besides, I don't care who knows that I'm into her. It's not like I'm trying to hide it. I'd just prefer not to involve my siblings or hers. Shit is already complicated enough.
"Want my advice?" Hattie asks.
I eye her warily, not convinced I trust her advice. Last time I took it, I ended up with Icy Hot on my balls after pulling a groin muscle. For the record, the pulled groin muscle was the least of my concerns that day.
"Knock yourself out," I mutter anyway.
"People are constantly trying to change her or make her fit what they think a ballerina should be," she says, watching as Sophie makes herself a cup of coffee.
"She's been insulted and criticized more than anyone I know, just because she dared to dance without being a size two.
She has walls up because it's the only way to survive all the crap that gets flung her way.
If you want her to fall for you, show her that she's safe with you.
Let her be exactly who she is, and remind her that it's enough. She needs to hear it, Harlan."
I feel the words hit right behind my sternum, where the little kid version of me still lives, the one who used to believe he could make things better for his sister, just by being big enough, loud enough, or mad enough.
I hate that she knows what it means to have people pick you apart just for existing.
I fucking hate that Sophie knows it, too.
I've seen the shit other dancers and critics say about her. It pisses me off every goddamn time. There's nothing wrong with her body. It's strong and beautiful, capable of effortlessly doing what any other ballerina can do. And that's the problem.
They hate her because she makes it look easy. When she dances, you can't help but watch her, not because of her size or because she doesn't fit, but because she dances with her soul. She moves in a way no one else does. She isn't replaceable, and they fucking hate her for it.
They also hate her for daring to change an institution that's been frozen for longer than any of us have been alive.
Ballet has been around for hundreds of years, and in all that time, ballerinas have always looked the same.
Now, because of Sophie, they don't. They see her as a threat to a tradition that, quite frankly, should have died a long time ago.
I pull Hattie against my chest, tucking her head under my chin. She accepts it, almost melting into the hug. Even now, with the wedding a week away and her life more together than any of the rest of us, she still feels like the little girl who clung to me during thunderstorms.
But she's always been better at surviving than I have. She never needed me, Tye, or Briggs to fight her battles. She only ever needed us to remind her that she was strong enough to do it.
Maybe that's what Sophie needs from me, too—a soft place, where she can let her guard down and just be. I don't think she's ever really had that, at least not outside of her own family. The world refuses to let her have it.
"I'll remember, Hat," I promise, my voice gruff.
"You better," she whispers.
A throat clears behind me. I release Hattie, turning to find Sophie's oldest brother, Austin, watching me, his jaw clenched.
Fuck.
"Got a minute?" he asks.
"Yeah," I sigh, clocking the look in his eye.
Apparently, Hattie clocks it, too. She pats me on the chest like she's wishing me luck and then scurries off like she doesn't want to be anywhere near this conversation.
I'm not sure I want to be either, but I'm not a motherfucker who runs, especially not when it matters. This matters.
"What's up, man?" I ask Austin.
He jerks his chin toward the windows, so I follow him outside, both of us squinting against the sun glare on the snow. The wind whips hard enough to sting, but we both ignore it.
He doesn't waste time. As soon as the door closes behind us, he whirls to face me. "What are your intentions with my sister?"
Fuck me. This is actually happening. "You want the real answer or the one that'll keep you from punching me right now?" I ask, my tone frank.
His mouth twitches. "Try me."
I scrub a hand over my jaw. "I'm not looking for a fuck and run, if that's what you're worried about. I'm into her. Really into her." I can't fucking sleep because I'm so into her. But I leave that part out. She should hear it, not him.
He stares at me like he's trying to decide if I'm bullshitting him or not. "You know she's not an easy person, right?"
"You say that like it's a problem," I mutter, even though I know he doesn't believe that. He'd kill for his sister, the same way I would for mine. "There's nothing wrong with the way she is."
"You're right," he says. "But she hasn't exactly had an easy run.
If you think we worked hard to get where we are, you're wrong.
She worked three times harder, through five times as much shit.
Guys see her and think she's going to be needy, or fragile, or some shit because of everything she's been through, but she's not.
She'll make your life hell if you fuck it up. "
"Wasn't planning on fucking it up." I level him with a look. "But I appreciate the warning."
"Good," he says, then grins. "Because if you do fuck up, I don't even have to kick your ass. She will. I'll just finish off whatever miserable pieces of you that she leaves behind."
I'm not insulted by the threat. I'd expect nothing less if our roles were reversed. Hell, I gave a similar speech to his brother over Hattie not too long ago.
"Sophie is safe with me," I murmur, meaning it. "The last thing I want to do is hurt her."
He studies me for a long second, then huffs out a breath. "She acts like she doesn't need anyone, but it's a lie. Her world is a vicious cesspool. She doesn't trust anyone because she can't. Not even her own goddamn partner."
I'd kill for two minutes alone with that little prick. I really would. I bet he'd think twice about dropping her again if I tossed his sorry ass across the stage a few times.
"I won't make it worse."
Austin regards me with a kind of grim amusement, like he knows what's coming and is only here for the pain. "I hope to fuck you're right, Harlan. She deserves someone willing to fight for her, even if it means fighting her."
"That's the plan."
He cocks his head to the side. "If you think you're going to put a ring on her finger and a kid in her belly, think again. She may let you put a ring on her, but don't be a selfish prick and ruin her career by getting her pregnant."
"Noted," I growl.
He grins, slapping me on the back. "Then I guess we're done here. Good luck."
I mutter a curse as he turns and jogs toward the vans waiting to take us to the slopes. Fucking hell. Pregnancy wasn't even on my mind, but he isn't wrong about it. Getting pregnant would ruin her career…and so would breaking her leg on the damn slopes.
"Goddammit."
I stomp back inside, shaking snow from my boots, and stride straight for her. The second she senses me, her jaw firms, but she doesn't look up.
I stop close enough that the scent of her coffee and her skin hits me at once. My dick reacts immediately, pressing up against my fly. "We need to talk."
"I haven't even had time to drink my coffee, Harlan," she complains. "Caffeine is a requirement if I have to deal with you."
"I'm calling off the bet."
That gets her attention. She sets her cup down, splashing coffee onto the bar. "Why?"
"I changed my mind," I say, even though every cell in my body is screaming at me to never back down from her. Every part of me wants to win that race, just so I get time alone with her. But I can't risk her getting hurt out there just because I'm desperate for five minutes of her time. Hell no.
She narrows her eyes, the green flash of anger as hot as the sun. "You didn't change your mind. What did Austin say to you?"
"Nothing."
"Liar," she says, and it's not even a snap, just a quiet, disappointed sigh. "God, I really thought you were different."
"Sophie—"
She's already walking away, her boots thumping against the stone floor. "Fine. Bet's off. Have a good life, Harlan."
I cross the room in two strides and slam my palm against the wall in front of her. She stops, but barely—like she's considering just ramming straight through me.
"Let me go," she says.
"No."
"You can't control me."
I bend down, so close I see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. "You're goddamn right I can't control you. No one controls you, ballerina. But I'll be damned if I'm the reason you break a leg out there and never dance again. You want to ruin your career over a stupid bet?"
She stares at me for a long second, her expression so stubborn I want to fuck her soft right here, just break her wide open so she has to admit that she's just as desperate as I am. "To hell with that," she finally says.
"What?"
She squares her shoulders and pokes her finger right into my chest. "To hell with that. You don't get to wrap me in bubble wrap or decide what I can and can't do. I'm not made of glass."
"You're right. You're not," I growl. "But you are the only woman I've ever met who makes me want to glue my hands to you just to keep you safe."
She blinks, and for a second, something soft and wounded flashes across her face. She crushes it with a roll of her eyes. "You really don't get it, do you, you overgrown Neanderthal?"
"No, I don't get it, because I actually care if you're in one piece at the end of the day." I take a breath, forcing my voice down. "I'll do whatever you want, Sophie. Just not if it means putting you at risk."
"I'm not going to break, Harlan. I'm not fragile."
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. "You could get yourself killed."
She smirks, and I know I just fed her the line she wanted. "That's rich, coming from the guy who thinks a little pain builds character. You think I can't handle one little race?"
"This is not the same—"
"The hell it's not," she cuts in. "I said I'd be fine. We're doing this."
I can't fucking believe it. "No, we aren't."
She grins, a wild thing that lights up her whole face. "Fine. Looks like I'm racing myself down the mountain, then." She spins on her heel and stalks off, her hips swaying.
I watch her storm away, my blood pressure rising with every stomp.
Goddamn it. There are a hundred ways this could go wrong, and every single one of them plays out in my head.
I hate this. I hate that Austin was right, and I hate that she's right, too.
I don't want to be the guy who wraps her in caution tape or makes her feel less than.
And I don't want to be the one who puts her at risk over a fucking bet, either.
I tip my head back and let out a hiss, swearing so loud I half-expect the beams overhead to echo it back.
A shadow falls across me a second later. It's Briggs, looking at me like he just watched a man lose a fight to a small, angry raccoon and isn't sure if he should help or laugh.
"She's going whether you're with her or not, man," he says, his voice soft. "If I were you, I'd get my ass on that van and hope like hell that you actually win."
I don't think I stop cursing the entire way to the van.