17. Harper
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
HARPER
The morning sun is doing something obnoxious through the blinds and, for a hot second, I have absolutely no idea where I am.
Then it hits me that I’m in my own bed. Okay.
Right. But the other side is empty, the sheets cool, and my stomach does this stupid little drop before I can stop it. Where is he?
The front door opens, then Jaxson strolls in with a white paper bag and a cup of coffee from my favorite bakery.
“Morning, firecracker,” he rumbles, blue eyes locked on me. “Figured you’d need reinforcements to face the day.” He flashes the bag from The Scone Hut. “I got the last blueberry scone. And a double shot espresso. Extra whip.”
My mouth is already watering just thinking about the pastry, and my fingers are twitching for the coffee before I can even thank him. “You truly are perfect,” I groan as I take the cup, inhaling the sweet, creamy goodness like it’s oxygen. “Thank you so much.”
“Anything for you.” He leans over and places a soft kiss on my lips.
My phone suddenly vibrates, interrupting the moment. The caller ID shows Ryan’s face—a photo from two years ago where he’s grinning, a smear of eye black on his cheek. It’s not a text. It’s a FaceTime request. Darn. My brother’s timing sucks.
“I’ll go for my run and let you talk to him.
Message me if you need something.” Jaxson kisses my forehead and slips out of the apartment as I head to my bedroom and swipe to accept the video call, my heart performing a frantic, uneven rhythm against my ribs.
Ryan’s face fills the screen. He’s sitting in what looks like a darkened hotel room, the only light coming from a single lamp behind him.
"Harper," he says. His voice is gravelly, stripped of the usual boisterous energy that defines him. He looks like he hasn't slept, his eyes bloodshot and weary.
"Ryan," I whisper, clutching the phone so hard the edges dig into my palm.
"I've been sitting here for four hours," Ryan says, looking away from the camera and toward the window.
"Just staring at the wall, thinking about how much I wanted to go back out there and finish it.
Thinking about how I was going to tell you that you're dead to me for choosing him. Thorne, of all people.”
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat feeling like a shard of glass. This isn’t starting off too great. “Ryan.”
“Let me finish,” my brother cuts me off. "But I couldn’t do it. I saw your face last night when he said those things. When he said he loved you. I’ve never seen that look on your face before."
The silence stretches between us, filled only by the faint hiss of static over the connection. It’s an admission I never expected from him—a recognition of my happiness over his pride. For a man whose entire identity is built on winning, this is the ultimate concession.
"I hate him," Ryan continues, his voice gaining a bit of its usual bite, though it’s tempered by exhaustion.
"I want to be clear about that. If he ever fucking hurts you, I’ll tear him a new asshole and shove his hockey stick in it.
But I can't lose you, Harper. You're not just my little sister, you’re my best friend. "
I feel the hot prickle of tears finally spilling over. I wipe them away with the back of my hand, leaving a damp streak on the gray fleece. "I'm not going anywhere, Ryan. You're my brother. Nothing changes that."
"Everything changes it," he corrects me gently. "But I’m willing to try. I’m not saying I’m going to go get drinks with the guy and talk about our feelings. But I won't walk out of the room when you bring him up. I’ll… I’ll give him a chance. For you. Only for you."
"Thank you," I breathe, the relief washing over me in a cold, clean wave. "That’s all I’m asking. Just a chance."
"Yeah, well, don't make me regret it," he says, taking a sip of Jack Daniels, the half-empty bottle sitting on the table beside him. "And tell him if he thinks this makes us friends on the ice, he's got another thing coming. I’m still going to kick his frozen ass every chance I get."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," I say, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. We talk for a few more minutes, the conversation drifting back to safer territory—his schedule for the next few weeks, how things have been at the ER. When we finally hang up, I feel lighter, as if I’ve finally shed the leaden coat I’ve been wearing for weeks.
By the time I head out to the living room, I find Jaxson standing by the packed bookshelf, staring at my collection of books. He looks like a statue, the 'Ice Wall' personified, until he hears my footsteps and turns around.
The tension in his frame is palpable. He doesn't ask. He just waits, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch.
"That was a quick run," I say, my voice steady despite the lingering emotion.
“I wanted to get back here and make sure you’re okay.” He shrugs.
I step closer to him. "He’s going to try, Jax. He said he’ll give you a chance."
He reaches for me, pulling me into the hard, warm center of his chest. I wrap my arms around his waist, tucking my head under his chin, listening to the thunderous, relief-filled beat of his heart.
“But he threatened to tear you a new asshole if you ever hurt me.”
Jaxson laughs, a low, rich sound that sends electricity flowing down my spine. He cups my face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the line of my cheekbones with a tenderness that warms me from the inside out.
"That will never happen," he says, his gaze dropping to my mouth. "Hurting you would destroy me."
He leans down, and the kiss is different than the ones before. There’s no desperation in it, no frantic need to prove something. It’s slow, deliberate. I melt into him, my fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself to this moment of impossible peace.
He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against mine. The light from the window catches the sharp planes of his face, softening the sternness into something beautiful. He looks like a man who has finally come home after a long, cold season.
He turns me in his arms again, his expression shifting from playful to something much more intense. The heat radiating off him is a physical force, a pull that I’ve stopped trying to resist. He picks me up effortlessly, my legs hooking around his waist as he carries me back toward the bedroom.
He sets me down on the rumpled duvet, the morning light catching the silver flecks in his eyes.
He moves with a predatory grace, stripping off his shirt in one fluid motion, revealing his powerful torso.
Every muscle is defined, a testament to years of brutal discipline, but when he reaches for me, his touch is as light as a whisper.
"I love you," he says. It's a fact, a fundamental law of his new universe. He fumbles with the hem of the sweatshirt, pulling it over my head until I'm left in just my lace bra and panties, feeling the cool air of the room for only a second before his heat replaces it.
His mouth finds mine, and I melt under his kiss.
His hands explore the curves of my body as if he’s trying to memorize them, his palms rough against the silk of my skin.
I arch into him, my breath hitching as his lips move down my throat, finding the pulse point that’s thrumming with a frantic, desperate need.
"Jax," I moan, my hands sliding into his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer. I want the weight of him. I want everything.
He moves lower, his tongue tracing along my collarbone, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of my breasts. He looks at me with a hunger that is both terrifying and exhilarating.
He takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue swirling around the peak until I'm clutching at his shoulders, my toes curling against the sheets.
The sensation is a direct line to the ache between my legs, a throbbing heat that's becoming unbearable.
He moves to the other side, his hand sliding down to the waistband of my panties, his fingers hooking into the lace.
"You’re so beautiful, Harper," he growls against my skin. "So fucking beautiful."
He strips the lace away, his eyes roaming over my entire body.
I’m already dripping, the evidence of my need glistening in the morning light.
He doesn't wait. He slides two fingers inside me, finding my rhythm instantly, his thumb circling my clit in a way that makes my vision blur as a rising tide of pleasure threatens to pull me under.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him toward me, my hips bucking against his hand.
"Please," I gasp, the word a ragged plea. "More."
He pulls back just long enough to shed the rest of his clothes. His cock is thick and hard, a heavy, pulsing weight that strains toward me. He’s always so controlled, so calculated, but right now, I can see the cracks in the persona, the raw, unbridled desire that he only shows to me.
He enters me in one slow, agonizingly perfect thrust. I cry out as he fills me, the stretch of him making me feel complete in a way that defies logic. He stays still for a moment, letting us both adjust, his forehead pressed against mine as he breathes through the intensity of it.
"Fuck, Harper," he hisses, his voice breaking. "You’re so tight. You feel incredible."
He begins to move, his thrusts powerful and rhythmic, slamming into me with a force that makes the headboard knock against the wall.
I meet him movement for movement, my nails raking down his back, marking him as mine.
The sound of our bodies colliding, the wet friction of skin on skin, fills my small bedroom.
He’s not gentle now. He’s the man from the ice—aggressive, dominant, relentless.
He pins my wrists above my head, his grip firm, and I love the way it makes me feel—completely his, completely safe.
He pounds into me, each thrust taking me higher, the tension building in my lower belly until it’s a wire about to snap.
"Look at me," he commands, and I open my eyes, finding his blown-out gaze. "I'm never letting you go. Do you hear me? You're mine."
"Yours," I agree breathlessly, the word lost in a moan as he hits the perfect spot, sending a jolt of pure electricity through my nervous system. "Jax, I'm… I'm close."
"Come for me, baby," he groans, his pace increasing, his breath coming in jagged bursts. "Show me how much you want this."
I shatter. The orgasm tears through me, and I scream his name, my entire body vibrating with the force of it. A second later, he lets out a low, guttural growl, his body tensing as he thrusts one last time, deep and hard, before he explodes inside me.
The aftermath is a soft, heavy silence. We lie there, tangled together, the only sound the frantic gasping of our breathing as we wait for the world to stop spinning. Jaxson collapses on top of me, his weight a comforting pressure, his face buried in the crook of my neck.
After a while, he rolls to his side, taking me with him so we’re spooning, his arm draped possessively over my waist. He kisses my shoulder, his lips lingering on my skin. “I love you, firecracker.”
I reach back, running my fingers over his forearm, tracing the veins and the hard muscle. “I love you, too, Jax.”