Chapter 3
Harper
Have you ever loved something but hated it at the same time? Or you know you should be happy for someone, but instead, you resent them a teeny-tiny bit?
My brother has a girlfriend, a supportive family, and I love that for him. I do. He deserves it after all the shit he’s been through.
They’re well-off, wealthy, maybe even billionaires. Their New York City loft is the perfect mix of luxury and cozy, unlike anything Reece and I grew up with. Our childhood was neither luxurious nor cozy—on the inside. It appeared wholesome from the outside.
Aurora, my brother’s girlfriend, is married to Jackson fucking O’Reilly, the hockey star.
I never watched hockey, knew nothing about hockey until my sister, Sadie, flipped out over Reece’s polyamorous relationship.
I thought it was a joke. A model, a professional coach, a celebrity athlete, and my brother? Seriously?
It’s true, though. The four of them are together, all revolving around Aurora—sort of. Jackson and Ethan are also partners. Reece says he’s only in love with Aurora, but they function as a family and sleep in one bed.
I’m happy for Reece—I am—but fuck, I resent how his life makes mine look like a steamy pile of dog shit.
I struggle with companionship. Except for my son, Danny, I’d rather be alone. He’s the sole reason I get up in the morning.
Initially, I thought I was an exhausted mom of a newborn.
I painted on a smile, cooked dinner every night, and tried to mirror my insanely chipper mother.
Then the baby grew into a temperamental toddler, my exhaustion spiraled into full-blown depression, and my husband found somewhere else to sleep.
Yet, he refuses to give me a divorce. Go figure.
I’ve been living in survival mode. I didn’t attend college. I have no degree or work experience. I have no means of caring for my son, not without help from my siblings, but I refuse to return to my husband. I’ll stay in a shelter if I have to.
My phone vibrates on the table. I ignore it, preoccupied with chopping a meatball into microscopic pieces, hoping Danny won’t detect them in the sauce and toss the bowl. It’s my attempt at providing him with a well-balanced diet.
When I glance up, I find Rocco watching me. His salt-and-pepper beard outlines his full lips, and I can’t help but stare—he’s an attractive man, there’s no denying it. Those lips quirk with amusement, and I snap my attention to my son.
I set the spaghetti in front of him. He peers down at the bowl, scrunching his nose, then dips his fingers into the sauce and noodles.
My phone buzzes, and I shove it into my jeans pocket, where it buzzes again.
And again.
I already know who it is. Daniel has been blowing up my cell all evening. He must be in port somewhere for the holiday.
“He won’t stop, Harp.” Reece captures my gaze, his expression flat—meaning he’s irritated or disappointed. He learned to hide his emotions long before he went into the military. “You gonna take care of it, or do you want me to?”
Jackson and Ethan exchange a glance. Jackson made spaghetti because it’s Aurora’s favorite, and she’s not feeling well.
She’s lying down, and Reece brought her dinner in bed.
Again, I push aside my bitterness. I’d give anything for a man who cared about me half as much as any of them care for Aurora.
“No.” The word comes out sharp. The last thing I need is for Reece to deal with Daniel and set him off. “I’ll handle it later.”
Now that I’ve left my husband, the thought of speaking to him, even on Christmas Eve, sets my teeth on edge. I know he doesn’t want to talk to our son or me. All he wants is a phone record for court—at least, that’s what he threatens me with.
Rocco clears his throat from across the table. “If it’s Danny’s father, it’ll be perceived negatively if you don’t answer. That’s simply my opinion as a lawyer.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I know he’s right. My husband would love to portray me as an uncooperative mother, but I don’t need legal advice from a man I just met—even if he is older and gazes at me as if I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve.
“I’ll send a text for now.” I pull out my phone. The screen illuminates with six missed calls and a string of messages, each one more aggressive.
Daniel
Where are you?
Answer your fucking phone.
I have a right to know where my wife and son are on Christmas. We’re still married. You’re still mine.
Don’t forget what I told you about leaving me.
I want the address. Now.
I snort. Daniel giving a shit about our son’s Christmas is rich, considering he stormed out last year when Danny had a meltdown over not opening the gifts under the tree.
Gifts my husband never contributed to. Gifts he refused to let Danny open on Christmas Eve, not even one, when the child was only three and didn’t understand.
Right or wrong, being abandoned at Christmas was heartbreaking.
I stare at the phone, thumb hovering over the screen, anxiety swelling in my chest. Nothing good will come from responding.
Anything I write or say will only provoke Daniel.
He doesn’t want me to be surrounded by family and loved ones.
He wants me home, alone, and miserable—my punishment for not being perfect, for not giving him a perfect son.
“Mama,” Danny whines, rubbing his eyes with sauce-stained fists. He hasn’t quite mastered using a fork. Instead, he prefers mashing his food with his hands. “Can I play now?”
“No, baby.” I push aside worries of arguments, lawyers, divorce proceedings, and custody battles, and soften my tone. “Bath, then bedtime.”
His bottom lip quivers. His eyelids droop, and his little shoulders slump forward. He’s been going nonstop since dawn, cooking breakfast and baking cookies with Jackson, constructing Lego dinosaurs with Rocco.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Daniel
You can’t hide from me. I know you’re not home, and you’re not at your sister’s. I had someone check.
I’m calling your parents, then the police.
“How about you play with Legos in the bath?” Rocco offers Danny. “Is that okay, Harper?”
His deep voice cuts through my fear. He says my name with admiration, and his patience with my son stirs something inside me.
Danny perks up. “Dino bath?”
“Yes, baby. Dino bath.” I shoot Rocco a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
“I’ll get the Legos for you.” He rises from his seat, his six-foot-something frame towering over me.
“I…” I trail off, not sure how to accept help, especially from a man I barely know. “It’s okay. You’ve done enough. I’ll get them.”
His obsidian eyes lock on to mine, and a strange flutter rises in my stomach. My cheeks burn once more. I’m thirty-one; Rocco must be twenty years older. I can’t comprehend him being interested in me. There’s no way.
Before I can even attempt to figure it out, my phone interrupts.
Daniel
I’m losing patience, Harpy. I’ll have you charged with kidnapping.
Address. Now.
The air freezes in my lungs. This is what Daniel does—intimidates me, makes me feel small and powerless.
My phone is snatched from my hand. “He’s threatening you?” Reece asks, dangerously low, his face hardening as he reads the texts. “Kidnapping? Are you fucking serious?”
I expected judgment and disappointment, but there’s only quiet rage.
“He’s—I shouldn’t have left,” I manage, aware everyone is staring.
“Mama!” Danny stands on his chair. “Dino bath!”
The muscle in Reece’s jaw jumps. “Give him a bath, Harp.”
“Reece—”
My brother transforms into someone I no longer recognize.
He’s not the Reece I grew up with. His eyes are cold, lifeless.
“I can call him using your phone, or I can go downstairs, ask Lucas to hack into military personnel records, and call him from mine. He might not answer. Then I’ll have to find him. Your choice.”
The room falls silent. My life is lonely; I prefer it that way. I live in my fantasies, reading when I have time, and watching a lot of movies and shows. Reality pales in comparison—it just plain sucks—and I soothe my mind with fairy tales.
Pieces click together, like something out of a mystery. The way these men move, alert and attentive. The coded glances they exchange. The surveillance room. The private jet. Ethan’s possessiveness. Reece’s protection. The twins’ entire demeanor. Lucas’ bruises.
A chill creeps over me. I take a fresh look around. I’m not in a luxury apartment at the top of a building. I’m in a fortress, a gilded cage. This isn’t just money—it’s power. The kind of wealth that comes with connections, with influence, with the ability to make problems disappear.
Either that, or I’ve watched way too many true crime documentaries.
“Hack into military personnel records?” I lift Danny from his chair. “That’s illegal.”
Rocco moves closer, his presence oddly comforting. “Sometimes, legal isn’t effective.”