Chapter 8 Harper
Harper
Danny sits between my legs, opening gift after gift, his excitement growing with each one. He receives T-Rex socks and hugs them—socks. He tugs them on over the plain white pair he’s already wearing, and a peal of laughter rings through the room. He’s the star of the show.
I let him open my gifts too—a beautiful wool peacoat, hat, and mittens. My cheeks catch fire. I’m unsure what to do with myself. I can’t thank everyone enough. Eyes welling up, I tuck my face into Danny’s neck, unable to meet anyone’s gaze.
When I compose myself, I lift my head and give Rocco a genuine smile. “Thank you,” I manage to mouth.
These gifts may not make the slightest dent in his bank account, but they mean more to me than he’ll ever know. The same goes for my brother’s family.
It’s not about the price tag or the material objects, even though Danny is thrilled to have his own baking set from Jackson and needed warm winter clothes. It’s about hope. It’s about being surrounded by people who care.
From a greenish-brown flower-embroidered chair you’d think smelled like mothballs, but it doesn’t, Rocco shoots me a grin and a wink.
I recall our texts from last night and avert my gaze.
Me
Like a sugar daddy?
After several minutes, he responded with:
Sure, you can even call me Daddy if you’d like
My heart pounded. My stomach bottomed out. I didn’t know if I was nervous, scared, excited, aroused…
Rocco
Fair warning, I’ve had five whiskeys. I don’t normally drink this much, but you’ve rattled me, turned my world upside down.
I can’t fathom what he sees in me, but I’d be crazy to pass up the chance at a fresh start. I need a job, a place to live, and a divorce—if he’s willing to provide those things, I’ll gladly go on a few dates with him. I’ll let him be my sugar daddy and see where this goes.
Besides, why wouldn’t I want to get to know someone who’s offering me kindness?
I stared into the mirror this morning, hardly recognizing myself. The woman staring back at me had hollow cheeks, dark circles under puffy eyes, and a lifeless complexion.
Other than my sister’s wedding, I haven’t done anything with myself in months, maybe years. What’s the point when you have nothing to look forward to?
Exercise? Why? Shaving my legs? Yeah, right. A skincare routine? What’s that?
It’s a successful day if I manage to shower and brush my teeth. If all I do is keep my son safe, nourished, and relatively happy, I’m proud of myself, and any mom should be, too.
That’s not to say I’m not depressed—I am. Danny’s pediatrician noticed at his one-year checkup and insisted I see an on-staff mental health specialist the same day.
Medication hasn’t helped much, from what I can tell. I’m not sad per se, nor do I want to end my life, but I’m not exactly living either. I’m utterly drained. It’s more than physical fatigue. It’s bone-deep, soul-deep exhaustion.
If it wasn’t for Danny, I wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t get out of bed. I’d lie there until I became part of the mattress. My body is heavy, as if I weigh a ton, as if every unmet expectation and negative word is a brick stacked upon my shoulders.
It’s no wonder my mother lives in her own delusional world. Unfortunately, I can’t. I’ve tried.
I could almost accept my parents’ belief I was born to serve God, my husband, and provide a family. But when Daniel belittled our son, the way my father had belittled my brother and me, I was done. I refuse to allow Danny to go through the same abuse Reece and I did.
It wasn’t even a conscious thought or effort. There was no compartmentalizing, no burying my feelings deep down inside me, no keeping the peace. I instantly disliked my husband, and it showed. His touch repulsed me, and it only got worse from there.
“Mama, look!” Danny’s excited squeal snaps me back to the present.
In front of him is another Lego set, this one Spider-Man and eight hundred and thirty-six pieces. He scrambles up from between my legs, stomping on discarded wrapping paper. He grabs the box with both hands and rips a corner.
I think about the mess we’re already making and how everyone is probably annoyed with us. I picture eight hundred blocks scattered across the living room floor.
“Hold on, buddy.” I place my hand over his. “We can’t open it right now. How about we tell Rocco thank you?”
Danny’s face crumples, his bottom lip jutting out and trembling. “Now!” he cries, yanking the box away from me.
I remind myself to remain firm and calm, to offer solutions, as my therapist suggested. “Danny, we have to pick up first, or we’ll lose the Legos.”
His body goes rigid, fists clenched, cheeks reddening, and a tremor runs through him. “No!” He’s overwhelmed, beyond reasoning with.
I’m acutely aware of everyone watching us, and heat creeps up my neck. My impulse is to scoop him up and run.
Before I can respond, Jackson slides from the couch to the floor, kneeling to meet Danny at eye level.
“Hey, Chef, I have an awesome idea.” He points to the baking set half-buried in wrapping paper.
“What if we use your new cooking collection to make breakfast for everyone? If it’s okay with your mom. I’m hungry. Aren’t you hungry?”
Danny’s bottom lip quivers. He clutches the Lego box tighter to his chest, and I brace myself for the inevitable meltdown.
Instead, he glances at Rocco. “It’s mine? I can have it?”
It’s hard to tell whether it’s a question or a statement, but his small, sad voice breaks my heart. Tears sting my eyelids. I want to crawl into bed, hide under the blankets, and sob.
Our life has been unpredictable—never knowing when Daniel would be home or what mood he’d be in, trying my damnedest not to trigger him when he was around. Plus, moving out meant leaving a lot behind. I had one chance, and as soon as Daniel left for deployment, I ran.
Rocco tilts his head in confusion and furrows his brows. “Of course it’s yours. No one will take it from you.” He extends his arms. “Would you like me to hold it for you? I’ll keep it safe.”
My son’s shoulders droop, his bottom lip still puckered. “Y-yeah.” He surrenders the toy.
“We’ll play later, okay?” Rocco ruffles his hair and sets the box beside him.
Jackson grabs the baking set. “I’m super hungry.” He takes Danny’s hand and leads him into the kitchen. “And we make the best pancakes, don’t we?”
Emotion tightens my throat—relief and gratitude so intense, it nearly chokes me.
Ethan quietly follows Jax. Reece starts picking up, and Aurora chastises him for not wearing his arm brace. They end up in the bedroom, conveniently leaving me alone with Rocco.
On my knees, I gather up wrapping paper and stack gifts under the tree. He retrieves a garbage bag and joins me. I’m unsure of what to say or how to behave. All I know is to clean. I can cook, but not as well as Jackson, and he enjoys it a hell of a lot more than I do.
Rocco is an attractive man, a powerful presence.
Not cocky, but he carries a confidence that can’t be faked.
His salt-and-pepper beard is trimmed shorter today.
His mostly silver hair is full and wavy.
He’s dressed in jeans and a thick cable-knit sweater that likely costs as much as my sister’s rent.
His cologne is subtle, seductive. When I breathe it in, I long to shut my eyes and melt into him.
I don’t, though. I pretend to focus on cleaning—picking tape off the carpet, straightening minifigures, awkward and fidgety.
He crouches and shoves paper into the garbage bag. “Danny is a sweet boy. You’re doing a great job, Harper.”
I nod, lips pressed tight, throat scorching. “Thank you,” I whisper, once again unable to meet his gaze.
He sets the bag down and sits beside me. Before I can react, his arm slides around my shoulders, drawing me against his solid chest. The heat radiating from him seeps through my thin sweater, and I resist the urge to lean into him.
“We need to take things slow.” He kisses my forehead. “I can’t ask you to come work for me right now.”
I stiffen and pull back to search his eyes. “But you said—I need—”
“Danny is my priority, too.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “He needs stability, routine. This is all new. He won’t do well if you abruptly leave him. How were you working for your sister?”
“I helped with cleaning and odd jobs. She watched him, or I brought him with me.”
He nods thoughtfully. “We’ll start with the apartment, get him used to having his own room and space. A few days a week, you can bring him to my office and have lunch with me.” He offers a reassuring smile.
I blink to fight back the tears. “I’d love that, but…” I swallow the tight lump in my throat. “You said I needed an income, a job… The divorce…”
“I’ll contact a lawyer in South Carolina. I’ll handle it.” His tone is gentle yet firm. “You can stay home until Danny adjusts. I’ll cover everything, and we’ll ease into office hours.”
I frown, trying to understand what he’s suggesting.
It’s too good to be true, and I’m not sure I want to live in a gilded cage like Aurora—too vulnerable.
I want to stand on my own two feet, be prepared for anything.
“Stay home? I have a home and a job waiting for me. To live here, I need an income.”
“Trust me.” His knuckles trace my cheekbone. “I’ll provide for you. All you have to do is set up the apartment, make a home for you and Danny. Get him into a routine, find a doctor and a therapist.”
The more he talks, the more frustrated I become. “You’d pay me to set up my own apartment?” I shake my head. The concept is absurd. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense. You’re creating stability for you and your son. Consider it an advance, an investment in your futures. In our future, hopefully.”
The kitchen erupts with Danny’s giggles, followed by Ethan’s deep, rumbling laugh.
“But why? Why would you do all this for me? For us?”
His large hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I hadn’t realized escaped.
Dark eyes hold mine, unflinching, unapologetic.
“Because I want you and Danny. You’re worth investing in, taking care of.
I need you to wake in the morning and believe that.
How are you supposed to believe it if I don’t show it?
What type of man would I be if I didn’t consider your son? If I only considered myself?”
“I…” Words fail me. I want to trust him. I want everything he’s offering so badly, it hurts.
“If you don’t believe all that I’ve said, believe this: You’re family, and I take care of family. You’ll never go without. Ask anyone here. Ask your brother.”
“I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes. Let me care for you while you care for yourself and Danny. I’ll handle everything. I’ll prove it to you.”
He ghosts his thumb over my bottom lip, and my stomach flutters. A wave of both fear and anticipation washes over me. This powerful, wealthy, gorgeous man wants me—me, with my son and all my baggage.
Instead of crawling into bed, I want to crawl into his lap and let him wrap me in those muscular arms.