Chapter 11
ELEVEN
HARPER
What the fuck are you doing, Harper?
“I have a kid,” I blurt out as I walk beside my high school boyfriend back toward the house we lived in together. “Z’s kid. We’ve been separated, but we’re… trying again.”
There. I said it.
Caleb’s stride stutters for half a second beside me on the cracked sidewalk leading back up to his house.
The house.
God.
Nothing’s changed.
I was distracted by nerves and the other memorial attendees, but as I look up at it now, I’m rocked by memories.
The house has the same pale siding and crooked mailbox.
Only now cars line the usually quiet street and music thumps from the backyard. Laughter spills over the fence.
A party. Of course it’s a party.
Helen would’ve hated a quiet memorial.
Caleb catches up to me. “Even after what you just learned?”
“It doesn’t work like that.” My voice comes out tight. “He’s Bruiser’s father.”
I don’t miss Caleb swallowing hard. “I’m sure he’s… become a better man.”
Has he?
I nod like I believe it, anyway, because it’s easier than answering.
We step onto the driveway together.
God.
I used to run up this exact stretch of concrete barefoot, laughing, racing Caleb to the front door like the house itself was ours.
Like we had a future here.
“We have more to talk about. Stay tonight,” Caleb says, too casually. “After everything.”
“I—” My voice catches. The music gets louder as we pass the side yard gate. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s a great idea.” That crease appears between his brows—the one I used to kiss like I could smooth out every worry he had. “Unless you need to get back to your son? Can your babysitter stay an extra night?”
Every word hits hard.
“There’s no babysitter. Z has Bruiser this weekend.”
“Bruiser?” Caleb huffs a quiet laugh. “That’s a hell of a name.”
Despite everything, my mouth twitches. “He earned it. That kid came out swinging.”
And just like that—we fall into it.
Easy.
Familiar.
Dangerous.
I tell him about the kicking. The fists. The black eye Bruiser gave Z during a diaper change that solidified the nickname.
And Caleb—God—he looks at me like I hung the moon as I tell him about my son. Goddamn him for getting it. So many other guys would be put off hearing me go on and on about another man’s child.
“He sounds amazing,” he says softly.
“He is.”
“Of course he is.” His gaze lingers. “He’s yours.”
That feeling hits again. That home feeling.
And it’s terrifying.
Because what happens if I reach for it?
I’ll destroy it.
Isn’t that what I do?
Look at me and Z. Right when I’m trying to get back together with him, I come here. Because I ruin things.
… But you also found out important information. That Z lied to you way back then, and he’s never owned up to it.
He would’ve been too scared to lose me.
Is that any justification for it? It was his fear of losing you that made him lie in the first place. What else has that fear driven him to do?
We reach the side gate.
Caleb hesitates—just for a second—like he knows crossing this threshold means something.
Then he pushes it open.
And—
The backyard explodes into life.
String lights zigzag overhead, casting everything in a golden glow.
Folks are bringing out steaming dish after steaming dish onto folding tables already covered in food.
A cooler overflows with drinks. Music blasts from a speaker on the patio—something nostalgic, something that makes my chest ache because I know this song.
People from the memorial are everywhere—laughing or talking in groups. Some are dancing barefoot in the grass.
It’s not sad.
It’s… alive.
“Helen always said she wanted a celebration,” Caleb murmurs near my ear. “Not a funeral.” His breath brushes my skin and I shiver.
“Yeah,” I manage. “That tracks.”
It does.
It’s exactly her.
And suddenly I’m not just here—I’m back.
Back in high school and late nights and football games and first kisses on this very property.
Back before everything went to hell.
People are starting to notice us. Well, they start noticing Caleb. And looking curiously at me so close beside him.
A petite woman darts forward and throws her arms around his neck. “Where have you been?”
Then she sees me.
“Oh.”
Her entire expression shifts.
And just like that, I remember something else: This isn’t my home anymore.
Caleb gently extricates himself, stepping just slightly closer to me—subtle, but not subtle enough.
“This is Harper. My—” He hesitates. “—stepsister.”
The word lands weird. Complicated. My chest tightens.
Bright curiosity lights the woman’s eyes. She quickly introduces herself as Moira, Caleb’s longtime friend.
More people start gathering around us. They’re clearly also Caleb’s close friends, and the questions start coming fast as they all exchange glances with each other at the strange new stepsister he’s suddenly introducing.
It’s clear this is the first they’ve ever heard of me.
And suddenly I’m hyper-aware of everything: my clothes. My body. The way Caleb is standing just a little too close. The way my heart is beating like it’s trying to break out of my chest.
Caleb gestures at the tall man beside the sprite of a woman.
“And this is Moira’s husband, Bane—”
My darting gaze shifts to her husband, then back to Caleb.
“Silas has a daughter?” the small woman says. “How come neither of you told me?” She looks back and forth between Caleb and her husband.
“I visit him in a professional capacity,” her husband says quietly.
“You know my dad?” I question, frowning. Then I squint a little, my head tilting sideways. Wait—is that the priest from this morning?
“I didn’t think priests could get married,” I blurt out.
“I’m not that kind of priest,” he says with humor in his eyes. Clearly, he gets this a lot. “I’m an Episcopal priest. And yes, I know your father. I’ve visited him often in the last few months.”
“I asked him to,” Caleb says. “I needed to know if Silas is doing okay. And Silas wrote me a long time ago and told me he didn’t want me visiting him in jail.”
I cross my arms. It’s an old defense mechanism. Armor I never lost.
Why did Dad let me visit, but not Caleb? Was he afraid we’d cross paths? Was he trying to protect Caleb from me after I left him and broke his heart?
I don’t know these people, and suddenly they know a lot more about my business than I’m comfortable with most people knowing.
“So you knew Caleb as a teenager?” Moira pipes up. “Was he a little shit?”
I shake my head, trying to accept the levity she’s clearly trying to inject. But my arms don’t uncross.
“Helen kept him in line.”
“Come,” the priest in plainclothes says warmly. “Get to know everyone. We were all very moved by the words you shared about Helen earlier. I know everyone would love to get to know you.” His eyes dart up to Caleb.
Oh, shit. I really should have cut and run when I had the chance. What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t do uncomfortable social situations. I stick to my tiny group of friends—and they’re mainly Ximena’s friends and family.
But Caleb stays by my side as I’m drawn further into his world.
It’s clear the drinks have started flowing and everyone’s leaning into the party portion of the celebration of Helen’s life, because the stories being shared about her are getting rowdier now—from her and Silas’s friends at the Dungeon.
“But my favorite memory?” says Jinx, a tall black woman in full leather, casually holding the leash of her sub, Gemini, who’s followed at exactly two paces behind her wherever she’s gone all night.
“Helen insisting she could hold a suspension twice as long as usual because she was ‘feeling herself’ that night.”
“Oh no,” someone groans.
“Am I going to have to exit this conversation,” Caleb butts in, smile wide, “or cover my sister’s ears?”
He starts putting his hands over my ears, and I laugh as I shove him back.
Hearing sister out of his mouth after all this time gives me chills, even as this all feels so natural.
Emotions and feelings are stacked too many on top of one another when it comes to this man. And they always were, because he always did make me feel safe in the way of family.
But of course, the things we did with one another always made the stepbrother and stepsister label go out the window.
“Five minutes in, she gets a charley horse so bad she’s cussing like a sailor, dangling there trying to keep her Subbie face intact,” Jinx continues, everyone around us rapt.
“And Silas—cool, unflappable Silas—suddenly can’t get a single damned knot undone.
The more he tries to stay calm, the clumsier his fingers get.
I’m standing there pretending this is all part of the scene while Helen’s hissing, ‘If I fall and crack my head open, I’m haunting you.
’ We finally get her down, and she just collapses into giggles on the mat, rubbing her calf and saying, ‘See? Even Goddesses cramp.’”
Laughter ripples through the group. And I feel it hit me—sharp and sudden. The version of Caleb’s family I got to share for barely a year, that changed everything for me.
And this version of Caleb’s family now.
I got the suburban version, I realize now, all cleaned up on the surface. I remember being so confused about why a woman like Helen would have ever chosen an ex-con like my dad. But I’m starting to get it as I see this messy, loud, alive version of all their friends.
“Am I going to have to start censoring stories?” Caleb cuts in mildly.
My stomach flips as I give him a friendly shove on the shoulder. “Don’t you dare.”
God. Why does this still feel so easy? So us? That’s the problem. That’s always been the problem. There were too many layers with so many meanings and not enough clear boundaries. In spite of all of Caleb’s rules.
I drift half a step away when the priest and Caleb get to chatting—just enough to breathe.
But naturally, then Moira appears at my side like she’s been waiting for her moment to pounce.