Chapter 18 #2
“Bits and pieces. The pool. Being carried. That room. That guy.” Her voice goes tight on the last word, and a full-body shudder works its way through her limbs.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” I urge swiftly. She probably should with somebody, though. Like a licensed professional. Fuck knows how much trauma she’s actually endured in her life.
I should have checked on her earlier. Dammit. It should never have gotten that far.
She studies me for a long moment. “How did you even find me?”
“Your dad and I put a tracker on the phone he gave you.”
Her eyebrows lift, and then she huffs out a laugh, eyes closing as she rests her head back against the pillow. “Fuck, I should’ve known when you guys found me so fast at the truck stop. Dad’s legendary tracking skills, my ass.”
“Well, thank god we did.” Because otherwise… I stop, chest clenching at the thought.
“But you didn’t tell him?” She frowns, eyes still closed. Her voice is soft when she finishes, “You just came for me.”
“I couldn’t waste a second,” I murmur, leaning in to make sure she really gets what I’m saying. “Harper, I will always come for you when you need me. No matter where you are. No matter what’s happened. I will always find you.”
Her lips part like she wants to answer, but she just nods, eyes glassy, like she’s filing that promise somewhere deep inside.
Her breath catches. She stares at me for so long I start to wonder if she’s even breathing, then she looks down at her hands.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Be so… perfect.”
Perfect. The word lands like it’s got weight.
I’ve spent my whole life chasing it—perfect grades, perfect debate performances, to be a perfect son.
Perfect everything. I’ve worn myself raw on that grind, trying to fit into a mold I’m not sure I ever remember consciously choosing.
None of it ever felt right, and all I ever saw was how far I fell short constantly.
And yet, here with Harper—half-naked, tear-streaked, recovering from what could have been the worst night of her life—I’ve never cared less about perfection.
Or felt more real. She doesn’t care if I check the boxes.
Around her, I’m not performing.
I’m just—me.
“I’m so sorry,” I can’t help repeating, reaching for her hand because I need her to know how much I mean it.
She glances up, surprised. “Sorry for what? I’m the idiot who went to that party.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. None of this was your fault. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard about you leaving the other day. And I shouldn’t have let things… get so out of hand between us so you knew you could always talk to me. You don’t have to shut me out.”
“God, stop it. I went there,” she says stubbornly. “I’m the one who put myself in that situation—”
“Stop.” The word comes out too sharp. I breathe it down, but my voice still carries steel. “Don’t put this on yourself. Tonight was not your fault. It was whoever spiked your drink. And that bastard who—” My throat closes, rage flooding hot through my chest. I can’t finish the sentence.
She looks away. “I don’t remember much after the pool. Did he—”
“No.” I tighten my grip on her hand. “He didn’t. But he tried. And if I hadn’t gotten there—”
Her breath hitches, and then she’s crying. Real, broken sobs that wrack her body. My instinct is to gather her up, but I stop myself. She’s been touched enough without consent tonight, and I will not be another man who takes without asking.
But then she whispers, “Will you hold me?”
The four softest words in the world.
I’m on the bed in a second, on top of the covers, wrapping myself around her like I can physically shield her from every bad thing that’s ever happened to her. She folds into me and completely unravels, sobbing into my shirt until I feel damp heat through the cotton.
“You’re safe now,” I murmur, one hand stroking her hair back from her damp cheeks. “It’s over. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
She clings to me like I’m the last thing keeping her tethered to the earth, and I press my mouth to the crown of her head. “I’ll always find you,” I promise again, voice low but fierce. “No matter where you are, no matter what’s happened—no one will ever hurt you like that again. I swear it.”
She nods against me, and I feel something settle between us. This isn’t step-sibling territory anymore. This is bone-deep. Irrevocable.
“I was so scared,” she whispers.
“I know, sweetheart.” The endearment slips out, unplanned, but she doesn’t flinch. She curls closer.
Silence stretches, warm and dangerous. Then she says, “I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of this. Of caring about you too much.” Her fingers knot in my shirt. “Everyone I’ve ever cared about has left.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I kiss the top of her head, breathing her in. “I’m not your father. I’m not leaving you.”
She’s quiet so long I think she’s asleep, but then—
“I think I might be falling for you,” she whispers.
Lightning. Straight through my chest. “Harper…”
“I know it’s wrong and impossible, and Caleb. I’m still leaving. I have to go save Z, and that means marrying him. I’ve been trying to fight this thing with you, but tonight, when you found me? It was like you were sent to save me.”
“You saved yourself,” I tell her. “You survived. You’re here. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”
“I don’t feel strong.”
“You are. You’re the strongest, most beautiful, most incredible person I’ve ever met.” I cup her face in both hands. “And I’m falling for you, too.”
I say it because I’m too cowardly to tell the truth: I’m afraid I've already fallen.
The air between us goes molten, heavy with everything we can’t say.
“We can’t—” She shakes her head, but her eyes… God, her eyes are begging me not to take it back. “It doesn’t change anything.”
“I know. But it also doesn’t change how I feel.” I lean my forehead to hers. “It doesn’t change that you’re mine to take care of now.”
“Yours?” she whispers, wet eyes searching mine. I’ve never seen her shields so stripped down like this. “I’ve never been anybody’s.”
“Well, now you’re mine,” I echo. “And I’m yours, too. Whatever happens, wherever this goes? I’m yours.”
She nods, no more words needed. It’s there in the space between heartbeats: we’re both in, even if it has to be a secret. Even if she leaves me in two days.
“Sleep,” I murmur, pulling the blanket over us both, cocooning her in warmth.
“You don’t have to stay,” she murmurs.
“I’m not leaving you alone. Not tonight.” Not ever again, if you’d have me.
Her lips curve faintly. “Safe,” she whispers, closing her eyes against my chest.
And I lie awake long after she’s drifted off, staring at the ceiling.
But I’m not really staring at the ceiling.
I’m counting.
Her breaths: In two-three-four. Out two-three-four. I can feel her heartbeat against my chest. One-two-three-four.
I check my watch: 2:47 a.m.
Check her forehead: Temperature seems normal now.
Check her breathing: Still steady.
Check her pulse at her wrist: 62 bpm. Normal.
I should sleep. I should let her sleep without obsessively monitoring every breath.
But I can’t.
Because I know two things with absolute certainty:
I’m in love with my stepsister.
And I can’t imagine ever letting her go.