Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
HARPER
We showered in the middle of the night, and for once in my life, I let myself have something good without fucking it up first.
I’m snuggled in Caleb Graham’s arms in nothing more than his T-shirt all the way until morning, and it’s terrifying how right it feels. How his heartbeat under my ear is steadier than anything I’ve ever known. How his arm around my waist feels less like a cage and more like an anchor.
I don’t do this. I don’t stay. I don’t let people hold me while I’m vulnerable.
But here I am, breathing in sync with him, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek, and for a few stolen hours, I let myself pretend this could be real.
Except when the sky outside begins to lighten with the approaching sun, reality crashes back in hard enough to break ribs.
I have to go.
I try to sneak out of bed before he wakes. Slowly, carefully, like maybe if I’m quiet enough, I can disappear without the conversation that’ll rip us both apart.
Not that Caleb’s about to let that happen.
“No,” he murmurs sleepily, and suddenly his arms and legs are tangling around me, wrapping me up tight against him like he can physically hold me here through sheer will.
I sigh and close my eyes. Hate what has to happen now.
I didn’t tell him I planned to do it this way last night, because I was selfish.
I wanted what we shared when I climbed into his bed.
I needed it. I’ve felt driven to him like it’s a compulsion inside me—this chemical, undeniable pull I couldn’t fight even if I wanted to—and even now, knowing I need to go, have to go, it feels like tearing out my guts to try to pull away from his warm, sleepy body.
“I have to go,” I whisper into the dim light. “I was always going to leave the morning of my birthday.”
Caleb suddenly sits upright, eyes wide, fully awake like I’ve just dumped ice water on him.
His hand finds mine immediately. Grips tight. His thumb starts moving against my palm—these little circles. Four of them clockwise, then four counterclockwise. Over and over.
“Let me drive you back to East Texas,” he says.
The circles don’t stop. Four and four and four and four.
It’s almost soothing, except I can feel how hard his hand is shaking.
Yes almost bursts out of my mouth—a knee-jerk reaction to the way he’s looking at me, like I matter, like I’m worth the drive—but I force it down. Shake my head. Stare at the tangled sheets and his hand gripping mine because I can’t look at his face.
“So you can deliver me to get married to another man?”
I make it as harsh as possible. As ugly as I can. Waiting for him to flinch. To toss my hand back. To call me the names I’ve heard my whole life. Slut. Whore. User.
It’s okay. I understand. I know it wasn’t fair to take what he gave me last night. I didn’t know—would never have guessed—he was a virgin.
It was the best sex of my life.
And it was… him.
I’ve never had sex with anyone who looked into my soul the whole time. Who matched me so perfectly that it felt like finding a missing piece. Who made me feel—
Stop.
None of that matters now.
I glare at the sheets because I can’t bear to look up and see everything change on Caleb’s face when he realizes I’m nothing special after all. Just another girl who took something she had no right to take.
I’ll just be forever his first, and at least I’ll get that distinction in his memory. So why does my stomach feel like a cramping fist? Why do I need to run away and sob in the bathroom at the thought of what I’m about to lose?
I try to pull away again, but Caleb keeps stubbornly holding my hand.
“If that’s the only way, then yes. I’m driving you to East Texas.” His voice is steady. Certain. “I’d like to meet this Z.”
My head shoots up, mouth dropped wide. I’m already shaking my head. “First thing I have to do as soon as I grab Z is go to the courthouse and marry him. You gonna drive us to the courthouse, too?”
But Caleb’s eyes are steady on mine. Unflinching.
Though his free hand is doing something weird underneath the sheet. I can see the movement. His fingers are tapping in some pattern I can’t quite track. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four.
Over and over while he stares at me.
“You said so yourself—it’s just a piece of paper.”
The tapping doesn’t stop. But his voice is completely calm.
How does he do that? Look so together on the outside while his other hand is having a whole separate panic attack in his pocket?
“Why are you being so—” I break off, half furious, half elated, completely overwhelmed. I shove him in the chest with the hand not in his death grip.
“What?” He chuckles, looking confused now.
“Stop it!”
“Stop what?” He finally releases my other hand, confusion turning to genuine concern.
“This!” I wave my hands between us furiously, gesturing at him, at us, at everything. “You. Being so… fucking perfect all the time!”
He grins—that devastating Boy Scout grin that makes all the nerves in my body light up—and then he leans forward and kisses me.
The hand that was tapping stops. Just... stops.
Like kissing me is the only thing that shuts off whatever’s running in his head.
I throw my arms around him and kiss him back like I can somehow make him understand everything I can’t say out loud.
That I’m terrified.
That I’ve never wanted to stay anywhere more than I want to stay here.
That he’s the first person who’s ever made me feel like maybe, maybe, I could be worth choosing.
But I can’t stay in this kiss forever.
“Come on,” I hiss as I pull back, reality crashing in again. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here before Helen or Silas wakes up. Your mom’s an early riser.”
He nods, sucking in a deep breath, and it hits me all over again what a big deal this is for a rule-following Boy Scout like him. Breaking the rules. Lying to his mom. Driving me to my doom.
Immediately, I feel awful. Guilty for dragging him into my mess.
“You don’t have to do this, you know.” I offer him the out he should take. “If it’s just because you’re worried about me hitchhiking, I’ve been saving up the lunch money Helen gives me. I’ve got enough for a bus ticket.”
Caleb’s jaw goes hard. “Is that why I haven’t been seeing you around the cafeteria as much? Harper, you were supposed to buy food with that money.”
“I skip lunch all the time.” I wave a hand like it’s no big deal. Like I haven’t been carefully hoarding every dollar for this exact moment. “Plus, I brought Helen’s leftover cookies for between classes.”
Caleb breathes out hard and pulls me in close again. My eyes flutter closed without permission. God, I love the feel of being pressed against his warm chest. The solid realness of him. The way he smells like clean laundry and something uniquely Caleb.
“We’re going to have a long, hard talk about taking better care of yourself,” he murmurs into my hair. “But first, go get dressed.” He gives me a quick kiss. “Mom will probably be up within half an hour.”
“Oh shit!” I jump off the bed, and Caleb actually lets me this time.
I thought about packing a bag yesterday, but anything I would put in it would just be stuff that Helen bought for me since I’ve been here, and that feels wrong to take.
So I don’t grab anything more than the garbage sack of clothes I came with.
Sox comes out of her little den in my closet, meowing. It’s not breakfast time yet, but we’re up, so she expects food. I’m usually the one who feeds her.
“Hey, baby girl,” I whisper, crouching down.
She winds between my ankles, purring, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m about to abandon her.
My throat tightens. I pick her up, burying my face in her soft fur. She purrs louder, making biscuits on my upper arm.
“You’ll be okay,” I whisper. “Caleb will take care of you. He’s good at that. Taking care of things.”
Taking care of me.
Sox headbutts my chin, still purring.
I set her down gently and, one last time, pour the cupful of food into her bowl. I can’t look at her. Can’t watch her watch me leave.
“Be good,” I tell her, even though she never listens.
Then I grab my garbage sack and walk away before I can change my mind.
Behind me, Sox meows. Once. Twice. Three times.
I don’t look back.
By the time I come back through the joint bathroom, Caleb’s already dressed, just tying his shoes.
The first rays of dawn are pouring in through the window, painting him in warm morning light.
He’s so handsome I could die. My chest physically aches with it, and my thighs clench, remembering all the things we did last night.
The way he touched me. The way he looked at me like I was something precious.
I wish we could stay in bed all day playing and exploring each other’s bodies.
Why did I wait so long to give in to him? Why did I waste so much time fighting this?
I want strings, Harper.
I suck in a quick breath, then release it just as quickly.
Yes, Z is family. Z has always been family. But what if Caleb was always meant to be someone equally important to me? What if he was meant to be more?
Maybe life is too busy happening in the meantime to wait around for our plans to work out. Maybe what I feel even when I’m just hanging out with Caleb—this easy, terrifying, overwhelming rightness—is something I should stop running from.
“Ready,” Caleb says, finishing his shoes and popping to his feet. He grabs his phone and wallet, then nods toward his door with his finger to his lips.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
The only thing more awkward than sneaking out at dawn would be getting caught by our parents while we’re sneaking out at dawn.
Caleb opens his bedroom door with careful slowness, both of us flinching at a loud squeak before he pulls it open the rest of the way.
Then we walk in the exaggerated heel-to-toe way they always do in the movies, and by the time we get to the stairs, I’m ready just to run.
But Caleb’s so goddamned disciplined he keeps the slow, careful pace until we’re all the way out the door and to the Mustang.
“Go, go, go,” I whisper, getting in and tossing my garbage sack in the back seat. My entire life. One bag.
I don’t look at it.
Caleb takes one long look back up at the still-darkened house. At the home his mom made for him. At the life he’s about to lie his way out of for me.
Then he turns the key on the noisy engine, and we peel out of the driveway.
The rumble of the Mustang fills the silence between us as Westfield disappears in the rearview mirror. I keep my eyes forward, watching the road ahead instead of everything I’m leaving behind.
This is what I do. I leave. It’s what I’m good at.
So why does it feel like I’m making the biggest mistake of my life?
Why does my hand keep reaching for Caleb’s on the gearshift, like touching him will somehow make this okay?
Why can’t I shake the feeling that I’m not running toward Z—I’m running away from the one person who ever made me want to stay?