The Rules

Chapter 30

THIRTY

CALEB

I shouldn’t have come home early.

The second I opened that sliding door and saw Harper with Z—his hand holding hers to his chest, her body tucked against his like it belonged there—I felt something crack inside my chest.

And then I said that thing.

That fucking thing.

“I don’t think Mom would approve of you two fucking in the basement.”

What the hell is wrong with me?

That’s not who I am. I don’t lash out. I don’t snap like some territorial asshole in a frat house pissing contest.

Except apparently I do. More than once around Harper now. What the fuck good are my rules if I can’t control my mouth and I keep hurting her like that?

Because then Harper looked at me like I was someone else. Like I’d turned into the worst version of myself right in front of her.

I stand on the porch long after she slams the door, staring at the place where she disappeared.

I want to follow her in immediately and beg for forgiveness, but she just went in there to get away from me. So I resist the impulse, trying to think for once about what Harper would want.

Count the reasons to follow her:

Apologize immediately

Explain what I meant

Make sure she’s okay

Fix this now

Count the reasons to wait:

She needs space

I’ll make it worse

She’s angry at me

I need to calm down first

Four to four. Tied. No clear answer.

The soft light from the kitchen behind me glows gold and warm, spilling onto the porch like it’s trying to lure me back into the calm, orderly world I’m supposed to live in.

But I can still feel the cold spot where her body used to be.

Z’s leaning against the railing like he owns the goddamn place. Like he didn’t just drop a grenade into the middle of everything with his presence.

“You done playing house yet?” he asks without looking at me.

I turn to face him slowly. “What is it exactly you want from her?”

He gives me a lazy smile. “She’s my girl.”

“No, she’s not.”

That smile sharpens. “I’ve known her since we were kids. Taught her how to steal her first six-pack. You really think some prep school hero with perfect SAT scores and a stick up his ass is gonna last longer than a season?”

I step forward, heart pounding. “I don’t care what you think I am. But you don’t get to use her like a nostalgia blanket when you’re bored.”

Z’s smirk vanishes.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

There’s silence. Just the drone of cicadas and the buzz of Mom’s garden lights, plus the thrum of my heart slamming against my ribcage.

“You’ve known her a long time,” I say, quieter now. “So you know she deserves more than being dragged backward.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just flicks something off the porch and watches it fall into the dark.

“You think this place is gonna save her?” he says finally. “You think you are?”

“I think she deserves the chance to choose,” I bite out. “Without you breathing down her neck every time she starts to feel safe.”

Z laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s the problem with safe places. They don’t last. She knows that. You don’t.”

I don’t have a comeback. Because maybe he’s right. Maybe I am stupid for believing this could work. That she and I could—

No.

I turn and head for the sliding door, because if I stay out here any longer, I’m going to hit him. And I won’t like who I am if I do.

The kitchen is empty now, warm and quiet, but it feels like Harper’s still here somehow. Her scent lingers—cherry blossoms and rage.

I close the door behind me and lock it, then unlock it, then lock it and unlock it again.

Not because I think Z will follow me in.

But because I need something—anything—to feel like it’s under control.

Upstairs, Harper’s door is closed.

Mine too.

And this whole house feels like a powder keg waiting for the next spark.

I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, sheets crisp against my skin, chest still tight. I can’t stop replaying it—Harper’s eyes, wide and furious. Z’s hand on hers. The sound of my own voice, sharp and cruel and wrong.

I want to believe that this is fixable. That I can say the right thing tomorrow. That I can wrap this whole mess in one of my tidy solutions and pretend I haven’t already ruined it.

But I don’t know how to fix this.

I don’t even know where to start.

Because I looked at her—and I wanted her. Then I saw her with someone else—and I hated it.

Then I opened my mouth—and I made everything worse.

I shoot up in bed, the movement sharp and violent. I can’t lie here another second.

My feet hit the hardwood floor with barely a whisper. I’m learning to sneak around this house and which steps to avoid. The irony isn’t lost on me that I’ve become an expert at moving through my own home like a thief.

The bathroom connects our rooms like a secret passage, and I pass through, then pause at the threshold, pressing my ear to Harper’s door. Nothing. But that doesn’t mean she’s sleeping. Harper’s got this way of going completely still sometimes.

I knock softly, my knuckles barely making contact with the wood.

Three quick taps.

Wait. Count to four.

Knock again. One more tap to make it four total.

Even. Balanced.

The silence stretches until I’m sure she’s either asleep or ignoring me.

Knock one more time.

Now I’ve knocked seven times total. Odd number. But a prime. Lucky or unlucky?

Knock once more. Single tap. Knock on wood.

Eight times total. Even. Good.

It’s the magical number, because right then, the door flies open.

And she’s there.

Jesus.

The moonlight through her window catches the wild mess of her hair and paints her skin silver. She looks like something old gods would kneel for. She’s wearing one of my shirts—when did she steal that?—and it barely covers the tops of her thighs.

But it’s her eyes that wreck me. Wide. Raw. Needing.

I don’t wait.

Don’t think. Don’t count.

I just move.

I reach for her, cradle her face, and kiss her like it’s the only way to breathe.

She kisses me back instantly, arms flung around my neck, mouth open and hungry. This isn’t careful. It’s claiming. Like she’s reminding me who she is—who we are.

She shoves me backward into the bathroom, hand fumbling for the lock. The click echoes like a gunshot.

“I was so jealous,” she whispers in my ear. “Thinking of you out with Marie.”

The words hit like a drug. Then her mouth is on my neck—biting, sucking—and I’m gone.

I fumble behind me and lock my bedroom door on instinct. Her legs wrap around my waist as I lift her to the bathroom counter in the dark.

She’s the perfect height like this—exactly where I want her.

“Oh, sweetheart.” My voice breaks. We both know it was just a fake date to get McKenzie off our backs—and believe me, I was bored out of my mind listening to McKenzie monologuing about her social media following—but I’ll still say the words to reassure Harper, because God knows I get it after going nuclear just seeing her standing near Z on the back porch. “She’s not you.”

Marie’s pretty enough, I guess. But she doesn’t make my pulse riot. She doesn’t make me feel alive.

Harper kisses me like she’s starving, and all my restraint unravels in seconds. She tastes like weed and wildness and Harper.

“It made me crazy,” I breathe against her mouth. “Seeing him touching you.”

Her hands twist in my shirt. “I’m sorry. He just took my hand. I didn’t—”

Relief crashes through me so hard it makes me dizzy. Thank God.

I pull back just enough to look at her. Her guard’s down. Completely. And underneath the sharp edges, she looks scared.

“Harper,” I whisper, framing her face. “What’s wrong?”

She swallows hard. “Z told me something. About my dad. About the club.”

“What about it?”

“Well, it’s a sex dungeon for one.”

“What?!” I choke out.

“Yeah, sorry to break it to you like this. But Helen’s into kink.”

My head blanks out, denials immediately forming on my lips, but for once, I manage to keep my mouth shut because Harper looks really upset as she continues.

“But that’s not the worst of it. Someone from Dad’s old motorcycle crew showed up.

Z saw them arguing. He thinks my dad’s up to something after all.

Money laundering. A prostitution ring. Fuck knows. ”

I go still. Because I know how much she’s been hoping this new life is real. If Silas is really lying…

“Z could be wrong,” I say. “We don’t know anything yet.”

“Could he, though?” she says bitterly. “My dad lies for a living. And I was dumb enough to think this time was different.”

“You’re not dumb.” I cradle her face. “You’re brave enough to believe people can change. That’s not weakness. That’s…” I shake my head. “That’s what I love about you.”

She freezes. Her eyes snap up.

“It doesn’t matter. You’ll leave,” she says quietly. “You’ll go to college, and I’ll still be here—”

“We’ve already talked about that. You’re coming with me.”

She laughs, sharp. “Please. You’ll be going to school at fucking Harvard. You think I’ll fit anywhere near you then?”

“I love you.” The words come fast, hard. “I don’t care where we are. You’re it for me, Harper.”

Something in her cracks. I see it.

“Caleb…”

“I mean it,” I say. “We’ll find a tiny apartment. No one will know us there. We can be together. No more sneaking around.”

Her eyes are terrified. Like she wants to believe me but doesn’t know how.

“I’m not McKenzie,” she whispers. “I don’t want to be worshiped. I’m not even Marie. I don’t want some perfect-boy soft version of love.”

“I won’t,” I say, voice low.

“Then prove it.”

Her fingers slide into my waistband. She wraps her small hand around my cock and guides me to where she’s already shoved her underwear aside, legs open wide as she’s perched at the edge of the bathroom counter.

God help me, she’s drenched already.

I groan and slide my fingers between her thighs, circling slow and deliberate, and her breath catches.

When my cock pushes inside, she lets out a sound I’ve never heard from her before—half gasp, half challenge.

Her nails dig into my hips.

“If you love me,” she grits out, “then see me. Not some fantasy. Me.”

Her eyes dare me.

“Fuck me dirty, Caleb.”

It hits me deep in a primal place every time she says my name like that. And she never has to beg. So I thrust deeper, inch by slow inch, watching her jaw go slack, eyelids fluttering as I stretch her open.

I’m still not all the way in. She gasps, legs tightening around me, and then reaches down, pinching her own nipple hard between her fingers.

It’s so filthy. So her.

My knees nearly buckle.

I grab her ass, lift her slightly, and drive in the rest of the way. Her head snaps back. She arches off the counter with a strangled cry, like she can’t take it but also won’t let me stop.

She doesn’t want me to worship her. Okay. I get it.

She wants to be ruined?

I’ll ruin her.

I brace her legs over my forearms and start thrusting, not giving her time to adjust. Each stroke punches into her, her slickness coating my length as her body clenches tighter around me.

Her hands slide under my shirt, nails raking down my chest, my stomach. I pause long enough just to tug my shirt off over my head. Her teeth immediately find my shoulder, biting hard enough to leave a mark.

I don’t stop her. I want her to leave marks.

“You scare the shit out of me,” she whispers against my skin even as she clings to me.

Oh Harper. “I know.”

“This thing between us…” she trails off, neck falling back as her hips thrust forcefully against mine as I pick up pace. “I don’t know how to trust it.”

“Me neither.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, then locks her ankles around my neck, hauling me in closer with my next thrust. I can barely believe the way she’s folded herself, but it feels so damn—Fuck.

Sweat beads on my back. I can barely hold back the groan building in my chest. She’s dragging it out of me with every roll of her hips, every shiver, and every low, desperate sound she makes as I bottom out again and again.

“I don’t believe in love,” she gasps, fingernails now digging into my scalp. “It’s a scam. It’s how you end up abandoned.”

I brush her hair back and cup her cheek.

“I won’t leave without you.” I kiss her.

“You say that now,” she murmurs against my lips.

“I’ll say it again tomorrow. And the day after. As long as it takes. I love you.”

She pulls back and looks at me like she wants to believe me. Like maybe she will, one day.

Then she grabs her own throat with one hand, the other on the counter.

I pause, confused.

Her fingers curl loosely around her neck, her eyes locking on mine.

Daring me.

Fuck.

She doesn’t say anything.

She just holds that gaze. Defiant. Needy. Begging without words.

I swallow hard, then replace her hand with mine at her throat. Not squeezing. Just holding.

Her eyes flutter shut, her lips parting.

And when I thrust up again—slow, punishing—her mouth drops open in a silent scream.

I squeeze a little at her throat.

She likes it. God help me, she needs it.

Her voice breaks on a curse. “Fuck, Caleb—I’m close.”

She writhes on the counter, knees shaking, hands sliding up under her breasts, tweaking her nipples again and rolling them hard between her fingers. Her clit is pressed to my groin, and every time I grind in, she grinds back, chasing it.

I lose the rhythm, hips stuttering, because she’s so goddamn filthy and beautiful and vulnerable without saying a single word.

She slaps my chest once—hard—and then grabs my shoulder and pulls me back in.

I let her.

She buries her face in that nook between my neck and shoulder again, biting down hard as her thighs start trembling. Her little teeth sink in deeper than before, and fuck—the unexpected pain makes my cock thicken inside her.

And then she tightens.

Spasming around me.

No warning.

No lead-up.

She just explodes.

She jerks beneath me, one hand fisted in my hair, the other clawing down my back, leaving raw trails. Her body clamps down, pulses around me, milking me as she gasps out ragged breaths against my throat.

I come moments later, quiet, in the dark, and then she holds me and starts sobbing against my chest.

Oh fuck. I pull out.

“Did I hurt you?” I ask, terrified that I applied too much pressure to her neck.

My hands are already checking—gentle fingers on her throat, feeling for any tenderness. Looking for marks. Assessing damage.

Check her breathing: steady.

Check her pulse at her throat: strong.

Check her eyes: crying, but focused.

But she shakes her head, glistening in the dim light of the nightlight plugged in by the sink. “Never. It was perfect. You’re perfect. I want this. I want you. I think I’m just scared about what this all—”

I scan her face one more time. Two more times. Three. Four.

Four checks. She’s okay. She’s safe.

I wrap my arms around her and rock her back and forth against my chest.

“Shhh, shhh,” I whisper as she whimpers against my chest. “Shhh. Everything’s going to be okay. I swear it.”