27. Harper
HARPER
The night wound down slowly; people lingered, conversations stretched longer than needed, promises were made to have lunch, discuss investments, revisit charitable initiatives, and reconnect soon.
Staff moved quietly through the ballroom, collecting empty champagne glasses while the string quartet played something soft in the corner.
I stood beside my father most of the night, smiling for photographs, shaking hands, and pretending that seeing Elliot hadn't cracked something open inside me that I had been trying to bury. I don’t know if it was seeing him as much as how wrecked he looked, or hearing the rawness in his voice when he said what we had was better than what Julian and Lucy had…
For a moment, I wanted to cave; I wanted to walk into his arms as if nothing had happened. But it had happened. He had intentionally hurt me, tried to put me in my place.
I knew enough from his birthday, from the little Caleb had shared, that beneath all the bravado and practised charm was a sad, broken boy.
I know the term ‘hurt people hurt people’, but that just sounds like a load of crap.
It sounds like not taking accountability for avoiding your own pain and instead passing that burden on to someone else.
But he didn't make excuses; he admitted he messed up, wanted to talk…
maybe I needed to do that. Talk to him, get closure, so I can move on.
The thought sent my stomach into a tailspin.
"My angel."
I blinked and looked up at my father. The ballroom had thinned considerably. Oliver was speaking with his parents near the entrance, his hand wrapped around a glass of scotch while Margot talked animatedly to one of the board members. My father was watching me with an almost sad look on his face.
"You disappeared for a moment."
I forced a smile. "I promise, I'm right here."
He didn't smile back.
"No," his voice softened. "You aren’t."
I looked away because I couldn't explain where I'd gone.
To that month that felt like so much more but was reduced to nothing in a choice Elliot made.
"I saw the way he looked at you," my father said quietly.
The words settled between us. I swallowed and avoided his gaze by pretending to be interested in something that was happening on the other side of the ballroom.
"And?" I asked in what I hoped was a neutral voice, but worried it came out sounding shaky.
He stepped closer. "How did it feel?"
There it was, the question I'd been avoiding asking myself.
How did it feel?
Like someone had reached into my chest and reminded me that I still had a heart. It somehow felt like grief, and yet relief, maybe anger, but also like coming home.
"I don't know." The lie came automatically.
My father waited.
I sighed. "It hurt."
His expression changed. Not because he was surprised, but because he hated that he couldn't fix it. "Did he hurt you again tonight?"
I looked up so quickly that my neck protested. "No," the answer came immediately. Because Elliot hadn't hurt me tonight. He'd stood there and looked at me like he finally understood what he'd done. And somehow that had hurt more.
My father nodded slowly. "He looked..." He paused, searching for the right word.
I finished his sentence for him, in a whispered breath, "Broken?"
A sad smile crossed his face. "Yes."
We studied each other for a few moments before he said, “I also saw how you looked at him, even though you tried so hard to hide it.”
At that revelation, I had to look away, blink back the tears that were suddenly threatening to fall. Without a word, my father was right next to me, wrapping me in a hug and kissing the top of my head.
"I need to finish a few things here," he said after a moment. "Oliver offered to drive you home."
I looked toward Oliver, and he was already watching us. He'd spent the entire evening watching me without making it obvious. Protecting me without making me feel protected.
"I can wait." I offered.
My father shook his head. "No." His eyes softened. "You've done enough performing for one evening."
I slipped my hand into his. "Are you okay?"
He smiled. “My daughter is finally by my side. What more could I want or need?” He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "I'll be home soon." Then he added quietly, "And Harper?"
"Yes?"
"You don't have to be angry with yourself because seeing him hurt or that it made you remember what you felt for him was real."
My chest tightened because somehow he always knew. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He squeezed my hand once and walked away. Leaving me standing in the middle of a ballroom that suddenly felt far too large.
The city lights blurred outside the window.
Chicago looked different after midnight, softer, less demanding, and yet more alive all at the same time.
For the first ten minutes of the drive, neither Oliver nor I spoke.
He drove one-handed, his suit jacket discarded in the back seat, his tie loosened.
The tattoos disappearing beneath the cuff of his shirt caught the glow of the passing streetlights.
Eventually, he sighed. "So."
I groaned. "No."
He laughed. "That's not very nice."
"You were going to ask me something." I felt like an angsty teenage girl all over again.
"I was." He said with a chuckle.
"No," I repeated.
His laughter filled the car. "I haven't even asked it yet."
"You don't have to." I offered.
We stopped at a red light. Oliver turned and looked at me. "You love him."
The words settled in the silence between us. I stared out the window as the light turned green. He drove, and I still didn't answer.
After another block, he said quietly, "That's not what I expected."
I laughed. "Which part?"
"The part where you didn't deny it."
My throat tightened. Because I wanted to. I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him that what I felt for Elliot had been chemistry, or lust, or loneliness. But I'd spent too much of my life lying to myself.
"I don't know what I feel."
Oliver smiled sadly. "That's fair."
We drove another few blocks, then he spoke again. "He loves you."
I turned toward him. "You don't know that."
He barked out a laugh. "Harper."
"What?" I responded with a bit more bite than I intended.
"I watched him watch you tonight."
I looked away. "Don't."
His voice softened. "I don't think he knew what he had, or maybe he did but didn’t know what to do with it."
I closed my eyes. Because that was part of the problem, neither had I.
The car rolled to a stop outside my townhouse, and neither of us moved. After a moment, Oliver turned toward me. "I meant what I said."
I frowned. "About what?"
"Getting to know you." His smile was soft. "The woman you've become."
My chest ached because Oliver had always been safe; he had always been honest. He had always been the kind of man I thought I should fall in love with.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
He chuckled. "Why?"
"Because I think you deserve someone who looks at you the way my mother looked at my father."
His smile didn't falter when he replied, "I agree."
The honesty of it stole my breath. Then he reached over and brushed a curl away from my face, asking, "Can I do something stupid?"
I laughed, saying, "That depends."
"I'm going to do it, anyway."
Before I could respond, he leaned forward and kissed me. It was gentle, tame, and safe. When he pulled back, we both knew. There was nothing there. No spark or fire. No feeling that the world had tilted beneath my feet. Just affection, comfort, history, and friendship.
Oliver smiled first. "Well."
I laughed. "Oh my God. You kissed me."
"I did."
"And?" I asked, even though I knew.
He leaned back in his seat. "I think we just saved ourselves years of wondering."
The laugh that escaped me felt real.
"You aren't upset?" I asked.
He looked genuinely surprised. "Harper."
"What?" I whispered.
"I love you."
My breath caught, not because of the words, but because of how easily he said them. Without expectation, manipulation, or fear.
He smiled. "But not like that."
Tears burned behind my eyes. "You'll still be my friend?"
He barked out a laugh. "You can’t get rid of me with a shitty kiss."
I shoved his shoulder, and he grinned. Some of the tension I had been carrying loosened inside me. I think a part of me had wished it would work out with Oliver because it would be easy. But if I really wanted what my parents had, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.
We sat there for another moment, neither of us moving. Then Oliver smiled sadly and said, "For what it's worth, I think anyone would be lucky to be loved by you."
I shook my head, not sure how true that was, and reached for the door handle.
"Goodnight, Oli."
"Goodnight, Harp."
I climbed out of the car and stood on the sidewalk until he pulled away.
The townhouse felt quiet when I walked inside. I kicked off my heels, dropped my clutch onto the entry table, and made it halfway up the stairs before I heard the front door open again.
"Harper?"
I turned, and my father stood in the foyer, his tie loosened and his jacket draped over his arm. For a second, he looked less like a Montgomery and more like the man who used to carry me upstairs when I fell asleep watching movies.
"You're home."
He smiled. "I told you I wouldn't be long."
I descended the stairs before I could stop myself and wrapped my arms around him. He held me close. After a long moment, he kissed the top of my head, asking, "Oliver?"
I laughed softly. "We're better off as friends."
His shoulders visibly relaxed, but he still asked, "You didn't like him?"
"I adore Oliver."
"But?"
I closed my eyes. "But I didn't feel it when he kissed me."
The silence that followed wasn't judgment; it was understanding.
My father sighed softly. "Ah."
I laughed despite myself. "That's all you have to say?"
He smiled. "My angel, I knew your mother for a moment in time before I ruined both our lives."
That startled a laugh out of me. "What?"
He shrugged, saying, "I fell in love with her immediately; I just knew."
The ache in my chest expanded. "Dad?"
"Yes?"
I looked down at our joined hands. "Do you think Mom ever regretted it?"
"Regret what?" he asked.
"Choosing love."
The answer came so quickly I almost missed it. "Not for a second."
I looked up. "Even after everything?"
His eyes softened. "Especially after everything."
The tears I'd been holding back all night finally burned.
He smiled sadly, saying, "The greatest privilege of my life was loving your mother."
My voice broke when I asked, "Even though you lost her?"
He reached up and brushed a tear from my cheek. "My angel," he breathed, "love isn't valuable because it lasts forever." His smile trembled. "It's valuable because it existed at all."