Chapter 24
As a professional procrastinator, I’m excellent at pushing back later .
I put away all the leftovers worth saving, and clean the kitchen we didn’t even use much while Finn chomps my ear off about a new brand of wet suits he wants to carry even though the wholesale pricing isn’t the slightest bit competitive.
But somewhere between wiping down the sink and lifting the vase of tulips up so I can clean the nonexistent dust beneath it, I agree.
Through the window, I watch Harper face off in a cartwheel competition with Lucas under the strings of lights.
“Good luck, kid.”
“What did you say?”
Peeking over my shoulder, I tell Finn, “Nothing.” I leave the sink and dry my hands on a dish towel when Caroline comes in.
“It’s late.” She stretches her arms.
“It’s Friday , loser,” I tease and then she pinches my forearm when she walks past. “Chain,” I say to Finn. “Your ball is calling.”
Finn pinches me in the same spot before he follows. “Later. ”
Later , I think to myself, and then Harper walks in with Lucas.
“Bath and bed,” she tells him, guiding him by the shoulders through the kitchen. “It’s late.”
Lucas yawns, but doesn’t go down without a fight. “It’s Friday , Mom.”
I avoid eye contact with Harper, but it’s hard to hide my chuckle. “See you in the morning for Tic-Tac-Toe, kid.”
“Can’t wait, Riley!” Lucas calls from the stairs.
The truth is, I can’t either.
What I can wait for is later . When I hear their voices muffle upstairs, I slip out the backdoor and over to my apartment to clean up. I’ve got a few hours of work ahead of me tonight if I want to get this thing rolling, and I set a hard deadline of next week to file everything.
After showering off the smoke from the barbecue that has permeated my skin, I stare out the window that faces the house, seeing a light on in Harper’s room.
I’ll throw my face in a book and then she’ll leave me alone, I decide, opening the door and stepping out onto the landing. It’s then that her light goes off, and maybe I’m lucky because she already went to sleep.
But of course not. A minute and a half later, we walk into the kitchen at the exact same time and I silently curse the cruel twist of fate. This is my doing though. After all, I never moved out.
I open the pantry, pleased to find frosted Pop-Tarts. “Want one?”
“You going to be up late?” Harper asks as she declines my offer with a shake of her head.
“Have a lot to review.”
I quickly turn, taking my package of Pop-Tarts I have no intention of toasting with me. But I freeze when Harper touches my back.
“Riley.”
Okay. Brace yourself. This is later , I tell myself as I mentally try to draw up all the talking points I can spit out to avoid having any conversation that leads me exposing myself as the asshole who has feelings for my dead best friend’s wife.
“Take this.”
I look down, finding a plate and grab it even though I want to grab her ass. I want to kiss every itty, bitty part of all this wrong out of me and into Harper and let her deal with the guilt for a while.
But fuck me, I care too much about Harper so I won’t do that.
In the dining room, I plop down at my make-shift desk.
Focus, focus, focus .
I barely manage to read a page before Harper reappears, holding a steaming mug.
“You’re not tired?”
I flick my eyes up at her. “A little. But I prefer working at night. I need the quiet. And I’m sorry. I know you hate the mess.” I motion at the table.
“Are you?”
“No, not really. There’s a method to my madness.” I reach for the silver package and tear it open, pulling out one pastry. Even though Harper said she didn’t want one, I break it in half and give her the biggest piece.
She steps over to the living room and pulls out a coaster for her mug, leaving it on the small table by the club chair before returning and taking the Pop-Tart. If she wanted it warmed up, we don’t need a toaster. Because after her finger brushes mine I’m heating right up.
“Is there?”
The table is covered in a collage of scattered papers, books tabbed with sticky notes, and an array of pens and highlighters.
“Not really.”
I try to ignore Harper’s lips and the way her tongue breaks through to clear a cluster of gooey crumbs from them. “You have some…” I point so she can clear it even though it’s me who wants to wipe her mouth clean .
Harper shifts through a stack of books as she quietly chews, lifting one before crossing the room.
Don’t look, don’t look , I lecture myself, but fuck me, I stare at her ass so hard I’m surprised she can’t feel it.
She turns, sitting on the couch with the book laying open in her lap. “Replevin?”
“I need to review it again. That’s our whole case.”
She lifts her eyes from the page and looks at me, appearing confused.
I stuff the rest of the Pop-Tart into my mouth and grab a pen, spinning it in my fingers.
“What we’re going to ask the judge is for an emergency writ of seizure.”
Harper shakes her head, clearly confused, and I realize given that she’s my client I should probably take some time to walk her through everything. Slowly.
“Based on Nate’s contract, Tides is property.”
“Okay.”
“Now, there’s a little gray area here, because he becomes Nate’s property upon retirement if he’s between eight and eleven, which he is. But that’s only if he’s never worked with another handler.”
Harper sighs. “He has. When Nate had surgery.”
“Right. The sheriff’s department didn’t do anything wrong by taking him back into custody. They aren’t violating anything. But there is legal precedent for taking into consideration the dog’s welfare—"
“Tides’s feelings?”
I nod. “Yes. Tides’s feelings.”
I redirect and point at the book in her lap. “This is the cliff notes version, but that— replevin-- gives you the right to reclaim your personal property that was wrongfully taken. We can easily prove there’s grounds to consider Tides part of Nate’s estate, which means he’ll go to you. And if we couple that with consideration of his welfare, it gives us a strong case. ”
I think it does, at least, but I swallow any and all doubt because I don’t want Harper to think I’m a complete idiot.
I clear my throat. “I’ve got a good handle on the case law, but there’s still a lot of legal jargon I have to review.”
Review might be pushing it. If I’m being honest, I basically need to re-learn it. I hold out my hand, motioning for the book.
Harper makes no effort to move from the couch and return the book. She presses her hands to the pages, smoothing them out from the spine.
“Can I help you?” she asks, her honey-brown eyes rounding, almost like she’s afraid of my answer.
I don’t give her one.
“Words can be hard sometimes,” Harper says. “And you’ve been doing a lot on your own, clearly.”
It’s not a question, but a statement, and then I realize, it’s my statement from a few weeks ago in the backyard when I told her about my difficulties, when I told her how many times it took me to pass the bar, or how difficult it was to navigate law school, how I had to have people read to me, how Nate read to me.
With a furrowed brow I watch as Harper scoots back on the couch, lifting the book and folding her legs beneath it. She doesn’t look at me before she begins to read out loud.
The words are ones I’ve heard many times before—from professors during lectures, from just about anyone else willing to take twenty bucks. But through Harper’s voice, they seem to come easier to me.
Because I don’t just hear them. I feel them too.
I can’t blame Harper for falling asleep an hour later. I’ve got notes and notes taken in my own shorthand, turning Harper’s narration into a much more easily-understandable outline I can review .
When she rolls onto her side facing away from me I get up from the chair, grabbing the knit blanket folded neatly over the edge of the couch, mindful to cover her bare feet.
I take the book, and she nuzzles into the pillow beneath her head. The right thing to do would be to wake her, tell her to go upstairs where she has more space and a softer pillow. But I can’t. I like that Harper is here even if she’s somewhere between her seventh and eighth dream.
The sight of her at rest gives me a second wind of motivation rooted in focus. My eyes don’t feel as tired, my back not as achy from sitting too long in the dining room chair that I return to, preparing to go to battle for Tides, to bring a piece of Nate home now since I couldn’t then.
I force my eyes away from Harper and turn them back to my legal pad. But between every few lines, I flick them up to her, making sure she’s there, making sure she’s okay.
And for another hour, she is okay.
Until she’s not.
My hand holding the pen floats above the table because maybe I’m hearing things. Because the noise drifting in my ears sounds more like a small, wounded animal. It’s a helpless, soft whine.
But I’m wrong.
I stand, rushing around the table toward the couch.
“Hey.” I’m whispering for Harper’s attention so that I don’t wake Lucas, but that seems futile considering she’s only growing louder. “Harper.”
I bend, placing my hand on Harper’s bare shoulder and lightly brush the skin to soothe her out of this dream. But a soft touch does nothing because she’s squirming, hands brushing against the back couch cushions, her flexed feet fighting an invisible weight.
“No. No. Not yet.”
I’m not sure at what point Harper left dreamland. But I know now she’s swimming in the middle of the nightmare I created for her.
“Please, please come with me.”
My heart sinks, swirling into what must be a black hole in my stomach. It’s gone, like Nate. No rescue and recovery efforts will make a difference.
Her body thrashes now, determined to win the battle, determined to stay afloat. And, as I see Harper’s hands begin to scratch at the pillows, I know she is determined to do what I couldn’t—she’s determined to take Nate with her.
I drop to my knees, doing everything I can to lay Harper down on her back, but god is she strong despite her size. I keep peeking at the stairs, making sure they’re still clear while I gently try to wake her.
Gentle is thoughtful, but not productive, so I use a little more force to turn Harper, but I exercise strength when it comes to my voice.
“It’s just a dream, Harper. Wake up.”
Finally on her back, Harper still struggles beneath my hold, arms fighting to flail.
“Please stay.”
Harper’s words are painful, but it’s how she cries in her sleep, how tears seep out from closed eyes that I’m sure will kill me.
But that’s the hardest part about grief, knowing that it can sneak through even the smallest crack while you’re trying to keep it at bay.
“Harper, you gotta wake up. Stop, please."
It’s one thing to lose Nate. It’s another to watch Harper lose him.
“Stay, Riley.”
My heart stops. The world stops when my eyes land on Harper’s face, finding her awake. Her eyes glisten tragically with tears, her plump lips part as shaky breaths escape them .
“Riley…”
Hearing my name like that? Wanted? Needed ? It unleashes something in me I never knew was there. It’s instinct, the way my body moves, like comforting Harper is the easiest thing I’ve ever done even though we both know, it was born from the hardest. It’s like a reflex triggered by something deep within me I’m not sure I can ignore any longer, no matter how much it terrifies me. Because, I swear, what flows through my veins is love I never knew was mine to give Harper until death cleared the way.
Harper’s body shifts backward while mine moves forward as I slide onto the couch. Cupping the back of her head, her face finds the crook of my neck, her eyes showering me with tears.
My lips on her temple and the kiss they dust just under her hairline is an action that can’t be described by anything other than necessary . And god, I hate all of it, and not because it’s wrong that Harper fits so easily in my arms.
I hate it because it feels so damn right.
“I’m here.” The whisper serves as another kiss, but this time, my lips linger there when Harper’s hands slide under my shirt, her fingertips pressing into the skin of my back. I run my hand down the back of her head, following the lengths of her hair. She shifts, and her lips now press against the column of my neck and I don’t know how it’s possible, but my pulse beats faster when it’s under her.
“But why were you there ?”
I freeze. “In your dream?”
Harper nods, but the movement is timid. It makes me hold her tighter, more secure.
“I swear,” she whispers, “I was there with both of you.”
The thought is soul crushing. I squeeze my eyes shut, not recognizing the pain in my voice.
“Please don’t dream that. I can’t handle thinking about what the world would be like without you in it.”
Harper stills against me and the feel of her breath against my skin halts, like she’s holding it in anticipation and I don’t know if she’s waiting for me to continue or take the words back. All I know is I can’t let my mind entertain the possibility. My heart can’t handle it. Right or wrong, she’s tucked in there right now and I can’t imagine her being anywhere else. I don’t want her anywhere else.
Harper drags her hand out from beneath my shirt and brings it around, pressing it to my chest and she pulls her face from my neck.
“Riley…”
I’ve must’ve heard my name said a million times in my life. I think this is the only one I’ll never forget.
“You don’t know what it does to me when you say my name like that.”
Harper’s tongue slides out between her lips, swiping at the bottom one. She slides her leg up and cushions it between my own. “Like what?”
“Like I’m important to you.”
Harper’s hand finds my cheek and it’s another memory I’ll keep forever. I know I forget a lot of things, but never will I go a day without remembering this moment when the whole world was about to change.
“I…shouldn’t be holding you like this. I shouldn’t like holding you like this.”
Pulling her closer makes it too easy for Harper to call my bluff. “But you are.”
Still touching my face, Harper snakes her other between us, trailing down my chest and stomach. I swear, I can’t breathe.
But when Harper takes my left hand, she pulls it up, resting it on her chest, just above the swell of her breast.
And there it is—the finger Nate broke on purpose resting on the beating heart of his entire purpose.
“You gotta’ take care of my family.”
I don’t hear Harper breathing anymore. My racing heart has been muted. All I hear is Nate saying that over and over .
“I…I can’t.”
There’s the slightest flinch of Harper’s body after I reject her is another thing I’ll never be able to forget.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper as she twists away from me, hopping up and over the backside of the couch.