Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Harper
Song- Hypnosis, Sleep Token
The second I hear his voice, my heart slams into my throat, and I almost choke.
Ace.
It's muffled through the barn wall, but I'd know that voice in a hurricane. He's talking to Jett, and I can't make out the words, but the tone is clear. He's pissed.
Did he know this was the plan? Did he work with Jett and Hunter to lure me here?
Or is he just as ambushed as I am?
I close my eyes. My body erupts into flames while my stomach fills with ice. Want and terror, they tangle so tight I can't tell them apart.
I brace myself and look toward the barn doors.
I forget how to breathe when I see him standing there.
That same hat. The black Stetson I picked out for him the Christmas before I left. He kept it. And I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.
He takes a step inside, closes the door behind him, and doesn't say a word.
He's bigger than when I last saw him. He was always a beast. Even in high school, he towered over the other guys. But years of riding bulls and working a ranch have turned him into something else entirely. He's every woman's walking wet dream.
He clears his throat. I can't tear my gaze from him, yet I can’t bring myself to look in his eyes. He leans against a pillar, arms crossed, and doesn't look directly at me.
I'm suddenly aware of the rope around my wrists. The way I must look, tied to a chair, hair falling out of its clip. This is not how I pictured seeing him again. In my head, I was always ready. Put together. Strong. I'd say something perfect that explained everything.
Instead, I'm tied up in his cousin's barn, and I can't remember how to form sentences.
He drags his teeth across his bottom lip. And then he looks up.
Our eyes meet, and it's a lightning bolt through my chest.
Every memory that I buried claws to the surface. His hands on my skin, his mouth on my neck, his voice in my ear saying Goldie the way other people say prayers.
Not a single word leaves his lips. He just takes me in. His eyes track over me, my face, my shoulders, my hands behind the chair, my legs. And I do the same to him. He's got more tattoos now on his arms, designs I don't recognize, stories I wasn't there for.
Then I spot it on his right bicep. A harp.
Delicate, detailed, the strings running the length of the instrument in fine black lines.
I have to fight back the tears so hard my throat aches, because he always promised to get that exact tattoo.
I told him name tattoos were a silly idea, so he said, fine, I’ll get a harp for Harper.
I clear my throat, trying to regain some composure.
"You know, if you wanted to see me, you didn't have to have me kidnapped, Ace."
It comes out as a whisper.
He nods. Pushes off the pillar and walks toward me.
I feel sick. My stomach flips. I knew it would. I knew my heart would race. I guess I thought I'd still do the same for him—that I'd see the fire behind his eyes, that spark he used to save just for me.
But his face is guarded. A wall I've never seen on Ace Sterling.
We're not who we were six years ago. I hurt this man. I rejected every attempt he made. Maybe he's had enough. Maybe he took one look at me and thought, why the fuck am I even bothering?
I drop my gaze to the floor. I did this to myself.
He stops in front of me. Heat radiates from his gigantic frame. I can smell him, something my body recognizes the way it recognizes its own heartbeat.
Without a word, he reaches behind the chair and unties the rope. His fingers brush my skin, and the contact sends a shock through me so hard I have to clench my jaw to keep from making a sound.
I bring my arms forward and shake them out. I don't stand up yet; I don't trust my legs.
"Ace. Are you okay?"
He steps back just a touch, and I look up at him. This close, I can really see him. That jawline, sharper now. Those dark eyes with the tiny flecks of green that I used to stare into for hours, trying to count them.
"I'm good, Harps. I'm good."
His deep voice cuts right through me. Through every wall I've built. Through six years of distance and discipline and pretending I'm over him.
I’m not. And I need to leave. Because if I stare at his lips for one more second, I might kiss him.
If he told me to run, I would. And this was the problem. Why I couldn’t come home and let him near me. Because all it takes is one more look and I’d be done for.
And I can’t risk that now. I’m “engaged” to Hudson. I’m here for the Italian mafia in LA. This is a hot mess that Ace doesn’t need to get involved in. It’s my problem to sort out.
"Am I free to go?" I ask.
I don’t want to run. I want to sit down and hear everything that he’s done that I’ve missed. I want to hear every story. Every bar fight. I want him to show me every tattoo.
He sucks in a breath and takes a step closer.
"Leaving is your specialty," he grunts.
The words land and I feel every one of them. No anger. Just truth from a man who's accepted something that's still killing him.
I arch an eyebrow and stand. Because Harper Jones doesn't take hits sitting down. And regardless of anything else, I just got tied up in a barn by his family.
We're close now. Too close. I can feel his warm breath. Can see the way his jaw tightens when I rise, the way his eyes drop to my mouth for half a second before snapping back up.
"Is this really how you want to play this, Ace? I've been tied up in your cousin's barn, kidnapped, I might add, and I don't even get a hello?"
He shoves his hand into his pocket and bites his lip. That thing he does, his teeth dragging slow across his bottom lip, that used to make me lose my mind. He knows what it does.
"Hello, Goldie," he drawls it out. That Arizona rumble rolling through every letter.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Hearing that name on his tongue is almost my undoing. My cheeks burn. My knees soften. Something deep in my stomach pulls tight, a feeling I haven't felt since the last time he had his hands on me.
I hold my ground.
We stand there, mere inches apart. The barn dust floating in the golden light. His eyes on mine. Mine on his.
Everything else disappears.
His hand twitches at his side toward me, then stops. I curl my fingers into my palms so I don't reach for him.
Six years of wanting this man. Six years of running. And now he's right here, close enough to touch, and neither of us will be the first one to break.
So we just stand there like statues. Burning alive in a barn in Arizona with twelve inches and six years between us.
Two broken hearts staring at each other.