Chapter 27
Harper
When I rouse awake the next morning, it takes me a second to remember why I’m so tired. Why my eyes are puffy and my head aches.
Then, it all comes crashing back, like a tsunami on the beach, and there’s nowhere to hide.
I tried to fix things with Baptiste last night, explaining myself, apologizing, but he barely spoke two words to me. We eventually went to bed. He stayed on the couch, the same place where he broke my heart a few moments before.
But he’s still here, and I can’t let him go without a fight.
He wouldn’t have spent the night if there was no hope left for us. He still cares about me. There has to be a way to fix this, and I’m going to try, because I can’t even imagine losing him for good. I can’t imagine my life without him.
I head for the shower first, letting the stream of hot water batter my shoulders as if it might knock some sense into me. Once I step out, I get dressed and walk into the living area.
He’s already sitting at the kitchen table, dressed, eyes focused on nothing in particular.
The smell of coffee permeates the space, rich and grounding. Promising to wipe away everything that happened last night.
“Hey,” I say tentatively, a shadow of a smile peeking through.
He shoots me a glance, then immediately looks away, as if the sight of me burns his eyes.
My smile falters. Maybe not everything can be wiped away.
I grab a mug, fill it with coffee, then sit down across from him. We drink in silence, the only sounds the faint clink of porcelain and the hum of the fridge. Each second stretches, thick and unbearable, until my chest feels too tight to breathe.
“I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching for his hand. “I—”
He pulls it away.
“Please,” I add softly. “Can we at least talk?”
“There’s nothing to say, Harper,” he replies, still not meeting my eyes. And for the first time, his accent sounds sharp, like a slap in the face.
“Please. You can’t leave me,” I say, hating the desperation in my voice—though it doesn’t come close to the sheer panic and fear clawing through my chest right now.
“Don’t put this on me,” he snaps, finally lifting his gaze to mine.
His eyes are exhausted, guarded, filled with a hurt that twists something deep inside me. “You’re the one who ruined all this, Harper. Not me.”
I swallow hard, staring into the dark surface of my coffee like it might give me the right words. “There has to be something I can do to redeem myself. I love you, Baptiste. So much.”
The words spill out before I can stop them.
I’ve never told anyone I love you before, but as bad as the timing may be, it feels right—like my heart, my brain, my whole being already knew, and saying it out loud is just stating a fact. But it’s also like I’ve dropped a bomb right in the middle of my kitchen.
At least, Baptiste looks at me like I did.
Something shifts in his eyes. For a brief, fragile moment, I see something other than disappointment. There’s hope. The possibility that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t over yet.
Then, his gaze darkens, and he looks down.
“That doesn’t change anything,” he mumbles. “Let’s get ready. I’m driving you to the station.”
He stands up and drags himself to the sink, turning his back to me as he rinses his mug.
That’s when I realize I won’t have to imagine the pain of losing him.
Because I’m about to learn exactly what it feels like.
The drive to the station only takes a few minutes, but it feels like hours.
The tension is unbearable, sucking the oxygen from the car.
All I can hear is the faint hum of traffic and the sound of our breathing.
Or maybe it’s just his, because I don’t think I’ve inhaled a breath of air since we stepped into the car.
I assumed Baptiste would just drop me off and leave, but he stays by my side during the entire process. Walking me to reception. Sitting next to me in the waiting area. Showing me how good of a man he is. How much I’ve lost by messing up the best relationship of my life.
The officer shepherds us into a small room where he offers us coffee—although I’m not sure I’ll ever drink another drop of it after this morning—and lets me talk.
I recount everything from the beginning—the first case, how I exposed Victor, the sentencing.
And finally, the altercation at the charity gala and the threats that followed.
“You have to take this seriously,” Baptiste finally says, drilling the officer with a hard stare. He’s been shifting on his seat since I started. “He’s threatening to kill her. The guy is a maniac.”
I stiffen, shooting him a quick glare. I don’t need him to advocate for me. I’ve handled worse on my own.
The officer glances between us. “We are taking this seriously,” he says at last.
He addresses me again. “I’m going to file this as a report. That means everything you’ve told me today is officially on record.”
The tightness in my chest loosens a fraction.
“I’ll need copies of the messages, notes—anything he’s sent you,” he continues. “And your phone records. If he contacts you again, save everything you can.”
“But what about now?” Baptiste adds, knee bouncing under the table. “She’s not safe.”
I ball my fists on my lap.
There it is again. That edge in his voice. That urgency.
He broke up with me, made it very clear that we were done. So, why is he acting like this?
“Given his history and the nature of the threats,” the officer says, “I strongly recommend you request a temporary restraining order.”
Baptiste leans forward. “How does she do that?”
“You’ll need to visit the courthouse,” the officer explains. “A judge can issue a temporary order, sometimes the same day. Once it’s granted, we serve him. If he violates it, we can arrest him immediately.”
“So, until that happens, you’re just going to sit back and wait?” Baptiste adds, his volume rising a notch.
“We don’t have enough on him right now,” the officer says. “No proof the note came from him. As of this conversation, no actual crime has been committed.”
“Oh, so you’re waiting for him to kill her or send her to the hospital before you act?” Baptiste snaps, his muscles tensing. “Makes perfect sense.”
Seriously? I resist the urge to roll my eyes, ignoring the annoying flutter in my stomach. It’s not about me—it’s just who he is. Protecting people is his thing, as a defenseman. It doesn’t change anything. In fact, it’s really starting to piss me off.
“Sir,” the officer says with practiced calm, “our hands are tied. I will try to identify the owner of the phone number he’s been calling Ms. Donnelly from, but it’s likely a burner phone.
As for the car that’s been following her, even if it belongs to him or one of his associates, it’s a free country.
He can drive wherever he pleases. For now.
” His eyes land on me again. “Once the restraining order is issued, we’ll be able to act if he comes near you.
Which is why it’s so important that you request one. ”
“Okay.” I nod. “I’ll go right now.”
“In the meantime,” he adds, “I’ll ask our patrols to swing by your address and workplace.”
“Thank you,” I say, glad that this meeting is over.
We exit the small interview room and head outside, which is like stepping straight into a furnace. Heat wells up against my skin, stealing the little air I have left.
“Well,” I say, stopping on the sidewalk. “I guess I’ll head to the courthouse for that restraining order. You’re free to go. No need to worry about me anymore.” My tone is sharp with the unfairness of it all, even though all I want is to collapse into his arms.
“I’ll drive you.”
“No, please,” I say, shaking my head. “I’d rather go alone. If this is really over between us, then you have to let me handle this by myself. I’m no longer your concern, isn’t that right?”
A hint of hope slips into my voice, thin and treacherous. And I hate that my heart immediately latches onto it, pounding harder, like maybe there is something left to save.
His shoulders drop a notch, the fight leaving him. That’s all the proof I need. I know he hasn’t reconsidered.
“You’re right,” he says quietly, not looking at me. “I’d better get going, then. Take care, Harper.”
And with that bitter goodbye, he leaves me standing in front of the police station, the heat suffocating me—as if the moment he walked away, all the air went with him.