Chapter 31
Baptiste
After my dinner with Helen, I press my foot on the gas pedal and fly to the nearest convenience store.
Once inside, I buy their entire stock of Salted Caramel Twix bars to make a basket for Harper.
It seems like an appropriate thank-you gift for the woman who helped me find my way back to my biological mother.
And a good first step toward repairing our relationship that I ended prematurely.
As I get out of the store, a balmy warmth envelops me. The heat hasn’t broken yet, even this late in the day. I’m halfway back to my car when my phone rings, but it’s a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello?”
A familiar voice croaks from the other line, “Baptiste, it’s Glenda. Harper’s grandmother. Your friend James gave me your number.”
My breath catches, a sharp chill prickling down my spine. “Glenda, hi. Is everything okay?”
“I’m worried about Harper,” she says, her voice tight with unease. “I haven’t heard from her today yet, and she always calls before they put us to bed here.”
I glance at my watch. It’s already 9 p.m.
“And with that psycho running loose,” she continues, her voice lowering, “I have a bad feeling.”
My grip tightens around the bag. “I’ll check on her,” I finally say. “I’m actually on my way to her place now.”
“Took you long enough,” she snaps. “I already lost forty bucks because of you.”
“Wait, you bet on this?” I sputter despite myself as I unlock my car and plop down behind the wheel.
“Hold your horses,” she says. “I know what I’m doing. Now, go get your girl, and don’t mess this up, okay?”
I chuckle, the tension in my chest easing, if only a bit. “What are the odds? In my favor?”
“Seventy–thirty,” she says dryly. “Against you.”
I roll my eyes. “Great.”
“Don’t lose me any more money, kid, you got that?”
A smile spreads on my lips, and my heart lifts. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Had to take a few risks, didn’t I? Anyway, have her text me as soon as possible.”
“I will.” I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Thanks, Glenda.”
I hang up and sit there for a second, keys still dangling from my fingers. If I felt light when entering the store, now I feel like I might float away. I knew Glenda kind of liked me, but she actually believes in me. In my relationship with Harper.
Harper…
My smile falters. She’s got to be okay. She’s probably just absorbed by work, or she fell asleep on the couch.
Maybe her phone died. I’m sure there’s an explanation.
Nothing bad can have happened to her, because if it has, I’ll never forgive myself.
The thought claws at my chest, irrational and relentless, and I shake my head to dislodge it.
Starting the car, I pull into traffic, my palms sweating on the steering wheel. I push the speed limit, ignoring the way the city blurs at the edges of my vision. Every second stretches, but I keep pushing. I’m eager to see her. Eager to have her in my arms. To make sure she’s okay.
But as I approach her neighborhood, heavy smoke billows in the distance, and my world tilts.
My heart hammers, slamming so hard against my ribcage, it drowns out the sound of the engine, of the city, of my own thoughts. My hands go numb on the wheel. No, no, no, no—
I don’t even bother parking. I just stop in the middle of the street, scramble out the door, and run toward the building that’s on fire. Harper’s building.
Flames lick up the side of the structure, orange and violent against the night sky.
Thick smoke rolls out of shattered windows in choking waves.
Sirens wail somewhere nearby, the tones overlapping, distorted.
I fight through the sea of victims and spectators crowding the sidewalks—some coughing, some crying, some shouting names into the dark, others holding up their phones to film, frozen in place.
Someone stumbles past me, soot streaked across their face.
Another screams for a pet. Someone else is being guided away by a firefighter, a blanket wrapped around their shoulders.
Amid the chaos, the acrid sting of smoke mixes with the overbearing heat, burning my throat as I push through the haze. I can barely see anything, my eyes already watering, lungs screaming with every inhale. As I shove past bodies, voices muffle into static, panic clawing up my spine, and then—
I see her.
She’s stumbling in the opposite direction, disoriented. One arm is wrapped around her midsection like she’s trying to hold herself together. My chest caves in.
“Harper!” I yell, my voice cracking with raw desperation.
She turns around.
When our eyes meet, everything else disappears—the fire, the noise, the crowd.
Her face is drained of color, and a bloodied streak runs along the side of her head, dark crimson against her pale skin.
Her eyes widen, recognition flickering through the haze.
Her mouth opens like she’s about to say something.
But she doesn’t get the chance.
Her eyes flutter closed, and her body slackens. I rush to her just in time to catch her as she collapses in my arms.
Her limp form is solid yet terrifyingly light all at once. My hands tremble as I pull her against my chest, breathing her in through the smoke, as though her faint amber perfume is the only proof she’s still here.
“No,” I whisper, over and over. “No, no, no, stay with me, Harper—please.”
I pace the length of the hospital waiting room, but my feet have seemingly sunk through the white tiles, trudging through them like mud.
The smell of antiseptic and burnt coffee stings my nose.
Somewhere, a monitor beeps steadily, each repetition drilling straight into my skull.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, too bright, too cold, making everything feel unreal—like I stepped into a place where time doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to.
All I can think about is Harper, hoping she’s okay. Hoping she’ll make it through this.
She regained consciousness a few seconds after collapsing in my arms. Her lashes fluttered, a soft, broken whimper escaping her throat as she sucked in air like she’d forgotten how to breathe.
Her eyes were unfocused, wide with fear, and when her lips parted to speak, nothing came out.
That’s when the EMT slapped an oxygen mask over her face and they hoisted her onto a gurney, lifting her into the back of the ambulance.
I followed, but I’m not even sure how. I have no recollection of even being in my car and driving here.
And now the doctors won’t even let me see her.
I rake a hand through my hair, my fingers coming away shaky. My shirt still smells faintly like smoke. Every time I blink, I see her falling again—dead weight in my arms, blood seeping through my fingers from the gash on her temple, her body going limp like a switch had been flipped.
If only I’d been there a minute earlier.
If only I hadn’t gone to the store.
If only—
“Baptiste.”
I snap my head up.
Adler, Beth, Miles, and Marissa are standing at the edge of the waiting room, eyes stretched wide with worry.
Beth’s hand flies to her mouth.
“Oh my gosh,” she breathes, stepping closer. “I can’t believe this happened.”
“I know,” Marissa wavers. “We were supposed to see her tomorrow.”
Adler shuffles closer, voice low, serious in a way that makes the situation feel even more dire. “Is she okay? Have you seen her?”
I shake my head, the motion stiff. “Not since they brought her here.”
Saying it out loud makes my chest tighten all over again.
“She hit her head, somehow, and lost consciousness after she escaped the building,” I continue, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “So they need to clean the wound and run some tests. They haven’t told me anything yet.”
Miles nods slowly, jaw tight. “Concussion? How long was she unconscious for?”
“A few seconds.” I swallow hard. “I’m not sure exactly. Felt like an eternity, man. She looked bad.”
“Do we know what caused the fire?” Beth murmurs.
I shake my head. “I talked to the cops. They’re still investigating, but I heard one of the firefighters say the blaze started on the second floor, where Harper lives.”
“Oh no,” Marissa says, hand clasped to her mouth. “Do you think it was arson? The case she was worki—”
“Yeah. I think it could have been.” I nod, anger swelling in my chest. “This guy is relentless.”
As much as I want to see that jerk in handcuffs right now, I just hope Harper is okay. I can’t focus on anything else.
Beth’s eyes fill with tears, and Marissa wraps an arm around her shoulders. Adler drops into a chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as if in prayer. Miles paces a few steps, then stops, rubbing the back of his neck.
And then we wait.
Minutes stretch. Time crawls. A nurse passes by, not looking at us, and my heart jumps anyway. Every set of footsteps down the hall makes my pulse spike.
I sit down, then stand, then sit again, my knee bouncing uncontrollably.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I jump—Glenda.
Shoot. With everything that’s happened, I completely forgot to tell her. What do I even say?
“Glenda,” I breathe out, and then tears choke me up, my throat closing. I can’t fight out another word.
Adler takes my phone without hesitation, resting a firm hand on my shoulder as I drop my head into my hands. His voice is muffled as though I’m underwater, tone calm and steady as he explains what happened to Harper. He reassures Glenda, promises we’re at the hospital and that Harper isn’t alone.
A moment later, he hands me back my phone.
“I’m going to call Golden Age,” he says. “See if they’d let me bring Glenda here. She wants to come.”
“Should I…” I stammer, lifting my head, but I’m not sure I’m capable of doing anything right now. My limbs feel heavy, like all the strength has drained from them.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it.” He nods, already putting the phone back to his ear.
So, we wait again.
James and Beth head over to Golden Age to pick up Glenda, and the rest of us just sit in silence. Miles stares at the wall. Marissa twists her fingers together. And I keep replaying the moment Harper collapsed, over and over, like my brain is trying to punish me.
After what feels like hours, the door finally opens again, and a nurse strides toward us.
“Are you here for Harper Donnelly?”
“Yes,” I blurt, already flying to my feet, my heart slamming against my ribs.
“Her CT scan is clear—no brain injury. The gash on her head has been taken care of, and we’ve kept her on a nasal cannula for the smoke inhalation. She’s stable and doing well.” The nurse pauses, glancing at her clipboard. “She asked for someone named Baptiste?”
My heart lurches so violently, it almost hurts. “That’s me!”
She gives a quick nod. “Follow me.”
Marissa squeezes my shoulder, her eyes glossy, and I follow the nurse down the corridor. With every step, my legs threaten to buckle. The hallway smells sterile and clean, too clean compared to the smoke and chaos that enveloped us earlier, and my shoes squeak against the polished floor.
“She’s right in here,” the nurse says, stopping in front of a room.
I push open the door.
The room is small and quiet, dimmed lights casting their gloomy rays on the hospital equipment. Harper is propped up in her bed, a thin oxygen tube coming out of her nose and a discreet bandage taped to the side of her head. She’s still pale, but she’s awake. My whole body sags with relief.
“You’re really here,” she croaks in a hoarse whisper.
“Of course I’m here.” I rush to her side, holding back the tears that burn behind my eyes.
She frowns, confusion creasing her brow. “Why?”
“I overreacted before,” I say, the words tumbling out. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you time to explain. That I didn’t give you a second chance.”
“But you were right,” she murmurs. “I went too far, like I always do. I was way out of line. I’m so, so sorry.” Her eyes brim with tears, and my chest constricts as I lift my hand to her cheek, my thumb brushing gently over her clammy skin.
“No, please don’t cry, Harper.” I take her hand carefully, grounding myself in the warmth of her fingers. “I was hurt, and stubborn… I lashed out. But it turns out, you were right all along. She’s my real mom. And I met with her.”
Her eyes widen, suddenly bright, and for the first time tonight, she looks like the Harper I know—the one full of curiosity and hope—and my heart soars to new heights. “You did?”
I nod, a small smile escaping. “She’s cool. And we talked for a long time. I don’t know… I think I’ll probably see her again.”
Relief softens her features as she exhales. “I’m glad. I just want you to be happy.”
“I know.” I squeeze her hand. “And I want you to be happy. Even better, maybe we could be happy together?”
Her eyes search mine. “Really?”
I hold her gaze, my heart quieting. “I love you, Harper. So much.”
She strokes her thumb over mine, slow and tentative. “I love you too.”
I lean toward her, carefully, mindful of the tubes and the bandage, and kiss her gently. Soft. Steady. Real.
The moment feels right. Whole. Like something lost finally clicking back into place.