Page 29

My thoughts spiral as I get stuck in the should’ve loop.
I glance at Harper, noticing the soft lines of her face, how peaceful yet troubled she looks, even in sleep. I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone else in. Yet here I am, driving Harper Alexander to the one place I’ve avoided for five long years.
As the sun rises higher in the sky, brightening the highway ahead, I tighten my grip on the wheel. This isn’t just about keeping Harper safe from Micah anymore; it’s about protecting her from everything, including myself. But deep down, I know I’m fighting a losing battle.
I keep my eyes on the road, grip tight around the wheel. Memories of Eden flood my mind—the laughter, stolen moments, the loss that still stings. The fact that Harper doesn’t know this secret history feels like a blessing and a curse. She’s already suffering enough without carrying the weight of my hidden grief.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Harper eventually asks, breaking the silence. Her voice is soft, hesitant, as if she’s scared of interrupting my thoughts.
I glance at her briefly, noticing how the sunlight highlights the tired circles under her eyes. I think about not telling her, but I know the truth is the best policy with Harper. It’s what she responds to most, and it’s what I promised I’d always give her.
“Sugar Pine Springs. It’s off the radar.”
It’s not linked to me in any way—by design.
She nods, processing my words. “And Micah won’t find us?”
“He can try,” I reply, my voice hardening with anger, “but he won’t succeed. And if he does—well, he’d better not.”
“You sound sure of that,” she whispers, leaning her head against the window, eyes heavy with uncertainty.
“I am.” My confidence is unwavering.
Micah doesn’t know what he’s unleashed in me. My jaw clenches.
Harper shifts, turning slightly to face me. “Why do you care?”
The question catches me off guard. My heart pounds as memories of Harper and me over the years mingle with current emotions.
I keep my expression neutral. “You’re Billie’s best friend. Protecting you is part of the job.”
“I’m a job to you?” She exhales a soft laugh, bitter and disbelieving. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”
My pulse quickens, and I stare straight ahead. Harper is close enough to see the truth written on my face, but I can’t let her.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes,” she whispers. “There’s more. I can feel it.”
“You need to rest.” I deflect, avoiding her gaze. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”
“That’s not an answer,” she challenges, but her voice is softer now, tinged with disappointment or exhaustion—maybe both.
I exhale heavily, considering what I could possibly tell her without shattering the careful boundary I’ve kept around my heart for years. “Everyone has a past. Sometimes, that past shapes how we handle the present. You don’t need to know all the details to trust that I’m here for you and you’re notjusta job.”
“Fair enough.”
Silence fills the car again, heavier this time. Harper eventually sighs, settling deeper into the seat.
As more miles pass us by, I glance at her from the corner of my eye, noting the slow rise and fall of her breathing as she drifts off again. I allow myself to look at her peaceful expression, and I think about Eden. The similarities between them tug painfully at my chest, but the differences—Harper’s stubborn defiance, her spirited resilience—are very clear.
Maybe history repeats itself, or maybe it’s giving me a chance at redemption. Either way, Harper Alexander has become my responsibility, my purpose, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.
When the tires finally crunch along the gravel driveway, I let out a slow exhale. I’ve avoided this place for five years. Memories of my past live here in the rustling leaves, the creak of the porch swing, and in every shadow that flickers past the windows. I told myself I’d never come back. Yet here I am, with Harper beside me, and there’s nowhere else on the planet I’d rather be.
Her presence eases the ache of my memories. She doesn’t know my history with this cabin or how deeply it’s woven into my past or my pain. It’s not the time. But someday soon, I’ll tell her everything, if she wants to know.
“We’re here,” I say, touching her arm to wake her.
Harper blinks a few times, her blue-gray eyes slowly finding focus as she gazes through the windshield.