“She doesn’t want to see you.”His heart felt like it was being crushed like a car in a wrecking yard.
“Please, Drea.I need to see her.I gotta set this right.There’s still so much we need to talk about.”
“The best thing you can do is give her some time.She’s not decided if she’s heartbroken or furious.Give her some space.I’ll tell her you called.”
“Wait.Where do you live?I’ll come over.”He was desperate.
“I’m sorry, Trent.Good night.”
Dropping his phone onto the counter, he leaned forward, rested his forearms on the cool surface, and dropped his head.
It had somehow gone from the best night of his life to the worst, and he had no idea how to recover it.The sick, sick feeling in his stomach matched the throbbing of his fingers.
He pulled open another drawer to look for some painkillers, and he found a white binder.He opened it and saw the cover letter was from a lawyer in Chicago.The case was noted asKennedy v.Bell.It must be the file she’d mentioned that contained all the trial information.
“Photographic evidence submitted by the Plaintiff,” it began.
Eight hours later he stood at the airport, feeling like his insides had gone through a blender.With Cujo’s help, he’d exhausted every avenue to find Drea.They had gone to José’s to see if either of them had shown up for work, but he guessed Drea had already asked José not to say anything.Not knowing Drea’s last name, they’d been unable to track her down, and she hadn’t responded to Trent’s texts.
He had a contractual obligation to get on this fucking airplane, but the last thing he felt like doing was leaving Harper with their relationship messed up like this.He’d asked Cujo to keep an eye out for her and felt better knowing she was staying at Drea’s.
As always when it came to Harper, his emotions were complicated.He was pissed as all hell.His heart had been ripped out of his chest.His stomach felt like he was going through turbulence—especially when he thought about what he’d seen in that file.
The evidence.His worst imaginings hadn’t lived up to seeing her injuries in glorious Technicolor.He got it now.In a way he hadn’t been able to from just her descriptions.The photographs, in their rawest form taken just after the attacks, had brought home just how gut-wrenchingly awful it had been for Harper.
He pulled out his phone one last time, but instead of calling her, he opened his photos and scrolled to the picture he’d taken of her the night they’d “moved in” to each other’s homes.They’d made love in his bed, and she was lying on her front with the white sheet pulled low down her back.Her dark hair lay curled around her shoulders, and she had a soft, all-knowing smile on her lips.Her eyes sparkled as she looked toward the camera and was just about to tell him off for taking her picture.
But it was there in the way she was looking at him.The way she’d just loved him slowly, her eyes wide open, pupils dilating as they had moved together.She loved him just as much as he loved her.And she was going to walk away from it before he told her.
The gate attendant made the last call for the flight.He realized she wasn’t going to call him today.And wasn’t that a fucking ass-kicker?
He boarded the plane, trying to avoid looking at the empty seat next to him, pulled out his phone, and attached the photograph.
You said you wouldn’t run, Harper.Don’t bail on us yet.
***
Day one, post Trent, had been a write-off.Drea had run interference with Trent and had let José know the barest bones.Harper had spent it in bed with several industrial-sized boxes of tissues.
Not even bowls of chicken noodle soup had tempted her to eat.
Day two had contained minor progress, in the form of a shower and clean pajamas.But the tears still hadn’t stopped, and the pain was a constant pounding in her chest.Words echoed around in her mind.Half-life.Settling.Status quo.All in.It hurt to acknowledge it, but there was something to Trent’s words that resonated every time she repeated them.
Day three Harper had finally made it downstairs and turned on her phone, but only because Drea had accused her of being like the girl in those vampire novels who spent six miserable months sitting at her window waiting for her love to return.It had made her smile briefly until she saw the eighteen missed calls and eight messages.A quick scan showed they were mostly from Trent.Her heart broke all over again as she forced herself to listen to them, only managing to get through the first four before collapsing on the floor of Drea’s kitchen in tears.
The alarm clock in Drea’s guest bedroom went off, signaling the start of day four post Trent.Tears weren’t quite as close to the surface, and Harper decided that today was as good as any to try to get back into some semblance of a normal routine.
The coffee shop was still the same.It was a very bizarre feeling, the rest of the world being exactly as you left it while everything in your own life felt like a grenade had exploded in it.
José was cautious around her.Her friends said hi and hoped she was feeling better, but Harper felt like an imposter.Customers wanted their food and drinks, and Harper served them on autopilot.
By late afternoon, Harper was starting to get her head in gear again.A three-day emotional purge had left her with an incredible hangover, but the fog was lifting slowly.Tiredness threatened to consume her, but Harper couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving to go home.
Thankfully she was supposed to head over to Celine’s house to work with Milo, an appointment she really wanted to keep.
“Can I get a large Colombian to go?”Harper turned suddenly from steaming the milk and came face-to-face with Cujo.“How you doing?You look like shit, Harper.”He smiled at her softly.
There was kindness in his eyes.“Thanks.I’ve been better.”
