His jaw tightens. “That’s not?—”
“You didn’t,” I repeat. “Did you?”
Aiden exhales, frustrated. “That is not what we’re talking about right now.”
“It kind of is. Because I’m standing here trying to process the fact that someone tried to blow up my bar, blow me up, my patrons, my son… and at the same time finding out that the man who made me need to rebuild my life, my confidence, my everything… he never actually let me go.”
His eyes flash. “Harper—” He blinks and shakes his head once. Not a denial, but a reset. “Enemies?” he interrupts himself, pivoting abruptly. “Anyone who might want to hurt you. Disgruntled employees. Business disputes. Anything?”
The shift is so abrupt it almost makes me dizzy. And then Marcus Chen’s face snaps into focus. The day I fired him. The way his mouth twisted when I told him I had proof. The threats he’d muttered under his breath.
On his way out the door, he barked, “You’ll regret this.”
“I fired a bartender three months ago. Marcus Chen. He was stealing. When I caught him, he got… angry.”
“How angry?” Aiden asks.
“Irrationally angry,” I admit. “But I didn’t think he’d actually do anything. Men say stupid things all the time.”
Aiden’s posture changes instantly. The air around him tightens, his focus narrowing, every instinct snapping into place. “You’re not going back to the bar. Not until we know it’s safe. You and Mason stay here.”
I straighten. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
His voice hardens. “Someone tried to blow up your bar, Harper. With a gas leak. You could have been killed. Mason could have been?—”
“Quiet down.” I snap my head toward him, keeping my voice low. “He can hear you.”
Too late. Because the reality smacks me again. Mason could have been hurt. Or worse.
The room goes very still, like the air itself is holding its breath. I stare at the floor for a second too long, letting the image form before I can stop it—Mason perched on one of the bar stools he likes to spin on, his sneakers hooked around the rung, laughing while I tell him to stop before he cracks his head open.
My hands shake. I force them into fists and look up at Aiden, fury and fear tangling together. “You don’t get to say things like that in front of him.”
“I wasn’t trying to?—”
“Keep your voice down!”
Aiden’s jaw tightens, but he nods once, sharp and controlled, the way he does when he’s forcing himself to back off. He glances toward Mason, who’s watching us now, cartoon forgotten, his body curled in on itself like he’s trying to take up less space.
I move toward him immediately, dropping down to his level. “Hey. You okay?”
He nods, but his eyes are serious. Too serious for five. “Is the bar gonna be okay?”
Something in my chest cracks. “It’s not the bar that I’m worried about. It’s you, kiddo.” I smooth his hair into place. “You’re okay here. You know that, right?”
Aiden clears his throat behind me. “We’re safe here.”
Mason considers that. “Is the bad guy gonna find us here?”
The question is small. Direct. And it terrifies me. I keep my smile steady. “No. This place is very safe. Remember the keycard you have to use to get in the elevator? The bad guy doesn’t have one of those. So, you’re safe here.” I want to tell him that he’s safe everywhere. But I try not to lie to my son.
Mason nods, apparently satisfied, and turns back to his cartoon. The moment he’s distracted again, I stand and step away to the kitchen, pressing my back to the counter. Do I need coffee? I can’t tell. My knees feel weak.
Aiden closes the distance between us, lowering his voice. “Harper?—”
“I said I’d stay,” I cut in. “And I will. But don’t confuse that with me being okay with it. Or me taking orders from you.”
His eyes soften just slightly. “I know. I didn’t mean it that way.”
