Harper’s lips are tight, like she’s fighting a giggle. She is loving that her five-year-old is grilling me about the biggest mistake of my life.
I can take my lumps. I earned them. “I didn’t.”
Mason nods once, solemn. “You should.”
I manage a weak breath. “Yeah?”
“She’s really nice,” he adds, as if that settles it. “And she makes really good grilled cheeses. If you ‘pologize, she might make you one.”
I don’t laugh. I don’t speak. There is no real defense against a five-year-old’s logic combining with six years of guilt. You just gotta stand there and take it like a man.
Harper clears her throat, breaking the moment before Mason can ask anything else. “It’sa-pologize, Mason. And it’s also time for bed.”
Mason groans, predictable and dramatic. “But I’m not tired.”
“I know,” she replies, firm without being sharp. In fact, she’s smiling. “And it’s still bedtime. Are we going to have this conversation every night, or am I just lucky?”
He huffs and rolls his eyes, reminding me too much of Carlie. I bet that’s where he got it from. “Fine. But I’m still not tired.”
“Maybe not, but I bet the bed misses you.”
“The bed is a bed. It doesn’t miss anything.” His petulance is mildly adorable.
“How do you know that? Do you speak Bed-ish?”
He giggles. “You’re silly.”
“You have no idea.” She reaches for the photo, easing it from his hands before he can protest. He pouts but lets her take it, distracted by her steering him toward the hallway with a hand at his back.
As they go, he looks over his shoulder at me. “Don’t forget to say sorry.”
“Thanks for the advice, captain.”
That seems to satisfy him. He disappears down the hall with Harper, his voice trailing behind them as he negotiates for water, a different stuffed animal, a longer story. The sound of it all fades slowly, replaced by the low hum of the city outside the windows.
I pick up the photo from the counter and stare at it longer than I should.
We look stupidly happy. Relaxed, unaware of how brief that version of us would be. Ignorance is bliss, or at least it was then. I’d told myself I kept the picture because it reminded me of a good memory. The truth is, I kept it because it reminded me of the cost.
We had one night together, and it shifted things in me forever. It makes no sense, and also, it makes all the sense in the world. If Carlie isn’t exaggerating, and I have no reason to think she is, that night shifted things for Harper, too.
It’s an earth-shaking thought I haven’t allowed myself to indulge in.
Because if things shifted for her the way they did for me, then… we lost six years we could have had, all because I’m an asshole who tried to do the right thing. I thought I knew what the right thing to do was, and I fucked up.
That tracks. I fuck up everything I touch.
I take a deep breath and try to let it go. But I can’t. Hurting Harper to save her from me after a single night is one thing. But hurting her for six years?
I’m not sure how to survive that kind of guilt.
Harper comes back alone a few minutes later. She doesn’t look at me as she crosses the living room, just nods once in my direction before disappearing into her guest room. The door closes softly behind her.
She doesn’t come back out.
I wait longer than makes sense, pretending to straighten pillows, to rinse a glass that doesn’t need it. Menial tasks are the perfect distraction when you’re waiting to have a life-altering conversation. The penthouse settles into nighttime quiet, every sound magnified by the stillness. Eventually, it becomes obvious she’s staying put, giving both of us space whether I want it or not.
I retreat to my home office instead.
