The room feels different at night—darker, more utilitarian. I turn on the laptop and pull up the security footage the police granted me access to earlier. Grant wasn’t around, so I volunteered for temporary fire inspector duty.
Officially, they’ll handle the investigation.
Unofficially, they know I’ll see things they might miss.
I scrub through hours of nothing. Empty bar. Chairs up. Lights off. The kind of footage that lulls you into thinking there’s nothing there. Then a packed night, busy sections, people having fun. Footage from outside. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Then I rewind.
Two days before the fire, late after closing. The back entrance comes into view. A man stands just outside the frame, pacing in and out of sight like he’s deciding whether to commit to something. He checks his phone. Looks over his shoulder, without getting his face on camera.
I pause the footage and lean closer, jaw tightening. He doesn’t touch anything. Doesn’t force a door. But he knows where to stand, where not to be seen. Someone who knows the place well. Someone like an ex-employee.
I should call this in immediately. I will.
But first, I close the laptop and stand, my attention pulled back toward the hallway. I can’t stop thinking about her. About that photo. About all the stupid shit I’ve done.
Mason is right. I need to ‘pologize. Maybe throw in some groveling while I’m at it.
I walk to the guest room and knock softly. No answer at first. Then the door opens. Harper stands there in an oversized sweatshirt, her face blotchy, eyes still red like she’s been crying. She looks startled to see me, like she wasn’t sure I’d come.
“I didn’t mean for Mason to find that,” I start, then stop. Our history crowds into my mind—everything I never said, everything I should have. I almost tell her about the letter I never sent. About how that photo has haunted me for six years.
But she doesn’t look like she’s up to that conversation. Not right now. She just looks at me, stunned, silent.
“Are you okay?”
Harper sniffles. “Fine.”
We both know that’s a lie, but I’m going to let her have it for now. She’ll talk when she’s ready. “I’m sorry,” I say instead, already pulling back. “I… I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“It’s okay?—”
My phone rings in my pocket. The emergency ring I get from work. “Gotta take this. I’m sorry.”
She just nods and closes the door.
I tell myself I did the right thing by backing off. I don’t have the right to unload six years of regret and guilt on her doorstep just because I am finally ready to say it. Especially not when she clearly wants to be alone right now.
I bring the phone up to my ear. “Sloan here.”
The dispatcher’s voice cuts in immediately, clipped and urgent. “We’ve got a car fire reported near Clover and Mint. Possible accelerant involved according to the spread pattern. Morales wants you on scene.”
My stomach tightens. Another fire near the bar. What the fuck is going on? “Copy. On my way.”
The call ends, leaving a hollow quiet in its wake. I lower the phone slowly, already shifting into motion in my head—gear, route, response time. Muscle memory takes over even as everything else resists leaving this hallway.
At the door, I pause once more, hand on the handle. I look back down the hallway toward the guest room, memorizing the way the light falls, the quiet hum of the space, the sense that something unresolved is waiting for me to return.
Then I’m gone, the door closing softly behind me, the emergency lights already flashing in my mind as I head toward Clover and Mint. I won’t let that bastard take what’s hers.
HARPER
Iam beginning to hate cell phones. If it weren’t for cell phones, Carlie wouldn’t have been called away to work six years ago. That night would have been different. Different good, different bad, I’m not sure which. But there’s a strong chance that we never would have hooked up if everyone else had stuck around.
Aiden wouldn’t regret me. I wouldn’t regret my choice about that night, either. But then I wouldn’t have had that night with him, and I don’t think I could live in a world where that didn’t happen.
Even if it hurts, that night was worth the pain I’ve carried all these years.
