I close my eyes briefly, already hating Garrett with the familiar, resigned exhaustion of a man who works with him every day. “Do we have to do this today, Garrett?”
He laughs and smacks my chest with the back of his hand while looking at Harper. “Of course we do.”
“You told them about me?” Harper asks, mortified.
I might as well tell her the truth. “I wasn’t myself for a long time after that night. They noticed.”
Lizzie, never subtle but kinder about it, snorts from across the bay. “Not himself? Tryabsolutely miserable. Wouldn’t dateanyone, snapped at everybody, worked double shifts just to avoid going home to his empty penthouse.”
“I don’t think that was necessary?—”
She grins. “Honesty is always necessary, Sloan.”
Harper doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. The look on her face tells me exactly how much damage I never let her see.
And suddenly, standing in the place where I thought I was safest, the weight of it all feels heavier than ever.
I expect Harper to say something.
A joke. A deflection. A polite brush-off that lets everyone pretend Garrett didn’t just detonate six years of my emotional dysfunction in front of her and a five-year-old. A gentle remark that tells Lizzie that she’s overreacting.
This time, she doesn’t do that.
She just stands there, one hand resting lightly on Mason’s shoulder, eyes on me. Blank expression.
It’s unnerving.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, to her, not the room.
“For what?”
“For letting you find out that I ran my mouth like that back then. I thought for sure they’d forgotten all about that.”
She nods once, slow and thoughtful, like she’s filing the information away instead of reacting to it. That might be worse.
Mason saves me without realizing it.
“Can I go back in the truck?” he asks, already tugging at my sleeve. “Please?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “Absolutely.” I boost him back up, settling him into the seat like he’s riding in a parade. He grips the steering wheel with reverence, feet dangling, helmet slipping down over his eyebrows until I nudge it back into place.
“You’re gonna crash,” Garrett stage-whispers.
Mason gasps. “I would never.”
I snort despite myself. The sound surprises me. It feels rusty, like a muscle I haven’t used in too long.
The crew disperses a little after that, drawn back into routine. Lizzie heads toward the medic bay. Theo checks equipment. Benny hovers nearby like he’s been waiting for an excuse.
“You wanna meet our dog?” he asks Mason.
Mason’s eyes go impossibly wide. “There’s a dog, too?”
Benny grins. “His name’s Argyle.”
Mason nods to fast that the helmet lands on the bridge of his tiny nose. He mashes it back just as Argyle, the station dalmatian, lumbers into view like he owns the place, tail wagging with reckless enthusiasm. Mason slides off the truck and crouches instinctively, holding out his hand. Argyle sniffs, then leans into the attention like he’s been waiting all day for this exact kid.
Harper watches the exchange, her expression softening in spite of herself.
