“Petty comments are beneath you, David,” she says sharply. “Or have you become bitter since I left?”
He snorts at that. “As if your absence changes anything in my life. I was merely noting the interesting approach you’ve taken to life in Columbus. It’s a pity that you’re falling apart and grasping at straws?—”
“She’s staying here because someone tried to burn down her bar,” I interrupt because I can’t keep my mouth shut. She might not need a savior, but I’ll be damned if I’m about to let him get away with his shitty attitude right in front of me. “I’m helping a friend. So, lighten up.”
David’s mouth quirks. “A friend. Right.” He turns fully toward Harper then, ignoring me like I’m furniture. “This is the guy, isn’t it? From Carlie’s party. The one you could never shut up about when you were drunk?”
What was that?
“David, don’t,” Harper says, her voice tight.
He doesn’t listen. “All those years, I knew I was second choice. You married me, but you wanted him.” He sizes me up again, judgment skewering into my soul. “Carlie is so refined, I thought you might be, as well. I suppose it’s not the first time I’ve been wrong.”
My jaw locks as I force myself to stay silent. This is exactly what he wants—to provoke me, to turn this into something he can point at later and say, see? This is who you’re bringing around our kid.
Something he can bring up to a family court judge.
So, I don’t move. I don’t speak. I won’t give him what he wants.
Harper’s shoulders tense, her hands shaking just slightly at her sides. I hate that I can see it. I hate that I can’t do anything about it without making things worse. Her voice is hoarse and quiet. “David, stop.”
Then Mason appears in the hallway, drawn by the unfamiliar voice and the tension he doesn’t yet know how to name. “Daddy!”
David’s expression shifts instantly, softening into something shockingly warm. He crouches, arms opening, and Mason barrels into him without hesitation. The sight twists something ugly and complicated in my chest. “There’s my guy,” David says, scooping him up. “How about some ice cream?”
Mason lights up. “Yay!”
“I’ll bring him back in an hour,” David says to Harper, already turning toward the door with Mason balanced on his hip. “We’ll talk more later.”
The door closes behind them. The silence that follows is brutal.
Harper doesn’t move right away. She stands where she is, staring at the closed door like she’s bracing for it to open again. When she finally exhales, it comes out shaky and uneven, like she’s been holding her breath since David arrived. Her voice is still quiet. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask.
“For that,” she replies, gesturing vaguely toward the door. “For him. For… all of it.”
“You don’t owe me an apology or anything else.” And I mean it, even if my chest still feels tight and bruised from everything I didn’t say.
She lets out a short, humorless laugh and sinks down onto the couch, folding in on herself in a way that makes her look smaller than she is. The humiliation hangs off her in visible layers, exhaustion weighing her down now that she’s no longer holding herself upright for Mason’s sake.
I can’t fix that, and I can’t beat the shit out of David. Instead, I head for the kitchen.
I scoop ice cream into a bowl—chocolate, because that’s what she always reaches for. Whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and crushed salty peanuts. I set it down on the coffee table in front of her and turn on the television, scrolling until I land on one of the true crime shows she watches religiously.
She looks up at me, startled. “What are you doing?”
“Eat.”
She lets out a tense laugh, then picks up the sundae. One bite, then another, shoulders relaxing just a fraction as the chocolatedoes its magic. I sit beside her, leaving enough space that she doesn’t feel crowded but close enough that she knows I’m there.
“Why do you like these shows?” I ask after a minute, nodding toward the screen. “Most of them are about women getting attacked.”
She shrugs, eyes fixed on the television. “Same reason I watch horror movies. Preparation.”
“For what exactly?”
She sighs, spoon hovering halfway to her mouth. “For knowing what to look for. What not to ignore.” Then her gaze flicks to me, something sad and wry there. “None of them prepared me for an arsonist.”
