I exhale. “Two-week unpaid suspension. Formal reprimand. No demotion.”
Her face crumples with a mix of relief and guilt. “Aiden… you risked your career for me.”
I shake my head. “No. I risked it for us. For our future.”
She starts to argue, but I step closer and cut her off with a kiss, brief but firm, meant to anchor rather than distract.
“Stop,” I murmur against her lips. “This was my choice. And it was worth it. No more arguing. You’re not in control of the world, and that’s a good thing, remember? Remember ice cream?”
She exhales shakily, resting her forehead against mine. “You’re a brat.”
And for the first time since this started, the weight on my chest eases just a little. I chuckle under my breath. “Back at you.”
She weaves her fingers with mine, and we step out of the building together, the weight of the decision settling in slowly instead of all at once.
The hallway doors close behind us, sealing off Internal Affairs and fluorescent lights and the low hum of judgment. Outside, the air feels different—cooler, freer, like my lungs finally have room again. Harper stays close to my side, her hand still wrapped around mine like she’s afraid that if she lets go, this might all turn out to be a misunderstanding.
“You shouldn’t have had to do that,” she says quietly as we walk toward the exit. “Any of it.”
I stop just long enough to face her fully. “I didn’t have to. I chose to. And I’d do it again.”
Her eyes search my face again, the same way they have all day, looking for regret. She doesn’t find it. “They could’ve demoted you. They could’ve?—”
“They didn’t,” I interrupt gently. “And even if they had, I’d still be standing here telling you the same thing.” I take her face in my hands, brushing my thumbs lightly across her cheeks, grounding her before she can spiral again. “Listen to me. I didn’t do this because I felt obligated. I did it because I believe in what we’re building. In you. In Mason. In the future I want.”
Her breath stutters, emotion flickering across her face. “You shouldn’t have to sacrifice everything.”
“I didn’t. I protected something that matters.”
Chief Morales appears as we’re heading toward the parking lot, his presence steady and familiar. He gives Harper a nod, then turns to me. “Off the record, this suspension is mostly for show. Paperwork has to exist. Boundaries have to be reinforced.” His mouth quirks just slightly. “But you’ll be back. This won’t haunt your career.”
The tension in Harper’s shoulders eases visibly. “Thank you.”
Morales nods once. “Take care of your people, Sloan.”
“Always.”
We reach the truck, and for a moment neither of us moves to get in. The day has taken so much out of both of us that standing still feels like the only way to stay upright.
“I don’t deserve you,” Harper says quietly.
“That’s not how this works. If I don’t get to say that to you, then you don’t get to say that to me.”
She laughs softly, leaning into me, and I let myself enjoy the simple fact that we’re here. Together. Still standing. For the first time since this started, the future doesn’t feel like something I have to brace for. It feels like something I might actually get to live.
We’re halfway back to the truck when Harper’s phone rings. I, for one, am getting tired of phones.
Harper stiffens beside me before she even looks at the screen, her body reacting on instinct. I recognize that tension immediately. It’s the same one she gets when she knows a conversation is about to cost her something. She checks the caller ID and exhales slowly. “It’s David.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t reach for her phone or offer commentary. This isn’t a moment that needs my voice. I stay where I am, close enough that she knows I’m here, far enough that I’m not crowding a decision that belongs to her.
She answers. “Yes?”
I can’t hear his voice, but I don’t need to. I see the effect of it immediately. Her shoulders draw tight. Her jaw sets. The relief she’d been carrying since the verdict starts to drain away, replaced by something sharper and more complicated.
She turns slightly away from me, not hiding the call so much as giving it space. I watch her face carefully, reading what I can from expression alone. Surprise flickers. Then caution. Then, a kind of wary calculation I don’t like seeing directed at her own life.
I can’t read her tone when she asks, “This weekend?”
