I react so quickly, I don’t realise I’ve moved until I’m reaching for the trolley, my heart stuttering when I see vibrant orange hair, slack limbs and freckled features. Oh, thank fuck it’s not her, but the revelation is short-lived. Panic consumes me at the thought of where she is, until the doorway darkens.
A small, pale figure steps forward, her hair scruffy yet limp. She moves shakily, whether from trauma or lack of food, I’m yet to decide, but she’s standing. Her strength draws her into the flashing crimson and cobalt lights, her hand rising as if the world is too bright to absorb all at once. Something inside me breaks clean in half. Rhys is already running, slamming past the officers who weakly try to catch him, and I’m right behind because nothing in this universe can hold me back.
We collide with her in the middle of the lawn, our arms wrapping around her body as if it’s been years since our last encounter. An encounter in which I told Harper I couldn’t be with her, but whether she’s holding onto those words or not, I cradle her into my chest. Rhys is at her other side, using her to anchor himself to the present.
She folds into us with a small, broken sound, her forehead pressed into my collarbone, her fingers clutching Rhys’s hoodie like she’s afraid we’ll disappear if she loosens her grip. We feel the same. The officers bark orders we don’t listen to, the helicopter droning somewhere high above. I couldn’t give a shit about any of it. We’ve got her back, warm and alive and ours. For the first time since Rhys’ birthday night, I let myself breathe. My face is buried in her hair, my mouth whispering into her temple that she’s safe now, even if my voice cracks at the promise I should have always made. I was a fool to let her go, to believe I could ever walk away.
A tentative hand lands on my shoulder, belonging to a female officer with a slight frown. Her eyes flicker over to Harper, who’s half-buried in Rhys’s chest like she’s trying to disappear inside him.
“The paramedics need to check her over. Then we’ll need to take her down to the station for a formal statement,” she says quietly, clearly chosen for her personability. Behind her back, a row of officers with crossed arms and less patience are waiting a few feet away.
“Can’t it wait?” Rhys growls angrily. Harper can’t hear him, but the vibrations from his chest against her face are enough to make her flinch. Misery floods his face, his body softening around hers. “She’s been through hell. Can’t we take her to a hotel and bring her to the station first thing in the morning?” Despite his tempered tone, the officer regretfully shakes her head.
“It’s imperative we secure her statement whilst it’s fresh in her mind. You can stay with her until she’s taken into the interview room.”
Casting a glance at Harper, I huff through my nose. She appears to be operating on muscle memory alone, her weight leaning into Rhys and me in an effort to keep her standing. The trembling in her shoulders isn’t lessening, it’s increasing, and my brain fires into full protective mode.
“It’s the middle of the night,” I counter, thinking fast on my feet. “You won’t be able to find a sign-language interpreter at this hour, so whatever Harper says without proper aid will be shredded apart by any decent defense attorney and tossed out in court. If you want your charge to hold, you’ll have to wait.” The officer hesitates, her gaze flicking back to her colleagues.
“Let me speak to my captain.” I watch her retreat, sensing Harper’s head lifting to stare after the officer as well.
“What’s happening?” Harper asks, the fog in her green gaze clearing ever so slightly. Rhys taps her shoulder, shifting his weight for the police lights to illuminate his face.
“Clayton is lying to the police to buy you some time with us,” he says slowly and carefully for her to lip-read. Harper’s brow twitches.
“Us?” She looks between us. My arm tightens around her waist. It must seem impossible to her that Rhys and I are standing here, side by side without one trying to beat the shit out of the other. Neither of us knows what to say, but Rhys shifts Harper more securely against him, and that seems to be answer enough. Harper clings back, her fingers curled into his shirt so tight that the fabric distorts. Her eyes unfocus again, her mind drifting away from the lawn we’re rooted on. “Is Kenneth okay?”
Over her head, Rhys and I share a look. Neither of us cares to check in with the EMTs or to ask questions as the ambulance peels away. I don’t know the extent of Kenneth’s injuries, but he’d best be thankful he’s being taken far away from me. The captain approaches.
“An interpreter is at least a few hours out,” he grunts irritably. I’m supposing he hadn’t considered having one on standby. “Get her checked by the paramedics, then we will drive you all to a hotel and post an officer outside your door. Harper must be at the station at nine sharp, no funny business.”
“You have my word,” I agree, reaching out to shake the captain’s hand. He takes it, his grip firm and eyes filled with suspicion as if he’s memorizing my face in case he needs to hunt me down later. There’s no trust between us, and there doesn’t need to be.
We’re guided back toward the patrol car we showed up in. An EMT stands waiting, a duffle bag at his feet. Harper hovers between us, fingers grazing Rhys’s hoodie, then my jacket, herbody angled like she’s terrified one of us might vanish if she stops touching us for too long.
With gentle nudging and a few pleading looks, Harper finally settles into the back seat. The EMT climbs in after her, snapping on gloves to check her vitals and blood pressure. The cuff squeezes her arm, and she jolts like it’s a hand closing around her, causing her muscles to tighten and her breathing to become labored. Rhys’ teeth grind as he curses under his breath. I concur with the feeling, my stomach twisting into knots.
I hate it. I hate that she flinches at the passing car lights. I hate that she keeps darting her gaze between Rhys and me like she’s afraid she’ll be taken from us again. I hate that she can’t hear the words of encouragement I long to give her. I hate that Kenneth got close enough to do this.
Once she’s cleared, the EMT gives us a faint nod as he steps out. The second he’s gone, both Rhys and I lunge forward on instinct, our shoulders colliding in the doorway as glares are exchanged. Me being the peacekeeper and knowing Harper is already freaked out, I step back in surrender and round to the other side of the car. Dropping in beside her, I nestle Harper into my side as if she never left. I never should have let her leave.
Sandwiched between us, Harper exhales with a weight I can’t imagine. I imagined this moment a hundred different ways on the drive here, most of them awful, but it’s finally over. We can be together now, we can be…normal.
Harper’s hand finds mine almost immediately, her fingers trembling as they curl around my palm. Rhys rests his hand on her knee, his thumb brushing soft, hesitant circles. She leans into him too, her head resting against his chest again, but this time it’s not from terror, just exhaustion.
I angle myself a little closer, letting my shoulder touch hers fully. She tilts her head, eyes half-lidded, and looks at me. Justlooks, like she’s memorizing my face in an effort to prove I’m really here. Raising her hand, I press it against my lips.
“I’ve got you,” I mouth. She nods, a tiny, weary movement. Warmth gathers in my chest, spreading outward, slow and overwhelming. I didn’t realize how frozen I’d been until now, until the heat of her melts something that’s been locked tight inside me since that scream ripped through the phone. Rhys meets my eyes over her head. There’s no hostility there now, only relief as we cradle her together.
She’s here. She’s back. And I swear, I won’t let anything take her from us again.
Chapter Eleven
I sit beneath the spray from the showerhead, my back pressed against the cold tile. The door is ajar, none of us ready to be separated again so soon. Through the soft spill of lamplight across the carpet, I watch their shadows pace back and forth. The boys are hovering, unsure where to put themselves, unsure what to do, but knowing they can’t keep more than several feet away.
It’s only a few hours until sunrise, but the idea of closing my eyes makes my stomach lurch. Sleep feels like a trap I won’t be able to climb out of, the kind where Kenneth waits behind my eyelids, his smile wide and deformed.
What happened after I woke in the bathtub, sluggish and struggling to be lucid, plays on repeat, haunting and mocking. I almost got through to him. A little more time and I reckon he would have crumbled. Once he’d realized there was no stopping the cops from finding us, realized that he’d lost, dropped to his knees and cried violently into my shoulder.
