He lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t deserve him.”
I tilt my head back, my heart splitting open at the raw devastation in his voice. His face—his beautiful face—is crumpled like he’s been shattered from the inside out.
“Harrison Meers,” I say firmly, “donotsay that.”
His eyes finally meet mine then, glassy and lost and I can barely breathe.
“You are not your biological father,” I continue, gripping his face between my palms, my thumbs brushing away tears that the shower can’t disguise. “You are everything he needs.” My chest heaves. “And I love you so much for everything you’ve done for him already and for everything I know you’ll do for him in the coming years.”
My voice cracks.
“You’re a great dad, Harrison.”
Something in his face gives.
He folds into me, arms crushing me against him like I’m his very last lifeline in a storm he can’t control. He presses his forehead to my shoulder, his entire body convulsing with ten years of loss, and I hold him as the water drenches us both, until I can’t tell where his tears end and mine begin.
“I love you, Harper,” he chokes out against my neck. “I love you and I don’t know how to do this without you.”
I cradle the back of his head, fingers threading into his wet hair.
“I love you too,” I whisper. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not ever.”
He lifts his head slowly, searching my face with such hope it makes my knees weak. Then he kisses me. Not with desperation or hunger, but with reverence. Like he’s grounding himself back into his body through me.
So, I kiss him back the same way with everything I have.
With everything I am.
We stand there, fully clothed, water running, holding each other while the world outside the steam-filled shower fades into nothingness and the worst moment of our lives settles into something survivable. It’s just him and me, wrapped up in this moment where vulnerability collides with raw, unfiltered emotion. His forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the heated air as the water cascades down our bodies, washing away remnants of the pain we’ve both carried for far too long.
“I don’t want to lose you again,” he whispers, and I feel every syllable sink deep into my chest. “I don’t want to lose him either.”
The tremor in his voice shatters me from the inside, my heart weeping as I reach up to cradle his face in my hands. “You won’t lose us, Harrison. Not now, not ever again.”
It’s a promise that feels like solid ground beneath my feet, but the way his heart races against mine says he needs more. He wants reassurance, something tangible to hold onto. I can see it written all over his face, the fear, the desperation, the love that’s been bottled up for years.
Without thinking, I lean forward, capturing his lips with mine, an urgent push that ignites the air between us. His hands find my waist, fingers digging in as I pull at his soaked shirt, our bodies pressing together under the hot spray. The intensity of his grip sends shivers down my spine despite the warmth surrounding us.
He needs me.
He needs this.
Ineed this.
“Harper,” he groans against my mouth as his hands slide up under my now-soaking shirt, the fabric clinging to my skin in a way that makes everything feel more intimate, more urgent.
I tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. “Take this off,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the shower. “I need to feel you.”
He pulls back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it with a wet slap against the shower floor. My breath catches at the sight of him, water dripping down his broad shoulders, across the defined planes of his chest, tracing paths I want to follow with my tongue.
“Your turn,” he says, his voice rough with emotion and desire.
I lift my arms as he peels my wet shirt away, his eyes darkening as he takes me in. The vulnerability in his gaze makes my heart ache. This isn’t just about physical need. It’s about connection, about finding each other again after everything we’ve been through today.
He slides his hand down my back, leaving a trail of heat that has nothing to do with the shower spray. The way he’s looking at me—like I’m everything he’s ever wanted—makes my heart stutter in my chest. I reach for his belt, fumbling with the wet leather as water runs between us.
“I need you, H,” I whisper against his mouth, my hands working the buckle free. “Right now.”
