Braver, smarter, with far less fear.
But time doesn’t work that way.
And tonight, everything will change.
Harrison’s truck idles at the curb along the street, headlights glowing across the sidewalk as I walk toward him. He looks too big for the driver’s seat, broad shoulders tense under his black T-shirt, jaw tight like he’s physically restraining emotion.
God. He looks older, sharper, more worn-in by life and pressure, but still devastatingly handsome. Still the same man who once loved me so thoroughly it rewired my heart.
When he sees me coming he steps out and rounds his truck to open my door for me.
“Hey,” he says gently.
“Hey.” My voice wobbles and I silently curse myself as I slide into the seat.
Pathetic start.
“Connor’s good?” he asks softly.
“Yeah. He’s with a friend.”
Translation:We have time, even if I have no idea how to use it.
Harrison nods once and pulls away from the curb without another word. The silence is thick, electric and painfully intimate. Like we’re circling something neither of us is ready to touch yet. He stays along the coast as we drive in silence, the city falling away behind us. I have no idea where we’re going but a few minutes later, he pulls into a quiet cliffside spot that overlooks the ocean. It reminds me of the kind of place he would escape to when he needed to breathe. When he trusted me enough to show me the places that grounded him.
It also reminds me of the quintessential make-out spot.
My throat tightens. Some part of me—foolish or hopeful or both—likes that he brought me here. He parks, engine ticking softly as it cools. The ocean stretches out ahead of us, the sky darkening beneath the moonlight. It’s peaceful. Too peaceful for the mess of emotions inside me.
He turns off the ignition. “I promise I didn’t bring you here to make out.”
I force a chuckle. “Reassuring. Thank you.” I stare out the window focusing on the last tiny sliver of sunset over the water. “It’s very pretty out here.”
“Yeah.”
Another beat of silence.
Then so soft I almost don’t hear him, “Why didn’t you tell me, Harper?”
The words slice clean through the fragile calm. I flinch, staring down at my hands twisting in my lap like they belong to someone else. I’ve dreaded this question for ten years, replayed every version of this conversation in every mood, every fear, every guilty daydream.
But nothing prepares me for hearing it out loud.
“I knew you’d ask that,” I say quietly.
“It’s the only thing I can think about,” he replies, voice low, hurting. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me and I don’t understand why you’re telling me now.”
I swallow hard. “I was scared, Harrison. Terrified, if I’m being honest. I was a college senior and pregnant and you were weeks away from the draft combine. Your whole future was about to begin.” My throat tightens. “I didn’t want to be a distraction for you. I didn’t want you to throw your dreams away all because we made a mistake.”
Harrison’s body snaps rigid, as if I’ve knocked the air from his lungs. He whips around, eyes glassy, jaw clenched, pain etched in every feature of his face. “A mistake…”
“We were so young, H.”
H…the nickname I always used for him.
I was the only one who ever called him that.
“I know,” he manages, his head falling forward. “But you shouldn’t have?—”
