44
Harlow
No.
No.
A bellow broke from Harlow’s chest, ripping through his throat, tearing at his vocal cords. It rattled his teeth, his skull, his jaw. Copper bloomed on his tongue, and in a flash, the dingy, poorly lit setting that occupied his world turned surreal, its colors too sharp and vivid to be natural. From the dying flicker of the third sconce from the door, to the hint of mildew on the air, to the immaculately dressed young man who stood by the railing, his shoulders heaving from exertion and his fists clenched, Harlow’s mind obsessed. Fixated.
Bleach-blond hair. A narrow build. Designer clothes. Stylish shoes. Youth.
Justin Outerbridge.
Harlow had no idea what he was doing in Simon’s apartment building, or why he’d pushed Simon over the railing, but he had no time to worry about that. Blinded by the pain of his loss, Harlow threw himself across the landing, ready to mangle the boy who’d stolen his love from him. Justin, alerted to Harlow’s presence by his bellow, danced out of the way and stumbled down a few stairs, then snagged himself on the railing. Startled, he looked up at Harlow with wide eyes.
“S-Shit!”
“I’llkillyou,” Harlow hissed. Once, Justin had been nothing more than a hangnail—a painful inconvenience that was best ignored, lest it grow infected. But now? Justin wasn’t only smashing phones anymore—he’d ended another human life. He’d stripped from the world a bright soul who had done nothing to deserve such violence. He’d taken Simon from a world that didn’t deserve him. “I’ll—”
“Harlow,” Simon croaked, afraid. “Harlow,help.”
The hairs on the back of Harlow’s neck stood on end, and he snapped his head toward the railing. On the way down, Simon had managed to grab onto one of the metal balusters, and he clung to it for dear life, supporting his body weight with one arm. Only his fist was visible, and it gripped the baluster at ground level with all its might. The rest of him hung in the perilous gap at the center of the stairwell, one slip away from falling four floors and impacting the cement landing below.
“Simon,” Harlow gasped. His objective changed. Where once he’d been ready to destroy Justin for his vile deeds, his help was needed elsewhere—if Simon was going to get out of this, he needed Harlow on his side. Helping save the man he loved was more important than getting revenge on the man he hated, so Harlow turned his back on Justin and rushed to the railing. He dropped to his knees. “Simon, I’m here.”
Justin’s footsteps, so hurried that they tripped over themselves, echoed through the stairwell. The loud, panicked sound of his breathing was accompanied by muttering—Harlow couldn’t pick out what he was saying, nor did he care to. All that mattered was Simon.
“Don’t worry, Simon,” Harlow said. He reached between the balusters and grabbed Simon by the wrist, helping to support some of his weight. Simon wasn’t particularly heavy, but the angle was awkward, and Harlow had limited access to him thanks to the railing barring the way. “I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m not going to let you go. All you have to do is work with me, okay? Trust me. I need you to stay calm and reach up to get a grip with your other hand.”
“Ican’t,” Simon squeaked. His head was angled up toward Harlow, but his eyes were squeezed shut. “Help.Help!”
“I’m here to help. I’m not letting you go.” Harlow kept his voice as honeyed as possible, desperate for Simon to keep a level head. “Even if you let go of your grip, you’re not going to fall. I’m not going to let you. But I need you to try to grab on with both hands, okay? You need to work with me so I can pull you back up.”
Justin rounded the staircase, coming into Harlow’s point of view. He tripped over his own feet and smashed into the railing with a rattlingclang!, then, flailing, launched off it to hit the opposite wall. Where was Prince? Harlow refused to believe that he was in on Justin’s scheme, whatever it was. Was he after Evie? That didn’t seem right. But right now, nothing made sense, and the truth didn’t matter. All Harlow wanted was for Simon to be safe.
“I’m going to fall,” Simon sobbed.
Harlow reached down with his other arm, slotting it between a space in the balusters. He grabbed Simon’s arm from a lower position, doubling his hold as he readied to lift him. On his knees like he was, he wouldn’t be able to pull Simon to complete safety, but he could at least lift Simon up to help him secure his loose hand. “You’re not. I’ve got you.Trust me.”
Simon opened his eyes. Tears welled in them, but didn’t fall. They made the blue of his irises glimmer like they really were made of ocean water. They gave Harlow the strength he needed to go on.
“That’s it,” Harlow praised. “We’ve got this. We’re a team now, and we’re going to make sure you get through this together. Lift your arm up and grab onto the metal bar, okay? I can lift you up if you need help, but I can’t lift you all the way. I’m going to need you to work with me so we can get you back onto the landing.”
“Okay,” Simon said weakly. His whole body trembled, but, despite his fear, he lifted his arm. His fingers brushed the bottom of the baluster, but couldn’t reach far enough to grasp it. Harlow assisted by tugging him up, and, with a small, startled gasp, Simon latched onto the metal.
“That’s it.” Harlow beamed. Simon wasn’t out of danger yet, but with a little more teamwork, everything would be okay. “You’re almost there. You’re doing so well.”
“I don’t know what to do.” Simon choked the words, but he didn’t close his eyes again. He kept his gaze on Harlow. “I don’t know what todo.”
“That’s fine. It’s okay not to know. We’re going to figure it out together, okay? I’ve got a plan—I just need you to stick to it with me.”
Harlow ran through the options in his mind. If they’d been with a third party who was physically able, they could have held on to Simon through the railing while he rushed down a floor and climbed up from a lower railing to secure Simon from below. That wouldn’t work in their current situation—Harlow wouldn’t leave Simon to cling to the railing on his own. If he slipped, all was lost.
What did that leave?
He’d need to adjust his grip and grab Simon by both arms and lift him until he could get his feet beneath him. On his hands and knees, that wasn’t going to be possible. That meant that after Harlow had adjusted his grip and lifted Simon as high as he could while kneeling, he’d need to let Simon go so he could stand. If Simon could hold on, Harlow would be able to get up and lean over the railing so he could pull him up completely. It was dicey, but it was the best he could do with limited resources and with time working against them. It wouldn’t be long before Simon’s grip strength deteriorated, and if it did, then all would be lost.
“I’m going to adjust my grip so I’m holding both your arms, and I’m going to pull you up as far as I can,” Harlow said. “When I’m pulling you up, you’re going to have to let go of the bars you’re holding, okay?”
