“Faith, you’remadat him,” Harper reminded her.
“You are?” I asked.
Faith grabbed the hem of my shirt without warning. “But look at him.” She yanked it up, exposing my abs before I could react. “Couldn’t you just lick this?”
“Faith!” I shoved my shirt back down. “Focus. Who gave her that black eye?” I kept my tone neutral, nonthreatening, addressing her neighbor again. “Does this person know where you live?”
Her face went pale. “Why?”
“Just … trying to understand the situation.”Trying to figure out if Faith’s in danger.
I saw it then—the way Harper’s shoulders sagged slightly, thefear. She was running from something bad. Something that had followed her into her nightmares and made her jump at shadows.
“Look,” I said, gentler now. “If you need help?—”
“I think I’ll be going.” Harper moved toward the door.
“Harper, wait—” Faith started.
“It’s okay. I should get home anyway.” She paused at the door, looking back at me. “Thanks for … not pressing charges for assault with a decorative weapon.”
“Will you see that she gets home okay?” Faith asked, her worried gaze meeting mine.
Of course she’d ask that.
“Fine,” I said.
Harper looked like she wanted to protest but was too tired to argue. Or maybe too scared. She let me walk her to the bungalow next door, the night air crisp and cold.
“I really am sorry about the lamp,” Harper said as we walked. “I may have gotten carried away.”
“You were protecting your friend.”
“She’s not really my friend. I just moved in yesterday. But she invited me in just because I was scared …” Her voice caught. “Nobody’s been that kind to me in a very long time.”
My throat tightened. That was Faith. Opening her door and her heart to someone in pain, even when her own world was falling apart.
“The lamp assault was actually pretty impressive,” I admitted. “Good form. Excellent follow-through.”
Harper laughed, a surprised sound. “I played softball in high school.”
We reached her door, and she fumbled with her keys.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I came on too strong. I just … Faith means a lot to me.”
“More than almost-maybe?” Harper asked, a small smile playing at her lips.
“Way more than almost-maybe.”
“I get it.” Harper’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re protecting her. She needs that. Even if she won’t admit it.”
“If you need help?—”
“I don’t think anyone can help me.” She paused, then added, “But Faith tried anyway. That’s … that’s everything.” She slipped inside before I could respond, the dead bolt clicking with finality.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door. Wondering what I could do to help Harper.
After retrieving the scattered takeout containers, I headed back inside, where Faith was slumped over her kitchen table, head pillowed on her folded arms, soft snores escaping her parted lips.
