“Are you sure?” I ask anyway, because I’m not stupid.
Harlow’s mouth twitches, sharp but tired. “Yes. I want to put ice on your face, Gray. Not propose.”
My chest loosens on a quiet huff of laughter. “Okay.”
We go inside. Up the stairs. The hallway smells like laundry detergent and cheap candles and college. Harlow unlocks her door and steps in first, flipping on a small lamp instead of the overhead. Soft light. Not interrogation light. She remembers.
She grabs an ice pack from her mini fridge before disappearing into her tiny bathroom, coming back out with a bag of ice wrapped in a hand towel. She holds it up like an offering.
“Sit,” she demands.
I sit on the edge of her bed.
Harlow steps closer, pauses for half a second like she’s choosing something, then presses the ice to my cheek.
Cold bites. My skin protests.
I don’t.
Because her hand is steady, and the contact is…careful. Intentional.
Harlow’s face is serious as she watches me. “Does it hurt?”
I swallow. “Not really.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re lying.”
“It was a punch. I’ve had worse.”
Harlow’s gaze goes sharp. “That’s not the point.”
“No,” I admit quietly. “It’s not.”
She presses the ice a little firmer.
“What did he say?” she asks softly.
My jaw tightens. I hate repeating it. I hate giving it air in her room. But I can see it in her face—the need to name the monster so it stops being a shadow.
So I say it. I keep it short. Clean. Ugly. Harlow goes still as I speak, eyes locked on mine like she’s forcing herself not to flinch.
When I finish, she swallows hard.
Then she says, voice flat, “He always did that.”
Harlow’s eyes drop to her own hands on the towel.
“He’d say it like it was a joke,” she continues, quieter. “Like he was being funny. Like everyone else was supposed to laugh so I’d feel stupid for being hurt.”
My stomach turns.
“And I—” She exhales, sharp. “I believed him.”
The words land like a weight. I use every ounce of my strength and restraint to keep from reaching out to her. The last thing I want to do is startle her.
Harlow keeps the ice at my cheek like it gives her something to do with her hands. I stare at her and I want to say a thousand things.
I choose one.
