Harlow’s voice is quieter now. “Sometimes I feel like I’m always putting on some sort of performance. For everyone else’s benefit, but never my own.”
I swallow past the lump forming in my throat because I understand performance.
Not her version—mine.
The version where you smile for scouts and cameras and teammates and make it look easy while your head is a war zone of past life events that eat at you daily and all the decisions that lead you to that very moment.
“I get that,” I say low.
Harlow’s gaze flicks to me, cautious. “Do you?”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
She studies me, like she’s deciding whether to believe it.
Then, bluntly, “People tell me I’m too much.”
My body stills, not because it’s surprising that people could be so cruel, but because it lands too close to something I don’t want to think about. I don’t say anything right away. Harlow keeps going, quieter, like she’s surprised she’s talking at all.
“So, I learned how to be smaller,” she says. “How to…edit myself into the version of me others want to see.”
My stomach rocks, and my brain tries to run ahead. I drag it back by force, making myself stay here in the present with this beautiful, broken girl on the porch who is far braver than anyone gives her credit for.
“Sounds exhausting,” I finally manage.
Harlow laughs short. “It is.”
She tilts her head toward the yard. “Kai thinks he’s helping. In his mind, if he watches close enough, he can…” She cuts herself off. “Prevent things from happening.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “That’s Kai.”
She looks at me again. “You’re different than I expected.”
My brows lift. “Is that good or bad?”
Harlow hesitates, a grin playing on the edges of her mouth, and I want to see her smile for real. “Jury’s still out on that one, but so far, I think you’re leaning toward the good side.”
I snort. “Thanks. I’ll add that to my resume.”
And that, finally, earns me a real smile. It instantly has me grinning in response, and my brain does something dangerous. It rushes to catalog it. The way her smile softens her whole face. The way her eyes change and come back to life.
I look away, pretending I’m watching the fire pit. Inside, I’m unsettled with the realization that I want to be the reason she smiles again. And again and again.
Harlow’s smile fades like she realized she gave away too much.
She starts picking at her nails anxiously before looking toward the door. “I should go in.”
“You don’t have to,” I say automatically.
“Yes, I do.” Her eyes are wide now, panic starting to settle in more with each passing second, and I hate feeling like I added to her stress.
I nod. “Okay.”
She pushes off the railing, shoulders squaring like she’s pulling armor back on, at least to walk back through the house.
She’s a great actor too.
Before she reaches the door, she pauses.
