But I was scared shitless that I’d just fucked up the best thing I’d ever had.
We sat there for a while without talking. The only sound was Rory breathing softly and the house was way too quiet without Harper humming in the kitchen or practicing violin. Her absence was deafening.
“I’m staying tonight,” Liam said finally, carefully moving Rory to her Pack ’n Play without waking her. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
I wanted to argue, but honestly, I didn’t want to be alone.
Not tonight.
“Thanks,” I said.
He nodded toward the stairs. “I’m gonna grab a shower since I was at the gym when you called me, and then we can order some food.” He headed for the stairs, then stopped. “Drew? For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing today. Telling her the truth, I mean. I think most guys would’ve made excuses, but you didn’t. You owned it. The old you wouldn’t have done that. You would’ve lashed out.”
After I heard the shower start, I went up to our room,because it would always belong to her whether she wanted it anymore or not. Her pillow still smelled like her shampoo, and her sheet music was on the nightstand where she’d set it after practicing yesterday. A scrunchie was next to the lamp, and her phone charger was still plugged in on her side of the bed.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the empty space where Harper should have been. Tomorrow I’d have to go to work and act like everything was fine. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull it off.
I’d never felt so broken before.
The worst part was knowing that Harper thought everything we’d shared was fake. Every time I’d told her I loved her, every vulnerable moment between us, every conversation about our future—she probably thought it was all part of some long con.
How could I prove that what I felt for her was real when she had every reason not to believe me?
Because it had been real.
Every fucking second of it.
Everything between us—the way she’d fit perfectly in my arms, the way she’d made me want to be a better man, the way she’d become part of my family without even trying—all of it had been the most real thing I’d ever experienced.
But Harper didn’t believe that anymore.
And I had no fucking clue how to convince her.
FORTY-EIGHT
My fingertips left tiny drops of blood on the strings as I repositioned my left hand. I stared at the crimson spots for a moment before wiping them clean and continuing to play. The tips were raw now, blisters torn open from hours of practice, but I couldn’t stop.
When I stopped, I thought aboutthem.
I drew the bow across the strings again, launching into the most technically demanding piece in my fellowship repertoire—Paganini’s Caprice No. 24. The notes flew under my fingers, each one sharp and precise despite the pain. Perfect technique masked the chaos underneath.
“Harper.”
I didn’t look up at Rachel’s voice, didn’t acknowledge her standing in the doorway of her parents’ guest room where I’d been camped out for the past three days. She’d grown up in Missoula and was house-sitting for her parents while they were on a cruise. I’d never been so glad to have a friend with parents who loved to travel. I couldn’t bear the thought of staying next door to Drew and Rory after everything that happened.
Their faces flashed in my memory and my bow skipped as my heart clenched.
No, no, no.
I couldn’t think about them.
That’s why I’d been playing until I collapsed. Because if I took even the smallest break, I’d think about them and burst into tears.
My left hand tightened around the neck of my violin and I pressed harder into the strings, the bow trembling slightly as I pushed through a particularly difficult passage.
“Harper, stop.”
“I can’t.” The words came out breathless.
