“You’re being a bit too quiet.”
Wren looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “You tell me to shut up at least three times a day. You like it when I’m quiet.”
“Yeah,” I said, deadpan. “But your silence makes me incredibly uneasy.”
She rolled her eyes and smiled as she walked back out of the living room.
I gave her a lazy smirk, but inside, I was still somewhere else.
Back in the hallway, I knocked on the door to the room she was staying in. Thinking about the way Harper looked when she opened the door and walked down the hall. How the light caught the magenta in her hair. The way the hoodie almost swallowed her, sleeves past her hands, hem hitting mid-thigh. Those damn shorts. Her long, bronze legs.
Jesus.
I sat up and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and let out a slow breath.
I really needed to apologize to her. When I found out that she was staying here, my first thought was to make things easier for her, and here I am doing the exact opposite. It’s hard not to, honestly. The number of fights and bickering we have done in the past few years alone was enough for a lifetime.
I was going to get my shit together and fix this. Even if it meant biting my tongue or getting on my knees to beg for her forgiveness.
* **
Wren had said goodnight over an hour ago. Probably closer to two, if I were being honest. I stayed on the couch long after the game ended, mindlessly scrolling on my phone. The screen lit my face in the dark, like a pathetic nightlight.
It was just past eleven thirty when I finally gave up, deciding to get some damn sleep.
The hallway was quiet, and everyone in the house settled in for the night. Wren’s room was at the front right of the hallway, a little light from her bedside lamp still visible under the crack of her door. She’d probably fallen asleep with it on again.
My room was at the very end—the last door on the left. But it was right across from where Harper was sleeping.
I had one hand on my door, twisting the knob, when I paused. I swear I heard something. Soft. Muffled. I held still, breath caught, listening hard.
There it was again—just the faintest sound.
Crying.
Not loud. Just soft and raw, as if she didn’t want anyone to hear it. And that was the part that got me.She didn’t want anyone to hear.There’s no way in hell that I could walk into my room and pretend I didn’t.
I crossed the hall before I could think better of it. I knocked gently, barely more than a tap.
“Harps?” My voice was low. Careful. “You awake?”
No answer. But the crying stopped.
I rested my forehead lightly against the door and closed my eyes.
“Can I come in?”
Because no matter what it was—stress, grief, that damn storm messing up her life—I wasn’t about to let her carry it by herself. Not while she was under my roof, tucked into the room she helped create. Not when I’d already decided I’d do whateverit took to make her feel safe here. Even if she didn’t ask. Even if she didn’t say a word. Even if I fucked up so badly, she couldn’t forgive me.
Still no answer.
I stood there a second longer, jaw tight, hand hovering near the doorknob like I could will it to open just by standing close enough. But I wasn’t walking away. I couldn’t. Not when I knew she was in there crying.
“C’mon, trouble,” I said, voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’m here for you. I mean it. Open the door.”
Quiet. Then a sigh. A soft shuffle of her feet against the floor. The unmistakable click of the lock. The door cracked open just enough for me to see her standing there in the warm glow of the room.
Her eyes were puffy, cheeks streaked with dried tears. Her nose was a little red. She’d taken out her contacts and was wearing those tortoiseshell glasses I secretly thought were adorable. One sleeve of her hoodie came up as she wiped at another tear trailing down her face.
