Page 72 of On the Breakaway

“Okay, we’re talking to her tonight. She’s always there for us. We need to be there for her.”

Right as the words leave my mouth, the front door opens.

Harper steps inside, scanning the restaurant until her eyes land on us. Even from across the room, I can tell something is wrong. Harper, who normally looks polished down to the last detail in public, looks exhausted.

“Wow,” she says, slipping into the empty chair beside Wesley. “You two look judgmental already.”

“That’s because you’re late,” I say with my eyebrows raised.

Wesley studies her. “Are you okay?”

“Can we not do the interrogation thing tonight?” Harper pinches the bridge of her nose.

“That depends,” I say, never the one to beat around the bush. “Are we imagining whatever’s been going on with you lately?”

Around us, the restaurant buzzes, but Harper looks disconnected from it, staring down at the table like she’s somewhere else.

Wesley’s voice softens. “Harper.”

Her shoulders drop. “It’s just a rough patch.”

I frown. “What kind of rough patch?”

Her fingers tighten around her silverware. “Things with James have felt weird lately. But we’ve been together since we were fifteen, so it’s bound to happen sometimes.”

Wesley rolls her lips together. “That sounds frustrating.”

“I don’t know.” Harper shakes her head once. “I feel crazy half the time because I can feel something wrong between us, but he refuses to even acknowledge there’s a problem.”

My stomach twists because Harper isn’t usually emotional in front of people. Even now, she sounds controlled despite the strain underneath every word.

The server returns with more drinks and another plate of bread. Harper stares at her wine, then takes the world’s largest sip.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she says firmly. “Seriously.”

Maybe it’s my relationship ineptitude, but I have never been able to understand why she changed the trajectory of her life for James.

“Do you think maybe if you did something for yourself, like soccer again, it would help?”

“No.” She shakes her head harder, glaring at me. “I’ve told you I stand by that decision.”

The wall in her expression slides back into place. I recognize it because I’ve been doing the same thing for months every time someone brings up Damon. Even last week when Wesley had tried to bring up the article about him, I’d shut her down instantly.

We all have our own shit.

Wesley shifts the energy first, like she always does when Harper and I clash. “Nathan’s so bored he’s started becoming obsessed with trying out every restaurant in town and ranking them.”

Harper and I both snort as she continues.

“Being one-handed, he can’t cook for shit. He’s got a whole spreadsheet with his grading scale. And he’s roped Grayson into giving him restaurant recommendations.”

Grayson’s name pulls my attention before I can stop it. I think about the overloaded grocery cart in the store and the best omelet I’ve ever had. It should be harmless information, except apparently, I can’t even think of him and eating in the same breath without my mind heading straight into the gutter.

My cheeks heat, and I’m grateful for the distraction when Harper waves to someone over my shoulder.

I twist in my seat to see who it is, then curse under my breath.

Wesley’s eyebrows lift. “What?”