Page 15 of Freefall

Why are you here? Why now?

The second she opened the door and I saw her standing there in nothing but a long T-shirt and sleep shorts, her hair still a mess of blonde waves like she hadn’t brushed it yet, all I could think was that I wanted to kiss her.

It’s been almost thirty seconds since she opened the door, and the demand still plays over and over again in my head like a mantra. Is it another intrusive thought, or do I really want to? I think I do.

I give myself a moment to take her in—to really see her. Her eyes are greener than they were at the beach the other day, with little flecks of gold in them. Her lips are full and pink. The pulse in her neck thrums violently.

Kiss her.

The first time we kissed, she was the one to initiate it.

I’m going to kiss you now.

After what happened with Jackie, I tried to avoid kissing anyone, afraid that I would do something impulsive again and scare girls away. Of course, I had kissed since Jackie, not because I wanted to, but because most girls expect to be kissed during sex. With Harper? It didn’t feel like a chore. It felt like flying, not knowing where I would land when it was over, but not caring either.

And that look she gave me right before, like she was going to explode if our lips didn’t touch…

She’s giving me that same look now. I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it. Her fist is squeezed shut at her side, like she’s holding something so tight that whatever it is might disintegrate in her palm. Her eyes are darker now, forest green with syrupy edges.

Kiss her.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I step forward, crowding her space, leaning in, watching her eyes widen in surprise—then something flickers behind her, like a flash of gold. Peering over her shoulder, I see a little girl. Wavy blonde hair, freckled nose, eyes the color of…

No.

It’s not.

I look back at Harper, and I don’t even have to ask the question. It’s written all over her face—in the way her lips press together, the slow flutter of her lashes, the apology in her eyes.

“Mommy?” the little girl asks.

The spell breaks, and she looks over at the girl. That’s when I see it as clear as day, spelled out in colorful beads on her bracelet.

Mommy.

“Yeah, sweetie?” Her voice is only slightly broken, and I know it’s not for lack of emotion, but because we have an audience.

“Who is that?”

Harper’s eyes stray to the girl then back to me, no doubt really seeing what I did moments ago. Her hair is the same color as Harper’s, but everything else—the structure of her face, the faint freckles on the bridge of her nose, her eyes…

It’s all me.

“He’s…” Harper starts, but I don’t let her finish. I don’t need to hear the lie roll off her tongue, only so it can crash into the three of us like a fucking bowling ball. So instead, I ask a question I already know the answer to.

“How old is she?”

“Nate.”

“How old, Harper?” I grit out, careful not to raise my voice in front of that little girl standing there, wide-eyed and curious—innocent.

“She turned eight last month,” Harper finally says.

I don’t need to do the math. It’s obvious. What isn’t is how she could possibly⁠—

“Nate,” she says again, softer this time, more pleading.

And fuck if I didn’t use to melt at the sound of her begging. Too bad those days are long over. I can’t believe I almost fucking kissed her.