Page 87 of Freefall

“I have to go,” I tell Allie as soon as I end the call. She walks briskly next to me, the teasing edge from earlier completely gone from her face.

“Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know.”

And that’s what scares the hell out of me.

22

HARPER

I only vaguely register the crunch of gravel and the sound of a car door slamming shut, but when I look up, he’s there, kneeling in front of me, his breath erratic like he just ran here from his house.

“Harper.”

Warmth spreads over my shoulders. I glance down to find his jacket draped around me. I hadn’t even realized how cold I was. My puffy eyes snap in his direction. “He left.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I left him alone for ten minutes to shower, and when I came back…” I shake my head. “The kitchen is a mess. He must have been looking for the money.”

Nate reaches up and gently tucks a damp strand of hair behind my ear. “What money?”

“I used to hide cash in a coffee can when we were in high school. He took all the money from my wallet, but I guess it wasn’t enough.” A laugh catches in my throat, but it comes out more like a sob. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not.”

“No, I really am.” I rest my head in my palms, speaking through my fingers. “Leaving my purse lying around? That’s straight out of the ‘what not to do around an addict’ handbook.”

“Did he find the coffee can?”

I almost laugh again. “No, I have an actual bank account now.”

“Where’s Daisy?”

“With a friend. They went to get donuts.”

He hesitates. “Did she…”

“She didn’t see him. I snuck him into my bedroom before she got up.” I’ve become an expert in sneaking Jace in and out of places, but I don’t say that.

His shoulders relax. “That’s good.” Then he stands, offering me his hand. “Come on.”

I stare at it for so long that it starts to blur. “I don’t think I can.”

He doesn’t argue or tell me I’m being difficult. Instead, he slips an arm under my knees and lifts me as though I weigh nothing.

“Nate…”

“Shhh.”

The door swings open, and a second later I’m sitting on the couch with a blanket tucked securely around my shoulders before I’ve even processed how I got there.

“You’re not even going to comment on my damp hair?” I ask, attempting to lighten the mood. “Or the fact that I’m wearing a tank top in October?”

He stares at me, the blue in his eyes battling for purchase against the gray like the sky after a rainstorm. “No.”

He turns and disappears into the kitchen. A few minutes later, the familiar whistle of my teapot cuts across the silence. When he comes back, he’s holding one of my oversized mugs, steam rising from the top. Without a word, he places it in my hands.

The hot liquid soothes my raw throat, and I don’t miss the hint of sweetness.