Page 72 of Fool Me

My keys are in my hand a moment later, my mind already made up. The drive to Harlowe’s is eerie, silent, and quick. With all of Timberline Peak tucked into bed, Phantom is noticeably missing when I pull into her driveway.

But I’m not leaving until I see her with my own eyes. I turn the key, silencing the engine, and get out to wait on her porch.

Almost two hours later, as the sun is rising, the sound of Phantom jolts me out of the half-awake trance I’m in, staring at the blades of grass in her lawns.

She looks devastatingly beautiful, but completely unlike herself. I stand from the spot on her porch that I’ve made my home, taking inventory. Physically, she seems okay. Her pants are a darker shade, wet from the thighs down. Her braided hair is barely hanging on—blonde strands coming loose in a halo around her face. There’s dirt on her forehead and caked onto her boots, but all of that is physical—it can be washed away with a shower and sleep. The emptiness in her eyes will be harder to heal, and that tears my heart in two.

She stops in front of me, looking from the truck to the porch like she’s just registering that I’m here.

I don’t say anything, I just open my arms.

Harlowe hesitates for a second, like she’s not sure what to do.

Then she’s in them.

And as soon as my arms close around her, she starts shaking, sobs wracking her body.

We stay like that for minutes, maybe longer, before I loosen my grip just enough to take the keys she’s been clutching between us.

“Where’s Echo?”

“My dad came and got him from the scene hours ago.”

Turning us toward the door, I keep her steady and close as I turn the key in the lock and lead her straight inside to the couch. She comes without a fight when I pull her into my lap andagainst my chest. She doesn’t offer details about her night and I don’t push.

Eventually, I’ll need to convince her to shower and get to bed, but right now I just want to hold her for as long as she’ll let me.

My shirt is soaked from her tears, but they’ve finally turned to sniffles. Her breathing has evened out and when I look down, she’s asleep. Carefully, I shift us on the couch, slowly laying us down. I know I’m going to pay for this tomorrow when my body aches, but I won’t risk waking her, not when I know how hard it can be to sleep after a loss.

Sliding my phone from my pocket I set an alarm for when I need to head to the clinic. It’s our late morning so I have a little more time than normal.

Whimpers wake me after only an hour and Harlowe is clinging to me, tears leaking from her closed eyes. The word “no” spills from her lips in a broken loop, barely decipherable—a grief-filled plea.

I can’t stand to let her suffer through her nightmares after everything she’s already faced tonight.

“Shhh, Clover. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” I whisper, brushing a hand over her hair, urging her to wake. “I’m here.”

My name leaves her lips like a lifeline, fragile and frayed. Her eyes blink open, unfocused at first, and then lock on mine like I’m her anchor.

“I’m right here,” I murmur, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead. “You’re home. You’re safe.”

She nods, but it’s uncertain, like part of her is still down in that ravine.

“I couldn’t save her,” she whispers.

I pull her tighter against my chest, wishing I could absorb the weight of it all for her.

“I’m sorry. What do you need?”

Her body trembles, but she doesn’t pull away. I feel her tears soak into my shirt again, quieter this time, as if her grief is folding in on her.

“Don’t leave me. Not yet,” she begs.

I hold on like it’ll matter. Like if I stay here long enough and hold her tight enough, she’ll start to believe she’s not alone in this.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I need a shower,” she says suddenly, sitting upright with a sense of urgency.

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