Page 27 of The Destined SEAL
The second I see her cheek, she turns her gaze to the floor. “I’m fine. Can we talk? I’m fine, really.” I know enough about women to know when they say they’re fine, the opposite is true.
Harper meets my eyes. Hers are red and ringed with black makeup. Apart from the dark red mark on her cheekbone, there are red splotches on her neck. The very same neck I cherish has been marred by hands. Large ones.
“Come on. Let’s talk,” I say, gesturing toward the couch.
Harper brushes past me and sinks down into the sofa, pulling one of the new throw pillows onto her lap. She puts her chin on it and keeps her gaze pointed at the floor.
Norah has already vanished into the bedroom. Shaking my head, I sit next to Harper and pull her into my chest. She breathes in deeply once and then falls apart.
“I hope I’m wrong, Harper, but if I’m not, you need to start at the beginning.”
“Which beginning?” she asks, sobbing. “There are so many.”
“Please tell me you called the cops.”
She nods against my chest. “Of course I did. Which makes this so much worse.”
I clear my throat. “I need to hear you say it. All of it.”
Harper leans away, as if finally realizing our seating position might not be chaste and friendly enough. She pulls her cell phone out of her sweater pocket, hiccups, and scrolls until she finds what she’s looking for, and hands me the phone. It’s a screenshot of my Insta photo of Harper, at the concert, on her birthday. “He saw it,” she whispers. “Marcus saw it. I told him it was nothing, but he’s been acting strange since our double date—says I don’t look at him the same way I look at you.” Harper lowers her voice as her gaze darts to my closed bedroom door.
“I don’t have him on my account,” I say, with finality in my voice. Like I can erase this by using reason.
She ignores me, still staring off toward my bedroom. “Because I won’t marry him.”
I close my eyes and blow out a breath. My heart rate accelerates as my mind tries to pick apart every angle she could be aiming for. “We’re getting off topic. Tell me what happened.” I brush my fingers across her cheek and wince when she does.
Harper puts her face in her hands, mindful of her cheekbone, and speaks low, “You don’t have him on your account. You have some bottle blonde named Sexy Jenny, though. He created a fake profile to add you. He thought he’d have a better chance at stalking you if he was a twenty-something chick. And it worked.”
My stomach sinks. I know exactly who she’s talking about. Even though my profile is private, I’ll add people I don’t know every once in a while. I remember wondering who the chick was, but I’d had a few beers, and she was blonde and hot.
“He called me a slut. A commitment-phobe who’d rather fuck around with guys like you than marry men like him.” She raises her head and looks at me. “He’s been under a lot of pressure here,” she explains.
I shake my head. “Don’t you fucking dare stand up for him.” My voice booms, echoing off the walls.
Norah won’t come out. She probably won’t even listen to our conversation.
Harper takes my hands in hers. “I get it, Ben. He moved here for me, with me, to be with me, and I keep turning him down. I’m not making excuses for him, because we both know there’s no excuse for this,” she explains, gesturing to her face and then neck. “He saw the photo and got mad.” She shrugs. “It happened so fast. We were talking one second, and I was on the ground the next. He didn’t hit me. He grabbed me by the throat, told me to stop feeding him bullshit excuses, and then threw me into thedesk.” She rubs her face. “I caught the corner. Or rather, my face caught the corner.”
“This is my fault,” I say, nodding. “My photo caused this.” I stand, untangling myself from her. I run my hands through my hair and look at the ceiling. With Harper at my back, I listen to her finish the story. She gives me the facts as detailed as she can in between sobs. She begs me not to tell her parents and asks if she can stay with me for a little while. I answer immediately that she can without thinking about any repercussions. Without thinking about the woman in the other room.
“I called Marcus’s brother to let him know what happened, and he’s going to come out and stay at our place for a while. Try to see if he can help him or…I don’t know. Be there for him. Marcus was sorry right away. I’d almost think it was an accident if…” Harper trails off.
“If what?” I spin to face her.
She swallows hard. “If I hadn’t been scared of him in the past, too. He’s been weird before, and it’s worried me. Nothing like this, though. I don’t want you to think I’ll go back to him. I won’t, Ben. I never would have stayed with him this long if he’d shown these tendencies before now. It was always just words and tone.”
“And you stayed?” I ask, furrowing my brow. Her statement causes me physical pain. I palm my chest. Lowering my voice, I say, “You got weird vibes and you stayed with him instead of…” I trail off. My insides are coiling in regret. How easily could she have been led away if I had stayed my course in pursuing her in all ways? If I hadn’t taken no for an answer. If we’d embraced what we’ve had our entire lives.
She slams her eyes tight. When she opens them, she’s gazing at my bedroom door with a pitiful look in her eye. “I know,” is all she says. “The cops came and took our statements, and because of my face, they took him away. Do you know what he said when they were putting him in the back of the cruiser?”
It’s rhetorical, because I can see her mind working.
“He told me I could run to you so you can make it all go away—so you could make everything all better.”
“I’m going to kill him,” I say, my words cracking like kindling hitting fire. “String him up by his toes and bleed him until he’s dry.”
“He’s right, Ben.” Her voice shakes. Like the realization is just as bad as what he’s stolen from her.
