Page 107 of Almost Ours
I stayed where I was, the lump in my throat refusing to go away. My heart ached in a way that was both beautiful and painful–a mixture of longing and gratitude swirling inside me.
Snow crunched softly beside me, and then Ryan was there, crouching at my side. He didn’t say anything at first, just studied me with those sharp, steady eyes, like he could see every emotion I was trying to push down.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
I nodded, but my smile felt shaky, unconvincing. “I’m fine,” I whispered.
Ryan didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he just stayed close, his presence solid and warm in the cold air.
Before either of us could say anything else, my phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me out of the moment.
With a sigh, I reached for my phone, expecting one of Benny’s over-the-top texts. But the moment I saw the sender’s name, my stomach plummeted.
Reid.
A chill that had nothing to do with the winter air crept up my spine. My fingers trembled as I opened the email, my breath catching before I even reached the first line.
Subject:Let’s Be Adults About This
The words blurred slightly as I forced myself to keep reading.
Harper,
I’ve had some time to think, and I realize now that I made mistakes. I never should’ve treated you the way I did. You didn’t deserve that.
Bile rose in my throat. I knew that tone–polished, practised. The same one he’d used every time he wanted to smooth things over. Every time he wanted to reel me back in.
But you’ve punished me long enough. I’ve paid for my mistakes, and it’s time for you to come back home. Enough is enough, Harper. You’re being selfish, keeping Connor away from me. He’s my son too.
My grip tightened around the phone. My pulse roared in my ears, each sentence hitting harder than the last.
I’ve learned my lesson. I’ve changed, I swear. You can’t keep him from me forever. If you think you can, you’re delusional.
The email’s tone sharpened, the false contrition slipping away like a mask cracking at the edges.
You’ve had your time to sulk, to act like the victim. Now it’s time to do what’s right. Bring Connor home. We can figure this out, but only if you stop playing games. Don’t make me come find you.
Don’t make me come find you.
The words stabbed deep, cold and sharp, like a knife twisting between my ribs. My breath hitched. The crisp air around me suddenly felt suffocating. The sound of the boys’ laughter, the crunch of boots in the snow–it all faded beneath the pounding of my pulse.
I felt like I was going to be sick.
“Harper?”
Ryan’s voice cut through the fog, sharper now. He was crouched beside me again, his hand hovering near my shoulder. His brows drew together in concern as his gaze flicked to my phone.
Too fast, I locked the screen and shoved it deep into my pocket. “It’s nothing,” I said. My voice was too high, too tight. I swallowed hard, forcing a shaky smile. “I’m fine.”
Ryan’s frown deepened. “That didn’t look like nothing.”
“I just…” I stood abruptly, brushing the snow off my pants, my hands unsteady. “I just remembered something I forgot to do, that’s all.”
Ryan didn’t look convinced. His sharp blue eyes stayed locked on mine, searching, assessing. He knew I was lying.
But–mercifully–he let go.
For now.
