Page 121 of Almost Ours
The easy warmth she’d carried throughout the evening was gone, replaced by a quiet tension that gnawed at me. She sat rigid, her eyes fixed on the table like she was trying to pretend none of it had happened.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my hands back into my pockets. Forcing myself to shake off the feeling that I should’ve handled it differently.
That I should’ve done more.
But for the first time tonight, I wasn’t thinking about the guy I wanted to punch.
I was thinking about the girl I didn’t want to scare.
Nina leaned forward, eyes still locked on his retreating back, her expression stormy. “God, what an ass,” she muttered, voicelow and vibrating with anger. Then, without missing a beat, she turned to Harper, her tone softening. “You okay?”
Harper managed a tight smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”
Her fingers curled around the bowl of her wine glass, but she didn’t take a sip. Instead, pulled it close to her as she traced the rim absently with her other hand, her gaze fixed somewhere past us. Nina muttered something cutting under her breath about men like Matt, sharp and protective in a way I didn’t quite understand. Harper nodded, the corner of her mouth twitching up, but the smile was faint–distant.
Shane cracked a joke about drunk idiots at bars, and I forced a laugh, trying to play along, but my focus was entirely on Harper.
She was talking, even laughing at the right moments, but something was off. The way her shoulders stayed drawn tight. The flicker of something raw behind her eyes. The way she kept fidgeting with her glass, like if she stopped moving, whatever was inside her might spill over.
Nina kept the conversation moving, but I caught the way her gaze flicked to Harper every so often, like she was keeping tabs on her. Protective. Attentive. Like she knew exactly what Harper was feeling.
I didn’t.
But I could feel it.
A shadow had settled over her after that guy approached, and I hated that I didn’t know why. Hated that I hadn’t seen it coming. Hated that she’d flinched–at me–when all I’d wanted to do was protect her.
Harper shifted in her seat, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Without thinking, I reached for her hand across the table, needing that connection, needing to ground both of us somehow.
She hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second–so quick I might’ve missed it if I hadn’t been watching her so closely.
Then, slowly, she let me take it.
Her fingers curled around mine, and I gave her hand a small squeeze, as if to say,I’m here. I’ve got you.
When her gaze met mine, something flickered there–gratitude, maybe. Or something heavier, something she wasn’t ready to put words to. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
She gave me a small smile, but I could see the effort it took.
“You good, man?” Shane’s voice cut through my thoughts as he raised his beer.
“Yeah,” I lied. I leaned back and took a sip of my drink, trying to shove down the gnawing feeling in my gut.
But I wasn’t.
I’d been around long enough to know her ex wasn’t a good man. But I didn’t know the full story. Not yet. And the weight of what Ididn’tknow pressed on me harder than what I did.
It killed me that I couldn’t fix it. That I couldn’t just erase whatever scars he’d left on her.
Across the table, Nina leaned in, whispering something too quiet for me to catch. Whatever she said, Harper nodded, her smile softening just a little.
As Nina excused herself to use the washroom, I didn’t hesitate. I stood, leaving Shane’s side, and slid into the seat beside Harper. Her eyes flicked up in surprise, but before she could say anything, I draped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.
She didn’t resist–in fact, the moment my arm settled around her, I felt it. The exact second her muscles relaxed, the tension finally leaving her body after holding it in for far too long. It was subtle–just the softest exhale, barely audible–but I caught it.
And it hit me straight in the chest.
It was such a small gesture, yet it felt like the most important thing I could do in that moment. My hand rested on her arm, my thumb brushing gently against her sleeve. She didn’t have to say anything, and neither did I. This was her letting go. This was me holding on. My way of telling her I was here–for her, with her–no matter what.
