Page 125 of Almost Ours
“Ryan…” I whispered, my voice shaking with emotion.
He leaned in closer, his forehead brushing against mine, and in that brief, tender contact, I could feel the depth of his vow. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he murmured, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “Not with me.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back, overwhelmed by the depth of his words, the weight of what he was offering. I didn’t know how to respond–didn’t know if I even could, so I did the only thing that felt right.
I tilted my head up and pressed my lips to his, hoping he could feel the gratitude, the trust, the sheer relief I couldn’t find words for.
When we broke apart, his hand stayed on my face, his thumb brushing gently against my cheek. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and in that moment, I believed every word he’d said. With him, for the first time in a long time, I felt safe.
The duffel layopen on my bed, half-packed. A couple of shirts, my shaving kit, a pair of jeans I wasn’t even sure were clean. I kept tossing things in, pulling them out, folding and refolding like maybe if I moved slow enough, I’d figure out what the hell I was doing.
Truth was, I was stalling.
Last night had been… heavy. Harper had trusted me with something I knew wasn’t easy for her to say. She’d sat there, vulnerable, telling me about Reid. About what he’d done.
And me? I’d had the perfect chance to be honest with her too. To tell her about the weight I carry, the parts of me I keep locked down so tight I’m not sure who I’d be without them.
But I didn’t.
I told myself it was because it wasn’t the time. Because it would’ve made it about me when it was her moment to be heard. She didn’t need my baggage piled on top of hers. She needed someone to listen, not someone to turn it into a competition of scars.
That’s what I kept telling myself. The truth? I chickened out.
Because once I told her, there’d be no taking it back. She’d know what kind of man I really was. And maybe she’d decide that was too much–that I wasn’t good enough for her.
My jaw tightened. I crossed to the dresser, grabbed a hoodie, and shoved it into the bag. My hand lingered on the fabric, gripping hard enough for my knuckles to ache.
The silence in the room pressed in, heavy. My phone sat face down on the nightstand. I didn’t dare flip it over, didn’t want to see her name on the screen. Didn’t want to seenothingeven more.
I paced from one end of the room to the other, the floor creaking under my feet. Picked up my wallet, set it back down. Adjusted the strap on the duffel even though it didn’t need adjusting.
She’d open a door last night. I’d stood on the threshold and walked the other way.
And now, I was leaving town again, hoping that by the time I got back, I’d know how to step through it.
I could’ve just hitthe road. Should’ve. But before I knew it, I was turning in the opposite direction, tires crunching over frost as I headed toward Harper’s.
She answered the door in leggings and a loose sweatshirt, her hair piled up in a messy knot. Surprise flickered in her eyes, quickly chased by a smile that warmed something in my chest.
“Hey,” she said, leaning in the doorframe. “You forget something?”
“Just thought I’d stop by on my way out,” I said, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets. “Didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”
Before she could respond, Connor’s voice rang out from somewhere inside. “Ryan?”
He barrelled toward me, socks sliding on the hardwood, and skidded to a stop just short of the doorway. “You’re leaving now?”
“Yeah, buddy. Just for a few days.”
He frowned for half a second, then brightened. “Have fun. I’m glad you didn’t forget your hat this time.”
I laughed, ruffling his hair. “I got it packed, bud. Thanks.”
Harper’s smile softened, but there was something behind it–something careful. She stayed close to the door, like she wasn’t sure whether to step out or keep that space between us.
Connor launched into a quick hug around my middle. “I’m gonna go finish my cereal.” He darted back inside, the sound of his socked feet fading toward the kitchen.
I met Harper’s gaze. “I’ll text when I get there.”
