Page 68 of Almost Ours
I shake my head. “Hey. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
She wipes at her tears again, shaking her head. “I don’t want to cry.”
I frown. “Harper–”
“I don’t want anyone to think I’m weak. Or emotional.” She whispers, voice tight.
Something about the way she says it–the way her voice shakes, like she’s admitting something she’s not proud of–hits me square in the chest. I lean back just enough to look at her, brows furrowed. “Harper, what you just went through was traumatic. You have every reason to cry.”
She swallows hard, avoiding my gaze.
I shake my head, tightening my arms around her. “Even if it wasn’t traumatic, even if it was something small–you’d still have every right to cry. That doesn’t make you weak, and it sure as hell doesn’t make you emotional.” I run my thumb along her cheek, wiping away the tears she’s still trying to hold back. “It makes you human.”
She opens her mouth to say something, and I stop her, pressing my forehead lightly against hers.
“You’ve been strong for Connor. For everyone else. But it’s just us now. You don’t have to act like you’re okay when you’re not.” I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing over her damp skin. “You can cry as much as you need. I’m right here. I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere, Harper.”
Her breath hitches, and then, like something inside her finally breaks, she buries herself into my chest, shoulders shaking.
I hold her close, one hand smoothing down her back, the other stroking her hair. I pressed another kiss to the top of her head, murmuring, “Connor is okay. He’s safe and he is here.”
She exhales shakily, nodding as she lets the words settle.
This time, when she tucks herself back into my chest, she doesn’t fight the tears.
And I don’t let go.
I hold her close, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back.
As her breathing evens out, I feel my own eyes getting heavy again.
And as I drift off, one thought settles in my mind.
I’ve come to realize that these two–Harper and Connor–they’re the most important people in my life.
And I’m never letting them go.
I wake slowly,the warmth of sleep still clinging to me, but something feels… off.
For a moment, I don’t move. My eyes stay shut as I chase the hazy remnants of last night, grasping at the feeling of safety, of warmth, of Ryan’s arms around me. Of Connor tucked between us.
Was it a dream?
My chest tightens at the thought.
Maybe I imagined it–that perfect moment where, just for a little while, I didn’t have to be strong. Maybe I only dreamed of falling asleep in Ryan’s arms, of him holding me like I wasn’t too much, like I wasn’t a mess.
These thoughts unsettle me enough that I force my eyes open.
The couch is empty.
No Connor. No Ryan.
Panic grips at me as I sit up too fast, my head spinning. My eyes dart around the room, searching for any sign of them. The blankets are still piled on the couch, but they’re cold now, like they’ve been gone for a while.
Then I see it.
A piece of paper on the coffee table.
