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And Harlow definitely kissed me back. Fuck, did she kiss me back.
A few more minutes of the madness that consumed us, and I would’ve started tearing at her clothes, desperate for more skin, just more of her.
It was that want that had me so angry because all of it was my own fault. What did I expect? The foolish plan for her birthday would never play out without consequences like this. All I wanted was to do something nice for her. It was a kind gesture that showed her exactly how important she was and allowed her to see that whatever her life had become was worth celebrating.
There was an art form that came with lying to yourself. I’d perfected it for years. And I’d lied to myself every single day since she reappeared in my life. Inevitably, the truth seeped through the invisible cracks, and you couldn’t press it back in once it escaped.
Jax, that stubborn motherfucker, was right.
It was only a matter of time before something changed, and we’d made so many incremental steps toward the cliff, day in and day out, and still, I didn’t back away from the edge. And still, still, I couldn’t find the words as to why this terrified me so much. They swam underneath some murky black surface, like a decrepit hand ready to grab my ankles when I stepped into the water.
But the fear was real all the same, and I wanted it out. I wanted all these thoughts gone. I wanted to go home and know that she and I were okay, that I hadn’t damaged things beyond repair simply because the second her lips touched mine, I was fucking gone. At that moment, I wanted to own every kiss Harlow Keaton experienced for the rest of her life. Wanted to be the one to deliver those sounds that drove me out of my fucking mind, that had me waking up hard as a rock the next morning.
I wanted to suck at her skin and find where she was the softest, wanted to press open her legs and see what made her shake and tremble. I wanted all of it, just from that one single kiss.
Losing myself in her was like nothing I’d ever experienced, a dizzying spike of pleasure that staked itself under my skin, and I couldn’t pry it loose. No kiss had ever done that to me. Not even by half.
But right on the heels of that knowledge, the potential for pain was so great, a living, breathing presence that lingered just out of sight, with shadow-like claws and a slick ability to disappear when she did nothing more than smile in my direction.
That capacity for heartbreak—hers and mine and Sage’s—held me back.
I couldn’t go home yet because I didn’t know what to say. Hell, I could hardly make sense of my own thoughts, let alone put together anything that would make sense to her. After staring down at the sandwich my sister made me, I closed my eyes and started unwrapping it. I finished it in a few wolfish bites, then chugged the rest of my water.
With the press of a button, the truck started, and as I backed away from the shop, I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going.
I just drove.
No music playing, just endless stretches of beautiful views. The Three Sisters rose up past the line of skeletal trees, and I thought about how many times Dad would point them out as we drove.
“Mountains look good today, don’t they?” he’d say.
“They’re mountains, Dad. They always look the same.”
Where some parents might have rolled their eyes at the droll teenage response, my dad would simply smile. “Something beautiful about that, isn’t there? Nothing will move them. No matter what happens in our lives or how big or scary something is, they’ll always stay right there where we can see them.”
Apprehension clawed at my insides because that was always how I’d viewed my friendship with Harlow. My life growing up was defined by her presence in it. My adulthood defined by the fact that she was out of view. And I knew exactly which I preferred, what I’d fight down to the bone to keep in the forefront of my life.
And sliding in right after that apprehension was the ache of grief.
If I closed my eyes, I could hear that conversation with my dad like it happened yesterday.
I had to pull over and stare at those mountains until my eyes felt dry and gritty because more than anything in the entire fucking world, I wanted to hear my dad’s voice telling me what to do. I wanted to know what he’d say.
My breath came in short, hard pants the longer I sat there, my skin crawling from keeping everything so bottled up, afraid to let it out because of what might happen in its wake. My chest was tight and heavy, my head clouded with a million things that I couldn’t make clear, no matter how hard I tried.
I sat there on the side of the road until the sun set and the sky went dark, then I pulled my truck back onto the road and headed toward home, feeling no more at peace than I had when the day started.
Chapter 27
Harlow
Paloma: I missed your birthday, didn’t I?
Me: Indeed you did.
Paloma: I’m a shit friend. You know I never remember birthdays unless social media tells me. HAPPY BIRTHDAY. I’ll buy you a drink the next time I can drag you away for a writing retreat. Or you invite me to one. Aren’t the mountains peaceful or something?
Me: So they say. And I’d love to have you here.
