“I’m going to bed,” I mumble, grabbing my bag and heading for the hallway.
“Dodger, it’s four in the afternoon.”
“I’m tired.” It’s not a lie. I’m exhausted down to my bones but not in a way sleep will fix.
The next few days pass in excruciating slowness. I spend most of my time avoiding Harper, which is difficult in a one-bedroom cabin in the middle of nowhere.
I curl up on the window seat, pretending to read a paperback I found on a dusty shelf, but my eyes keep drifting over the same paragraph. Outside, Harper chops wood, his muscles flexing with each powerful swing. I find myself staring despite my best intentions.
Melody pads over and whines softly, nudging my leg. She’s been my shadow these last few days. I give her a pat on the head and scratch behind her ear and her back leg thumps as she puts her head on my lap. We’ve been getting to know each other better and bonding. She may be part ghost and have a bark capable of shattering glass but otherwise she’s pure dog.
“What?” I whisper. “I’m fine.”
She tilts her head, unconvinced.
“Okay, I’m not fine. But what am I supposed to do?” Those big eyes of hers stare silently, judging me. “Don’t you dare say anything logical like talk to him. I can’t.”
Melody huffs and dissolves into mist, reforming on the other side of the room. Rude. How is a ghost dog so judgmental?
When Harper enters a second later with an arm load of split logs, I realize she wasn’t fleeing because of me. She watches him warily from behind a chair, nose and eyes peeking out from the side.
“Shouldn’t take long to get the fire going,” he says, arranging the wood in the stone fireplace.
“Thanks,” I mutter, not looking up from my book.
The silence between us stretches, thick and uncomfortable. I can feel him watching me, can practically sense the questions building behind those golden eyes.
“Dodger—”
“I think I’ll turn in early,” I interrupt, standing abruptly. “Long day of... sitting around doing nothing.”
Harper’s jaw tightens, but he just nods. “Sure.”
As I pass him, he reaches out, fingers brushing my wrist lightly. “Whatever is bothering you,” he says quietly, “we can figure it out together.”
“Nothing’s bothering me,” I lie, pulling away. “I’m just tired.”
I use that excuse way too much over the following days. He must wonder how I could possibly be so tired when all I do is rest. Then again, he’s a detective. He puts two and two together.
Avoiding Harper gets easier because he seems to be helping me, giving me space. Every now and then, I catch him staring at me with sad eyes across the room or opening his mouth to say something but then he catches me looking and changes his mind.
Whatever he must be thinking can’t be good. I went distant after we slept together and it must hurt. But I’m too much of coward to just tell him what’s wrong. I don’t want him to hate me. I wish that I could tell Harper for certain that there’s no way my brother hurt his family. But it’s been years since I last saw Jonathan. I have no idea what his life was like in the years after our aunt kicked him out.
So I’m stuck in limbo. It’s not right to get closer, but I can’t bring myself to drive him away for good by revealing what I know.
“Mel, you really aren’t a lap dog.” I’m burrowed deep into the couch, hoodie pulled tight around my face, blankets creating a nest I never want to leave. Except it’s kind of warm, especiallywhen my dog takes solid form and inserts herself on the remaining space in front of me. It doesn’t work especially well. “Not sure we’re both gonna fit.”
My headphones pump music directly into my brain, the volume just shy of painful. The music cuts out mid-chorus as Harper removes one of my earbuds. I startle, not having heard him approach.
“Sorry,” he says, holding a plate in his other hand. “Made lunch.”
The sandwich looks good—perfectly toasted bread, melted cheese, the works. My stomach growls, reminding me I’ve been skipping meals.
Before I can respond, Melody’s head snaps up and she lets out a low growl, tensing as she stares at Harper.
“It’s okay, girl,” I murmur, but she doesn’t relax.
Ever since Harper went all Alpha on her, she’s been wary around him. Her hackles rise whenever he enters a room, those glowing red eyes tracking his every movement like he might pounce at any second. I hope he isn’t going to tell her to get off the furniture again.
