“Of course I’m here.” I rush to her side, holding back the tears that burn behind my eyes.
She frowns, confusion creasing her brow. “Why?”
“I overreacted before,” I say, the words tumbling out. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you time to explain. That I didn’t give you a second chance.”
“But you were right,” she murmurs. “I went too far, like I always do. I was way out of line. I’m so,sosorry.” Her eyes brim with tears, and my chest constricts as I lift my hand to her cheek, my thumb brushing gently over her clammy skin.
“No, please don’t cry, Harper.” I take her hand carefully, grounding myself in the warmth of her fingers. “I was hurt, and stubborn… I lashed out. But it turns out, you were right all along. She’s my real mom. And I met with her.”
Her eyes widen, suddenly bright, and for the first time tonight, she looks like the Harper I know—the one full of curiosity and hope—and my heart soars to new heights. “You did?”
I nod, a small smile escaping. “She’s cool. And we talked for a long time. I don’t know… I think I’ll probably see her again.”
Relief softens her features as she exhales. “I’m glad. I just want you to be happy.”
“I know.” I squeeze her hand. “And I wantyouto be happy. Even better, maybe we could be happy together?”
Her eyes search mine. “Really?”
I hold her gaze, my heart quieting. “I love you, Harper. So much.”
She strokes her thumb over mine, slow and tentative. “I love you too.”
I lean toward her, carefully, mindful of the tubes and the bandage, and kiss her gently. Soft. Steady. Real.
The moment feels right. Whole. Like something lost finally clicking back into place.
32
Harper
When I wake up, all I feel is pain.
A dull, persistent pounding behind my eyes, like someone is knocking from the inside of my skull. I groan softly and immediately regret it. The vibration of my throat only sharpens the ache. The room tilts, then steadies. When I breathe in, the air smells faintly of chemical floor cleaner and something plasticky, and there’s a soft beeping somewhere to my left.
My eyes snap open.
White ceiling. Fluorescent lights dimmed low. A curtain half-drawn. Whispers brush my ears—low voices, familiar ones—and then the rustle of fabric, the scrape of a chair moving.
I blink again, trying to focus, and that’s when I realize I’m not alone.
Not even close.
My friends are all here. Beth perched on a chair with her arms crossed, eyes red like she’s been crying. Emma watching something out the window, the bright sunlight warming her features. Marissa sitting on the edge of the couch, fingers laced together. Miles leaning against the wall, trying—and failing—to look relaxed. Adler hovering near the door like he’s on security duty, talking in hushed voices with Auston.
And then I see her.
“Grandma,” I croak, my voice dry and scratchy.
Her head snaps up. “Oh, don’t you start,” she says, already on her feet and hobbling to my side. “I told you.I told youyou weren’t allowed to leave before me. Haven’t I been clear enough all these years?”
Despite everything, I smile.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m okay. I promise.”
She huffs through a tight grimace, clearly not convinced, and swats my hand lightly. “You’d better be.”
And then, like my heart was saving this moment for last, I feel him.
