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“They’ll get over it.” His eyes search mine, and I shake my head, losing my battle as more warm tears fall.
“You know you gave me…,” I breathe through the pain, “you gave me a love story, a real love story, even if it doesn’t have the ending I was hoping for.”
“It doesn’t have to end.”
“It does,” I reason with a shaky voice. “It does, Lance. And it’s okay. I’m okay. We’re both going to be okay. I’ll still feel the same way about you, even years from now. I know it. I know myself. I probably won’t ever stop loving you. And who knows,” I say as his eyes glaze over, “maybe one day the timing will be right, and my father won’t hate us both, and we can try again.”
“Harper, listen to me. The secret is out. It’s not going back in.”
“My dad can’t even look at me right now. I can’t stay there, not now.”
“Then stay with me. He’ll get over it. You can’t be a daddy’s girl forever.”
“But I wanted to,” I admit as I push away more tears. “And I want to be your girl too. But it’s not going to work out that way. At least not right now.”
“You are my girl.”
“In every way. Always. You have my heart. Please don’t make this any harder on me. I have to go.”
“Bullshit. This will all blow over, you’ll see. This isn’t for the best; this is you running away.”
“No, this is me using this shitshow as an excuse to go after what I want and to grant you the freedom to do the same. I’m standing in the way of things for you right now, and I’m not going to stay here and watch you throw it all away for me.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“No, it’s the truth. You’re so close, Lance. We betrayed him for months and rubbed his nose in it. He’s not going to give you the game time you deserve if we continue to parade around like what we did didn’t hurt him. He’s good at holding a grudge, even against his own daughter. He may come around with me, but there’s no time for you.”
“Fuck this, I’ll go talk to him. I’ll apologize.”
“It won’t work, and you know it.” I palm his chest. “You take the field. I’m going to go take the stage.” I push up on my toes, and he pulls me to him, holding me tightly. I feel every word he’s not saying in his reluctance to let go. “Harper, please, fuck, don’t do this.”
“I deserve my shot too. Now is just as good of a time as any.” I feel his nod in my neck. “But I do love you,” I whisper before I press my lips to his jaw. “The crazy big kind.” It’s agony already, the separation I feel when he finally releases me. “Don’t be too much of a stranger, okay?”
He opens his mouth, and I hold up my hand.
“Lance, stop,” I demand, the last of my strength leaving me. “Don’t use this as a convenient time to return sentiment or you’ll ruin it for me.”
Thumbing away my
tears, he bends capturing my mouth, kissing me, his tongue diving deep, his body radiating the pain that I feel, his mammoth embrace just enough comfort to keep me standing when he pulls away.
“I’m not sorry,” he says hoarsely, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, “fuck them all. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”
I muster up a smile and step away. “Me too.”
“Text me when you make it there, okay?”
With that, I get into my car, adjust my mirror, back away, and cry past two state lines.
Lance
Three weeks later
Sitting on my bed, I open the box to reveal a new pair of high tops in my size, a black silk boxing robe embroidered with Lance “The Blanket” Prescott and matching trunks. She had to have spent a fortune on it. Chest aching, I shoot off a text.
Lance: It’s perfect, thank you. I fucking love it.
Harper: Yay, you got it. So happy you love it.
