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“Really?” She looks up at me and pulls her feet up under her.
“Well, it makes sense how he explains it.” I shrug casually, because it does. I’d never thought of it before, but now, yeah. I could see that working.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Not that you have to be looking for more than one partner, but an open mindset like that is only positive, I think.”
“Exactly. And if anyone has an infinite heart, it’s you.” Her eyes flick to me with disbelief.
“Hardly. I think mine might be a malfunction.”
“No way. It’s perfect. Just like every other part of you.” She looks at me with a curious, searching expression, and I don’t know how to answer it. I want to tell her that I love every single part of her, that I will spend my life showing her how incredible she is, that I’d die for just a tiny space inside that huge heart. But I already have it, don’t I? I’m in there, I know that. Just not the way I’d like. But I’d rather stay there as family than leave.
She must see the drop in mood on my face because she frowns slightly, and her mouth opens, but the door knocks before she can say something. I jump up to grab it, and her face lights up when she sees the logo on the bag from over the sofa. We start the series with our food and don’t mention the conversation again. Her reaction is the same for the second course, and it’s worth every second.
Once we’ve finished, I take the trash out and refill the hot water bottle. I offer Harlow painkillers—even though I know she’ll refuse, which she does—and sit down next to her. She tries to flatten herself as much as possible, so I kick my legs up and pat the sofa cushion where she can lay out in front of me. Giving me an appreciative smile, she lays on her side, and I put the water bottle against the small of her back, where I know she gets pain along with her cramps. Laying down behind her as she burrows back against me, it sandwiches it between us. The shorts were a good idea. I place my arm over her and rub circles into her stomach. This is our ritual, but she’s especially tense today, so the pain must be bad.
“Relax, Angel,” I murmur against her hair. “You’ve got to breathe.” She takes in a deep breath, letting her muscles relax as she exhales. It’s not long before she’s asleep, and I switch the show over to something a bit grittier.
An hour or so later, there’s a knock on the door, but I’m anchored between Harlow and the back of the couch. Seeing as she tends to be a heavier sleeper, I risk calling out, “Come in.” We never get visitors, so I’m hoping I’ve assumed right and it’s either Fleur or Ezra. Thankfully, he calls “hi” back and walks round the sofa a moment later.
“Hey, man,” I say lightly.
“Hey. I wanted to check on Harlow.”
“Check on her, or check she didn’t stand you up?” I grin at him as he narrows his eyes. “She’s fine, just passed out.”
“Are they always like this?”
“Yeah, she gets them pretty bad. If she pushes through it, she can get dizzy and nauseous. Fainted a couple of times when she was younger.”
“Shit, that sucks,” he says as he sits on the edge of the armchair, watching her. “What helps?” When he looks back up, he sees my shocked expression. “What? I plan on being around for a few more yet.”
“Just a few?” The thought of Harlow going to someone else for this breaks my heart a little, but I can’t keep her forever. And if he’s willing to know what helps, then so be it. He stares me down without answering.
“Heat helps, which is why I’m sweating my balls off. She likes to be cozy, hence the duvet, and the hot water bottle is for her lower back or stomach. All of the carbs—we normally have pasta and doughnuts. Lots of hydration, and gentle exercise when the cramps aren’t too bad. Then sleep. Harlow sleeps like the dead.” He’s listening intently, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he whipped out a notebook and started taking notes. The bitter edge of losing Harlow softens at his concentration, even if only slightly.
“Okay, I can do that. I feel like you have all the insider information.”
I do. I could tell him that she’s scared to make mistakes because she’s afraid of rejection. I could tell him she loves crispy bacon, banana cake, and clean sheets. I could tell him she’s the most loyal person I’ve ever met, and that her heart matches her stunning exterior. But I don’t. I can’t force the words past the lump in my throat.
Harlow spins to face me, draping a leg over mine and snuggling into my chest, which could burst right now. Looking down to make sure she’s still sleeping, I tuck some loose hair behind her ear.
“Why aren’t you two together?” Ezra’s abrupt question has my attention back on him.
“We’re like brother and sister.” My go-to response comes out easily, and it sounds convincing, even to my own ears. I’m determined to stop this awkward road we’re going down, and Ezra asking this again reminds me of her quick rebuttal last time and the way she’s started flinching when I touch her anywhere outside of a hug. “And stop asking that, you’ll make her uncomfortable.”
“I don’t look at my sibling like that.”
“Maybe not, but she looks at me like one, and that’s what matters. She’s dealt with enough. I’m going to be the constant she needs without trying to get into her pants. And if you hurt her, I’ll fuck you up, just like a brother would.” He nods as I finish.
“Fair enough. Didn’t you have a date tonight?”
“I canceled. How did you know?”
“Yoursistertold me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He grins at me instead of answering. “Whatever. If you’re staying, grab me a beer. I’m dehydrating in this heat. She’s like a furnace.” He does just that and settles further into the armchair after coming back with a beer for me and for himself.
Ezra does seem decent enough, like I told Harlow, and I’m glad she’s giving him a chance. We’ve become easy friends pretty quickly, but can I really spend time with them if they’re together? I want what’s best for Harlow, but I’m not a masochist. I’d see her less, obviously. She’d probably stay at his, and he’d walk her to work in the mornings. I’m aware I’m getting ahead of myself, but the possibility of Harlow slipping away from me makes me want to hold her even tighter.
