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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sawyer
Harlow is sitting on the island when I get up in the morning, chewing on her lip and staring intently at her phone.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask.
“I’m good, how are you?” She looks me over, but I’m not sure what she’s searching for.
“Why were you looking at that thing like it holds the world’s secrets?”
“I was just about to text you, see if you’d be back in time for a training session before my shift?”
“Wow, you’re not normally keen to exercise. Especially not this early. And what’s going on? Why are you texting me? I was right in there.” She shrugs, not seeming sure of herself, and I walk over and wrap her in a hug. “Angel. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m not the one MIA all the time,” she grumbles into my chest.
“I’m just giving you some space,” I say, holding her close.
“Why?”
“To be with Ezra.” The reminder of her boyfriend has me pulling back and placing my hands on her knees. “How’s it going?” I ask. I can’t tell if I want it to be going well for her sake or going badly for mine. The reason I’m out all the time is because I can’t bear to hear them together. Having random hookups is one thing, but this is totally different. And hearing Harlow come is a level of torture I’m not equipped to deal with.
“Fine,” she says, “but you don’t need to leave when we’re together. You met him before I did.”
“I know.”
“Can I talk to you about that?” she asks.
“You can talk to me about anything, Angel.”
“I guess I just feel like this could really be something.” I get a twinge in my chest from those words, but I give her a small smile anyway as I step back to pour the coffee she’s already made.
“That’s good, right? Why do you sound so worried?” I ask.
“I’m not really used to it.”
“Because you’re used to people ditching you when it’s not perfect.” I see where all this is coming from now. “He’s a good guy, Harlow. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t think so. You know I’ve always had your best interests at heart.” I wouldn’t. I’d never leave her with someone I didn’t think would worship and protect her.
“I know, and I know he’s great,” she says hesitantly.
“I feel like we’re talking about good things, but your voice suggests they’re bad.”
“Do you remember when we first met?” she asks. I blink at the change in subject as I hand over her coffee.
“Of course I do.”
“Tell me,” she says. She’s asked me to tell her my perspective a hundred times over the years. I don’t know why she likes hearing it, but I guess it reassures her that we’re family.
“One day, I overheard my parents discussing the new kid that would be moving in with the family across the road. They had foster kids regularly, but they said ‘This one’s something special. She could be a child model. She’s anangel.’” Obviously, I’d misunderstood at the time, but the idea of living across the road from a real angel fascinated me. “When you turned up and I saw you in the front garden, the sun behind you, lighting up your blond hair, I knew it was true. You had to be. Their kids always moved on eventually, but I knew I needed to keep you. My very own angel.”
A small smile softens her face. “You’ve told me that before,” she says.
“I know. Stalker, or what?” I joke, but her gaze is serious on me. “I marched right up and said, ‘I need you to stay with me.’ And you did.”
“I did. I stayed for you.” My brow creases as she gives me that information. “I tried not to make a single mistake, to never step out of line in that house in case they moved me again. Away from you—the boy who wanted me. Even at seven, I knew I wanted to be yours.” Wow. I kind of just assumed she’d fit better with that family or grown out of causing trouble. I never knew she changed for me.
“And now?” I ask. Why is she telling me this?
