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He exhales and looks down. I’m naked next to him, but he doesn’t ogle me or do anything that makes me feel vulnerable or exposed in an uncomfortable way. I’m treated as an extension of him, our hands exchanging energy between us.
His hands slide over my shoulders and then up my neck until I look him in the eyes. “He found the trouble he was looking for, but I made the mistake of being there. We were best friends. Wherever he went, I went. When he drank, I drank. The first time I ever smoked weed was from a blunt he handed me. That’s just how it was with us. We were like brothers but almost closer.” He suddenly sits up and puts his back against the wall. When he scrubs his hands over his face, I can already see the toll this is taking on him.
I sit up next to him, bringing the sheets over my chest. “If this is too much—”
“I’m okay. I just haven’t thought about some of this stuff in years. It’s weird now, like it was a different lifetime and not my own. We had some good times, but my eldest brother, Loch, was onto us. He’d threaten to tell our parents if we didn’t stop. We always told him what he wanted to hear. Then the next day, without a second thought, we would be up to the same old shit.” He yawns, but I don’t think he’s tired from the day, but from the exhaustion of reliving a life he dug up today.
“Harbor?” He looks at me, and that’s when I see the torment in his eyes. I rest my hand on his arm. I kiss his shoulder and then mold myself to him, holding him the best I can. “I love you.” I do, too, more than seems possible in such a short time. But like his life with his cousin, our connection runs deeper than the time we’ve had together.
Our bond is stronger with every day that passes, and in each hour, I feel more myself when I’m with him than I ever have alone.
His arm comes around my front, and he rubs my back. “I love you.” A kiss is placed on my forehead, and he whispers, “I love you so much.”
We sit in silence, letting the moonlight stream in through the blinds and mingle with the light stretching from the lamp in the corner.
He says, “My shoulders don’t feel so heavy when I’m in this room with you. It feels good to feel like myself for the first time in years.” We’re so alike, but I don’t want to distract from his story, so I stay quiet, though I’m impatient on the inside. “Lucas died on my birthday.”
The punch to my gut elicits a gasp. I can’t hold him any tighter than I already am, but I wish I could ease the pain. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s just words, but please know I mean them.”
“I know, and it’s all right. There’s not a lot to say about it. We spent years fucking around, but when I turned eighteen . . . I don’t know. I was over it. I was over taking the blame for him. Watching him be rewarded for coming out of the mess he made unscathed finally got to me. He kept going to parties in Beacon, mixing with people who didn’t give a damn about him while I started focusing on what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.” When he exhales a deep breath, we readjust and lie down on our backs again. “Did I mention his mom wanted him to be a doctor?”
“That was the plan?”
“He was going to Princeton, and I was going to Beacon. He told me better luck next time, gave me a pat on the back, and told me to work harder so we could go to medical school together. He even suggested I get my parents to make a large donation like his had done.”
I have so many thoughts about how this picture has been painted but only one conclusion. “You got into Princeton.” I don’t bother asking because I already know the truth. Harbor lied to get away from his cousin. “Do you want to be a doctor?”
He keeps his eyes forward on the blanket. “I have to be a doctor. For Lucas, to make his dream come true.”
“Why?” I sit forward, angling to face him. I need a better view of this man. I need to see his eyes, and the truth inside he won’t be able to hide. “What about your dreams? Don’t they matter anymore?”
Closing his eyes, hiding them from me, he shakes his head. He finally turns to me, and says, “My dreams died the day my cousin passed away.”
“No.” I cover his hands with mine. “That’s not how life works.”
“You’re right, but we’re not talking about life. We’re talking about his death.” His tone is firm, his eyes determined despite knowing he doesn’t believe the words coming from his mouth. “My aunt told me he would want me to still become a doctor. She told me over his grave and made me promise.”
“Who does that to someone?” He can’t answer that. No one can. It’s not her right to saddle him with the burden of her son’s life. “Harbor? If you’re living your cousin’s life instead of your own, you’re not living.”
“It’s all I know anymore.” His tone is resolved, the fight for his own life left his eyes long before I met him.
“I’ve met your mom, Harbor. You cannot convince me that this is what she wants for you.”
He levels a glare at me. “My mom is thrilled she’ll have a doctor in a family of lawyers.”
“Not at the expense of your happiness.”
The tips of his finger graze my neck as he slides his hand into the hair at the back of my head. “I’m happy, Lark. I’m happy with you.” Bringing me in for a kiss, he does it twice before saying, “Medicine is a noble practice.”
“Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?”
“No one. I don’t have to convince anyone. It’s a done deal.”
“What if you don’t get into medical school?”
He scoffs, the sound more likened to an arrogant prince than Harbor. “Of course, I’ll get into medical school. I’m a Westcott.” It’s then that I realize. Right now, he’s not the guy who bandaged my chin with loving care. He’s the creation of what he thinks he’s supposed to be. He’s what happens when your life is formed from tragedy.
I move away, an inch at first, and then climb out of bed. He watches but doesn’t try to stop me. Grabbing my shirt from the floor, I put it back on and stand at the end of the bed. “You should go home and get some rest.”
