Inherent

I didn’t realize quite how interesting it would be to attend a baseball game with Harry, a through and through Englishman, but it serves to make things all the more entertaining. By the time we get through the gates at Wrigley field and Harry looks totally flabbergasted at the variety of fans, mascots and even a crew of women dressed in cheerleader-like outfits that we come across, I’m ninety nine percent sure this is his first real taste of America’s favourite pastime. I enjoy Harry’s curiosity as we stop at the concessions for a moment just for him to take it all in.

It’s cute—his fascinated pout and wide eyes. I’m thankful to have this experience with him. I probably wouldn’t find any of this half as interesting as he does because I’m really only in it for the game. It’s nice to see it all in a new light.

“Do you know much about baseball?” I ask quizzically while we make our way through the concourse and closer to our seats.

Harry spares me a sideways glance and acts cool. It causes my smile to grow. “Yeah, I’ve seen a few games.”

We have touched on the sport before, of course—that’s how Harry came up with this idea, along with the help of my dreaded list—but I’m not sure how much he really knows of the sport, or how much I should ramble about the rules of the game.

“I think you’ll like it, then,” I settle on saying simply but Harry is preoccupied with peering over his shoulder, allowing me to lead the way. At first I think he spotted another attraction and I pause in an effort to catch a glimpse of whatever has caught his attention. I don’t see anything of particular interest, hundreds of people milling around us in preparation for the game in under a couple of hours. When I focus back on Harry he still seems distracted, discreetly glancing around.

I have no clue what he’s on the lookout for. He can’t be that interested in the growing crowd, I reason.

“Harry?” It takes my light prodding to gain back his attention.

“Hmm?” Just like that he snaps back to the present. I squeeze his fingers, knotted with mine, in an offer of comfort when I see that his new tension causes his shoulders to bunch. Thankfully, he tones down his slightly out of character behaviour and I shake my head—usually I’m the one getting distracted.

Ultimately, I decide to let it slide. My behaviour can be much stranger even on my best days, so I’m not in much of a place to judge.

“Let’s get our seats,” I opt. “Maybe we’ll get to see some batting practice before the game starts.”

“Anything for the pretty lady,” Harry grins, swinging our joined hands back and forth while he takes charge again and leads us out closer to the field. In my excitement I didn’t even bother to check to see where we would be seated, if it would be in the bleachers where it’s basically always a party for everyone, or elsewhere. I’m just happy to be here at all, so I decidedly am not picky about what view I have, really. Much to my delight, however, I discover the seats Harry chose are those I only imagine in my dreams. They’re right in front of the visiting team’s dugout on the right infield.

Close as I’ll ever get to the Cardinals. Hell, we’re practically on their doorstep.

My giddiness increases tenfold at the thought of being so close to my beloved Redbirds. We’re right on top of the action from here, so close I swear I can hear Matt Carpenter below us in the dugout. I’m so excited, in fact, that I literally bounce on my heels.

“Dad would love this,’ I say breathlessly and without thinking, but I quickly snap my mouth shut when I realize the unfiltered thought fell from my loose lips through all the excitement. I pause to watch Harry’s reaction, scared I might have dampened the mood with talk of my deceased father. His attention snaps to me, but he doesn’t frown and tell me to live in the present like I’ve been trying more and more to do. Since Harry came along.

No, his smile returns full force and he pulls me into his side, arm tight around my waist, and he guides us backward and away from the barrier I was close to all but throwing myself over in hopes of an even a closer look at both the dugout and the field. Now that I think about it, taking a fall from there would be a very abrupt, not so nice end to what should be a wonderful, jaw-dropping night.

It still isn’t quite dusk yet, a product of the fast approaching summer and lengthened nights. From so close we can smell the freshly cut grass of the huge, expansive diamond, and the sound of the growing crowd is music to my ears. Every now and again I hear the crack a bat against a ball from the batting practice. There may not be much action right now, just officials milling about in preparation aside from that, but I’m sure to take in every single detail as if I’ll never get to see it again.

“Well let’s enjoy it then, yeah?” Harry suggests without a hint of sadness, and with another smile I agree.

Too bad today Harry doesn’t feel like taking his own advice. He keeps hold of my hand when we sit down, just to test out quite possibly the best seats in the whole park, in the very first row and a totally unobstructed view of the playing field. It’s as though Harry believes I will run away or disappear altogether if he lets his fingers slip, which I wouldn’t normally worry about—he is, after all, perhaps the most touchy-feely person I have ever met. But I don’t miss the inconspicuous peeks he takes whenever I turn my head, like he is security detail scanning the parameter of our section for any possible threats.

My suspicion spikes when I suggest I go get snacks and drinks before the concession stands become crowded and I run the risk of being trampled. Harry pulls me back down onto the seat when I go to stand while asking what he wants, and he holds onto me with a light though firm grip.

At my furrowed eyebrows, the only sign of my confusion, Harry glances past me while he chews on his lip. “I don’t want you going off by yourself,” he explains, surprising me even more.

“Why not?” I ask instantly, uneasiness increasing.

“This is a big place. I don’t want you to get lost,” he jokes, though the humoured smile doesn’t reach his jade depths.

“I’ll be fine, Harry, it’s not that far.” I squeeze his fingers in reassurance while I trying to reason with him, unsure of where this side of him has come from and why he’s worried in the first place. I’m sure I am quite capable of taking care of myself.

He merely shakes his head in disagreement, causing me to purse my lips in further confusion. He’s never been like this before… but then again, tonight is perhaps the first time we’ve been out in such a public place for his behaviour to be tested. Overprotective might be a somewhat slight understatement. Nonetheless, I don’t want to create an argument over something that should be so small; I want tonight to be stress free, and I want to enjoy it all with Harry.

Instead of making my usual case about how I’m not a child and I can fend for myself, I wait for Harry to mull over whatever plan he’s thinking through. “I’ll go,” he finally decides, though the way his entire expression seems to tense tells me he doesn’t want to at all.

“I’ll come too, then,” I say brightly. It isn’t as if we have to save our seats or run the risk of losing them, I just thought it would be easier if just one of us went. Now that Harry’s made a big deal out of what should be a simple, quick task, I want to go too.

“I’ll go,” he stresses, emphasis on just him. I frown; feeling a little rejected, I settle back in my seat to watch him stand with reluctance. “You stay here and relax. What do you want?”

“A beer,” I decide spontaneously, watching in amusement when he sends me a glance of surprise. I turn to rummage in my bag and bring forth a ten dollar bill. His frown increases, his brows pinch and the corner of his eyes crinkle in dismay. “Just one though. It’s way overpriced. And a hot dog, please.”

“Don’t be silly, Jules. This is your night. I’m not going to make you pay for a drink,” he objects just as I know he would, and with a huff I lower my outstretched hand and decide not to make a big deal of it. If I really want to, I’ll slip the money in his pocket later when he least suspects it. He’s done enough, I think, through this whole surprise. I should be buying his snacks.

Quite mysteriously, he scans the area one more time, taking in every little detail with a scrutinizing gaze before he levels me with a steady stare. The man looking down at me appears troubled. Although confused I return the eye contact and squint at him through the sun’s lowering light. He has grown serious in a way which leaves me unsettled.

“You stay right here and don’t move, understand?” he asks, sounding more like a parent than my boyfriend.

“Sure,” I agree without thinking. If not to the concessions with him, I don’t plan to go anywhere anyway. Why is he so concerned?

“I’m serious. I’ll be back in a minute alright?” The way Harry looks so torn and as if he doesn’t want to leave my side concerns me to no end. Before now, I have never seen this side of him or even knew it existed to such a degree. I can’t help but to wonder if this is normal—for him.

“I’ll be right here,” I say, giving him the reassurance I don’t know why he needs. I may be clueless, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see how visibly stressed he is. Finally, after he seems to sense my confusion and perhaps realizes just how odd he’s acting, Harry offers me a tight smile and heads off toward the concourses, leaving me behind to try and figure out exactly what is going on with him today.

Right up until we got out of the car, Harry was fine. Or at least through all my excitement he seemed to be. What changed between then and now? Part of me wonders if he doesn’t like such open, public places. I would understand that, but Harry is just so confident. I can’t see it. There must be a source for all this stress—I just can’t think of what.

To top it all off, the weirdness of Harry’s behaviour doesn’t end there. When he gets back and hands me my drink and hot dog, he ends up ripping his package of peanuts and sends them all spilling to the ground underneath our seats. In his rushed tension he didn’t even realize the force he exerted on the poor plastic, a victim to his strange mood.

“Awe, Christ,” he swears, crinkling up the remnants. At the sight of his first somewhat clumsy accident I can’t help but to smack my hand to my forehead, covering my face in an effort to hide my quiet laughter. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Harry huff in frustration at my amused reaction. Clearly, he doesn’t think it’s so funny.

“It’s just peanuts, babe.” The pet name slips past my lips so quickly it has to be second nature, natural when it comes to Harry, even though I’m sure it’s the first time I have ever called him it.

“Yeah, I know…” he draws his lips into a thin, unimpressed line, and I figure he must have been looking forward to the classic baseball snack quite a bit to be so bothered over their early demise.

I try to cease my giggles for his sake, but they only increase when I replay the moment in my mind and think about how the poor little bag was never a match for Harry’s aggressive thumbs. It doesn’t take him long to find humour in the situation, though. He catches my genuine smile and the annoyed flash in his eyes melts almost instantly, the crease in his eyebrows relaxing too. Eventually, he slumps back down next to me to nurse his own beer through a few wry chuckles.

If anything, the peanut spill serves to lighten Harry’s odd, darkened frame of mind. It isn’t often I witness him as anything other than his usual cheeky, pleasant self, so I feel like I’ve been thrown a curve ball. Thankfully though it seems to have come to pass as quickly as it came and together we both enjoy each other’s company until the game starts, all but ignoring everyone around us as we get lost in our own little world. Then, much to my delight, the game finally starts.

Harry puts up with my yammering about every player currently on the field—heck, he even acts interested in the game and asks relevant questions. This is so much better, I think, than watching this at home behind a television screen with Vivian while she forces her way through it. In a moment of clarity, I comprehend just how thankful I am to be here with Harry, to even have him in my life at all. I don’t even realize I’ve gone quiet until Harry asks me if I’m alright over the roar of the crowd as Beltran takes a crack at the ball, the sound striking me out of my daze. Counted as a foul, however, it allows me to focus all my attention on Harry.

“I’m perfect,” I say, and it’s a shocking revelation when I realize I am being totally truthful. Not even his offbeat behaviour throws me off all that much. “Just thinking about how amazing this is. Thank you.”

For the first time since we entered the park Harry graces me with one of his unrestrained, crooked grins. Just the sight of it causes my spirits to lift even more, if that’s possible. “You’re more than welcome, sweetheart. It’s my pleasure.”

Things remain the same from there on, easy but with an undercurrent of tension from Harry I just know I’m not imagining. I try to both ignore and ward it away at the same time. I don’t want him to feel this way, not when he was so excited for this surprise. He’s supposed to have fun. I let it go, however, because I know Harry wouldn’t want my overthinking—or his mood—to ruin the night.

Maybe it’s the beer I’ve been methodically sipping on since he brought it to me that helps me from my shell, because I join in on the crowds whoops and hollers and even a few of the resounding boo’s. God knows it might be, today being the first time I have ever really tried anything of the sort and I just know I have a pathetically low alcohol tolerance. It’s not like it even tastes particularly edible, the deep amber liquid much too strong for my taste. One beer surely won’t hurt anyone, though, and I distinctly remember Dad doing the same whenever we went to a game. Just one drink was all he’d ever have through the entire nine innings. As stupid as it might sound, I try to do the same.

Harry finds more entertainment watching my reactions to each play than he does the actual game, I think, and for some reason I don’t mind the attention.

But in the seventh inning stretch when ‘Take Me Out to The Ball Game’ is being sung, things get a little hairy. A few of the Cardinals decide to be friendly with the fans and toss some baseballs from their dugout into our section of seats. Of course this creates a good amount of disorder with people clamouring to catch one of the coveted balls, and Harry squeezes my hand to convey his slight stress. I squeeze back, aware he’s probably never experienced something like this and I grin in an attempt to ease his worries.

This is a baseball game. This is what I expect, over-exuberant people enjoying the game for all it’s worth. I even laugh happily when a man several seats down from us manages to catch one of the balls for his son. The next thing I comprehend, however, is a ball hurtling toward us. I don’t even reach to catch it, more concerned with not being hit even though it wasn’t thrown with any amount of force, and then I feel a large, blunt object harshly come in contact with my the back of my head. What feels like a huge force following it knocks me forward and out of my seat, but Harry is quick to react and keeps me from falling onto my knees, his arm around my waist.

The pain doesn’t quite hit me as a scuffle quickly ensues, my body being hauled out of the way while I remain in a stunned daze, unable to understand what just happened. I blink past the beginnings of pain to gasp while Harry presses me protectively to his side, us both standing. He bears the brunt of my weight and I’m sure I have zero control of my limbs at this second.

The back of my head throbs painfully; I try hard to see past the black dots clouding my vision in an effort to decipher the shouts.

“I don’t care about the fucking ball.” Harry is the first person I hear, of course, and his deep booming voice overpowers everyone else’s. I may not be able to understand much, but I know straight away he is positively seething. His eyes have narrowed on the row of seats behind ours, where a couple of Cubs fans happen to be arguing over the ball I hadn’t even tried to catch.

I don’t care about it, either. I just want to figure out what the hell hit me in the head. Harry holds me slightly behind him at his side, as if afraid more harm will be inflicted upon me from the unruly fans behind us.

“Well that’s good,” one of the college guys say with a satisfied grin, unfazed by Harry’s anger as he examines the object that caused all the commotion in the first place. “’Cause we’re keeping it.”

Only now do I feel the sticky beer spilled down my arm. Thankfully, none seemed to land on my jersey.

“What just happened?” I ask in a small voice before Harry can spit out another biting word. He pauses in his string of profanities aimed at the perpetrators and quickly focuses on me, loosening his too-tight hold on my waist. His gaze has darkened and his jaw clenches with suppressed fury, and I have never been so thankful to not be on the receiving end of his anger. All those other times when I thought I pissed him off—those were only the tip of the iceberg to the true extent of his wrath.

I place a shaking hand on his upper arm to try and soothe him. By now the game has been totally forgotten, and no one near us seems interested in concentrating on it because Harry is still fuming next to me. Everyone’s breath is collectively held in anticipation of his next move. I’m almost positive that if I weren’t right next to him, holding onto him, that he would beat the guy holding the baseball senseless.

“That twat right there fell on top of you just to steal a bloody ball.” At this his anger only intensifies and I almost feel bad for bringing it up again, but my head hurts and I barely understand what’s happening. At least I know why Harry is so livid. With us both now recalling what caused me bodily harm, Harry’s hand leaves my waist and his fingers search through my hair, feeling the back of my head for any injuries with a shockingly gentle touch.

“Are you alright?” He asks quietly, only loud enough for me to hear. I wince and pull away when his fingers skim over a particularly painful spot, which only causes his frown to deepen even more, but I quickly cover it up in with a nod of assurance.

“I’ll be alright,” I say, determined not to let any of the stinging ache to show through in my voice or provoke him anymore. It appears to be a fruitless attempt because Harry breaks away from me, bubbling with fury and in the college kids’ direction. They’re just a bunch of obnoxious guys, I realize.

“What are you even doing here, anyway?” The shortest of the trio demands, having noticed Harry’s accent. They must have a death wish. I can’t imagine anyone in their right mind egging on Harry and all of his imposing, dominant presence. Either that or they’re just half drunk and stupid.

“No, no Harry,” I plead, grabbing a desperate hold of his forearm in a futile effort to pull him back. I sway slightly with the exertion, still a little disoriented, and I end up crashing back into his side when he stops in a huff.

While the other guy stays noticeably quiet, perhaps wise not to test Harry’s nonexistent patience, the one who made the mad leap on top of my seat for the ball snorts at his friend’s remark.

If this were any other situation I would laugh at their idiocy, but right now I focus totally on Harry and avoid the urge to pull away when I feel the taut muscles in his arm contract under the stress of his anger. Harry doesn’t find it amusing in the slightest, his fists clenched, and he remains silent and fuming. For my sake. I know he’s done talking—and that can’t be good at all.

“I’m fine, I promise.” I lean up to whisper in his ear, courageous to be so close to him in such a state, though I know he isn’t a threat to me. The only reason he is so irate in the first place is because I did get hurt. At the same time as I speak, the college kids spew a few prejudice remarks, and now even I want to give them a good punch to the nose. “Look, Harry, the usher is watching us. If a fight starts, we’ll get kicked out.”

Incidents like these aren’t uncommon, especially in the bleachers and for foul balls. I didn’t really expect this in seats, however, and while I’m not happy about the headache I received I don’t want to see anyone else hurt. Not Harry or even a few obnoxious Cubs fans. Harry’s chest expands and puffs with restraint, and he looks down to me like I’m being completely ridiculous.

“Please,” I try one last time. “I want to see the whole game.”

It takes several seconds of steady, ever intense eye contact between us before Harry finally blinks slowly and shakes his head at me in disgruntlement, his arm slipping from underneath my hand. I almost think he’s too far gone to even listen to me, but he surprises everyone when he instead coils his arm tightly around my waist. I know he has chosen to let it go—again, for my sake.

“You shut your fucking mouths,” he abruptly booms, and I wince until I notice with relief the father with his son aren’t in their seats any more. They probably escaped to the bathrooms or concessions for a while until the drama has died down—a smart move. Harry’s deep, resonating voice does well in shutting up the laughing fools, and they pause to peer at Harry in surprise. It seems they only now see how just barely controlled he is, and I want to smack them again for their stupidity. “Let my girl enjoy the rest of the game you’ve already ruined for her.”

He looks as if he doesn’t want to so much as turn his back on them, but eventually I coax Harry into sitting back down and the usher, much to my relief, loses interest. At least we don’t have to deal with security personnel now. Harry keeps a tight hold on my hand, and not once does his focus stray from me.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asks again. I smile at his concern, only now comprehending that he called me ‘his girl’ a few moments ago, and I nod. Through all the fuss I didn’t think once about my heart or if the black spots that created a haze in my vision were from the force of the hit or from my racing heart’s fright.

“I’m great,” I reply, refusing to think about the small bump surely beginning to form at the back of my head from some dude’s discourteous elbow. “Are you?”

My heart seems to have calmed as soon as Harry did, however, and other than my head and sticky arm I feel fine. I wipe what’s left of the beer away with a napkin, my bottle having joined Harry’s peanuts though somehow it managed not to smash as it fell from my hand and onto the ground.

“Don’t worry about me,” he murmurs and leans closer, like the distance is too much even though our sides are pressed together as close as possible. “Does anywhere else hurt?”

“No.” I shake my head and ignore the slight increase in pain the action causes to my head. With the roaring crowd and the singing, I will surely have a migraine by the time we leave. I’m okay with that, though, because the pain will fade and I don’t want to spoil what’s left of the night. “I promise, I’m fine.”

Satisfied with his reluctant nod of acceptance even though he remains tense, I press a soft kiss to Harry’s jaw for resisting his anger and impulse to fight. I know it couldn’t have been easy for him, and the thought of our little success gives way for my good mood to return with full force.

Then we set about ignoring the college kids behind us, ready to get into the eighth inning already. The game is eight to four, Cardinals in the lead, but of course I have to be anxious.

Apparently the players in the dugout must have caught wind of the small incident, and through the constant shouts of the crowd around us I swear I hear a distinct “Hey, lady!”

Hesitant to investigate, my eyebrows pinch in confusion and I slowly stand up to get a look closer, leaning against the barrier again. Since Harry is attached to my hand still, I end up having to drag him along. Previously he’d been sat stewing over what happened, wanting more words and maybe even the fight we just barely avoided. If nothing else, I hope getting up and moving around might help him in cooling off a little.

But my attention is trained on the dugout and the fact that Shelby Miller is standing off the side and as close to the barrier as he can get, chewing on tobacco while he tosses a ball from one hand to the other. He says something I am unable decipher though all of the park’s noise and the only thing I can do is stare wide-eyed as he nods to me. He shouted ‘catch’, probably, because then he sends the ball flying through the air. It’s such a shock that he even noticed me I don’t even think to raise my hand to catch it until it is undoubtedly too late and another eager fan has snagged it for themselves.

Only do I register that Harry lets go of my hand when I whirl around to see where the ball went, only for him to have his hand raised above my shoulder, the ball caught with his much quicker reflexes, and he smirks triumphantly.

“For your troubles, darling,” he says, and bows as he makes a show out of handing me the ball. I take it from his outstretched palm numbly, still not quite able to process any of this really just happened.

“You are amazing.” I grin, for once unabashed and totally willing to show my affections for him with no restraint. Now I’m elated and have forgotten all about the unfortunate incident that just took place because I have another awesome, one of a kind souvenir from tonight. This? This provides me with a wonderful memory, one shared with Harry, and I couldn’t ask for anything more.

“No trouble. I just love to see that smile of yours,” Harry says, grinning now too, and he doesn’t give me a chance to react to his sweet words before he dips to place a slow, gentle kiss to my lips before he slings his arm over my shoulders. We turn back toward the dugout to thank Miller, but he’s already disappeared.

“Who was that again?” Harry asks inquisitively, appearing eager to learn more about my favourite team.

“Shelby Miller. He’s a rookie pitcher. I knew I liked him for a reason,” I gush happily as we sit back down in our seats, this entire night feeling more surreal than ever. The Cubs fans behind us are noticeably quiet now, and I gasp after I turn the ball to inspect it between my hands, holding it carefully. Shelby signed it—which I didn’t expect at all. Though I have no idea why, Harry’s mouth drops into a frown at the sight. His eyes twinkle mischievously.

“You better not like him too much. I think he fancies you.”

I burst into a bout of uncontrolled laughter at Harry’s brash accusation, thankful for his lightened mood so I can breathe a little easier. Hot tempered males always make me nervous, Harry included. His mock jealousy slices through the tension… or at least, I really hope he’s kidding around. Sobering up, I choose to humour him. “Well… I fancy his fastball, but that’s about it.”

“Good,” he says with a satisfied nod, pretending to glare down at the dugout as if Shelby is still lurking somewhere down there. “Thank you for easing my worries.”

From there on out things go back to normal, or as normal as they were before I was unceremoniously elbowed out of my seat. Harry still seems more alert and suspicious of everyone around us than he should be for attending something as safe as a baseball game. I swear it’s almost like he’s looking for someone. Thankfully, though, his mood is no longer dampened and he seems to have forgotten his infuriated need to strangle one or all of the college kids behind us.

In fact, as the game picks back up, Harry gets more and more into the spirit. In the ninth inning when Molina makes a three run homer and steals the game completely from the Cubs, Harry stands up with me to cheer and he even sticks two fingers in his mouth, sending out a loud whistle. I laugh freely at the sight and he pulls me close, the both of us sharing in the excitement of our team’s win. I don’t remember ever being so present, so aware of how precious a moment like this really is while it’s happening. I grab Harry’s hand a few moments later and he looks at me in curiosity, only to take in my wide grin.

In return, he dazzles me with one of his own megawatt smiles, and this is perfect. I have had so many perfect moments with Harry, I realize, and I only appreciate each one of them more and more as they occur.

They open up my eyes to all I’ve been missing, all I could have and all that Harry is willing to give me, even though I’m undeserving. In return, I vow to give him my all. It’s a moment of clarity, I suppose, and while I understand how much my life has changed since I met him, I don’t get lost in my mind or in the past. I can think about my heart and how I’m going to tell him or when, because right now, in this very second, I am not my condition. I am Jules—Harry’s Jules.

I don’t come down from my high until after we leave Wrigley field. The car ride home is filled with excited chatter, mostly from me, and for once I find I can’t talk enough. I don’t know how to express how much this means to me, how much Harry means to me. Words themselves will never be enough, but I try anyway. Harry is quiet while he drives and listens, occasionally agreeing or expressing how much fun he had tonight himself, and he keeps hold of my hand on the center console like he always does.

It’s only when we get back to my house and Harry parks his car in his usual spot at the end of my driveway do I realize that his quietness is unusual, and that my own voice filled a void which shouldn’t have been there in the first place. I notice his smile is strained… maybe even a little forced, and I regret talking so much, assuming he’s annoyed with me.

Feeling disappointed, I squeeze his hand and look away in embarrassment. “Sorry. I just can’t shut up.”

Before I broke the silence again, Harry stared blankly at the steering wheel for a long second, and his attention snaps toward me when I utter the apology. “What?”

Now I’m not sure if he’s even been listening. “I just realized I was talking too much. Sorry.”

He shakes his head, his mouth having turned down into a frown, and the air shifts around us from the easy light-hearted atmosphere to something much more serious. “I actually wish you’d talk more like this all the time, baby. I love the sound of your voice.”

“Oh—okay,” I say, quiet and shy all over again, turned far from my talkative mood. His sincerity, as always, floors me, and my heart rate increases while the wonderful flutter returns to my chest. At the same time I grow confused; if not in annoyance, why has Harry been so quiet? Before we left the game he was so happy. We were so happy. Now I’m worried I might have done something wrong or Harry might be hurting.

Reluctantly and with a soft, unsure sigh I slip my hand from underneath his and reach for the door, but he captures my fingers in a gentle hold and pulls me backward.

“Wait a moment,” he says, just as quiet as I am. I release the door handle and settle back in the seat, turning to him in question. Through the interior lighting the green of his irises look darker than ever, cloaked and totally unexpressive of how he feels.

“What is it, Harry?” I’m almost too scared to ask, but I force the words from my dry mouth anyhow. I don’t want to run away from my problems anymore and if this is one, I want it sorted.

“I want to give you something,” he starts slowly, though he no longer looks hesitant. I see a familiar look overturn his features, one of determination as he sets his jaw and meets my eyes. “And I don’t want you to be upset, alright?”

“Why would I be upset?” I ask, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion while I frown now too. Without providing any more of an explanation, Harry leans across me and reaches into the glove compartment to retrieve something before he rights himself again in the driver’s seat. He sighs heavily, looking down to the mysterious object he holds in his lap. He stares down at it almost sadly. From my angle with his hands covering it, all I can see is a small, black cylindrical object.

“The only reason I’m giving it to you is because I worry a lot, alright? I don’t want you to think too much over it—it’s just a precaution for my peace of mind.” There he goes again. When Harry is tense or nervous or wants something a lot, he reverts to business tactics, trying to sell his motive to me for whatever he still has hidden in his hands.

“Okay,” I agree with him because I know he needs this, whatever this is, but that’s not to say I’ll accept whatever he wants to give me. If it will help him worry a little less, though, who am I to deny that for him? The real question is why he worries and over what exactly, and I begin to feel like crap again for keeping so much from him for so long.

“It really isn’t much at all,” he tries one more time, like he didn’t even hear me just now.

I gaze neutrally at him through the light darkness, a chill creeping up my arms as the inside of the car begin to cool. What makes me most nervous right now is the fact that I have no idea what it could be, along with Harry’s almost grave expression. “Now you’re scaring me.”

He doesn’t flash me his usual charming smile for reassurance, and in its absence I automatically tense. So—now’s maybe not the time to try joking around and making light of the situation for once. Duly noted, as Harry might say. “I don’t want you to be afraid, Jules. Can you promise me that?”

Afraid of what? Whatever he wants to give me? Him? Only in moments where I wasn’t in my right mind have I ever been scared of Harry or if he might hurt me and even then I knew better. Today, at the ball park when I got a little roughed up by the inconsiderate Cubs fans, proved he cares for me and that he wouldn’t ever hurt me—in fact I think it’s quite the opposite. He has this almost ferocious protectiveness when it comes to me, one I don’t understand but accept as just another Harry-ism.

“I promise, Harry,” I say honestly. I owe him my trust, after all that’s happened. He’s earned it.

Heaving another long sigh, as though he has accepted defeat, Harry returns my curious stare with one much heavier in emotion. Slowly, he picks up the object with nimble fingers and holds it out for me, his hand hovering above my lap. I take it from his flat palm, afraid to touch the thing even though I promised I wouldn’t be. With the big deal made out of it, I almost expect the thing to lunge straight from his hand and bite me.

It doesn’t. All in all, while I rotate the small black canister, it looks fairly innocent. A hard black shell covers what I believe to be an aerosol can or something of the sort, and it sports a key ring on one end. Yes, it reminds me of a can of hairspray with a recessed button at the top. Harry observes my clueless response, though he waits like he wants me to figure it out so he doesn’t have to explain himself.

“I don’t get it.” My voice sounds uncharacteristically loud in the otherwise quiet car. The unidentified spray can seems harmless. There’s a switch right below the button, which more resembles a trigger, with rigid grooves. My thumb instinctively moves to flick it.

“Careful,” Harry says abruptly, startling me so much I drop the can onto my lap with a sharp intake of air. He instantly reaches to collect it, his own thumb moving to ensure the switch is still in its original place.

“That’s the safety,” he explains, a little quieter now.

“Safety?” I question dumbly. What the heck is that thing and why does Harry want me to have it, anyway?

A beat of silence passes and this is one of those very few times I have ever seen Harry appear so nervous. To top it all off, I haven’t forgotten his strange behaviour at the game today, and I know I wasn’t overthinking things. He was on edge today and this proves it.

Now I just have to figure out the what, why, and if I can find a solution for any of this. I want to, because he has fixed so much for me.

“It’s pepper spray,” he finally clarifies. It takes several seconds of blanked thoughts for it to fully sink in and have its full effect. Harry waits, patiently, still unusually quiet. Pepper spray.

“Oh,” I allow the rare playful edge to fade from my voice as realization dawns on me, so belated I begin to feel embarrassed for just how oblivious I am. In my defense I have never laid my hands on a can of the stuff before tonight, and how was I supposed to know any better?

“Harry,” I start, a little dazed from the surprise and unable to find the right words to express how I feel. If I want to be honest, I don’t even know how I feel. “I don’t—I don’t think I need that.”

At this moment I’m hardly capable of even speaking, let alone putting together a comprehensible response. He holds it out for me to inspect again and frowns when I automatically shy away from the intimidating device. The thing is made to hurt people, and even though I promised him, I’m sort of terrified of its concept.

“Do you know how to defend yourself?” He asks lightly.

Without thinking, I respond quickly and devoid of doubt. “Yes.”

Like he really is considering it, Harry cocks his head to the side in sudden thought. “Hmm, you think?”

While I square my shoulders and try as hard as I can to appear confident, I wonder if he really just asked me that. “Yes, Harry. I’m positive. And I definitely don’t need pepper spray.”

Really, it just scares me. I don’t want to be in possession of something that has the potential to hurt someone, even if it is in self defense. I’d rather run like hell in hopes of avoiding such situations altogether.

For a fleeting moment I start to hope he actually believes me. He purses his lips in consideration, expression otherwise blank. “Come on then.”

Without another look back or so much as an explanation, Harry smoothly steps out of the car and I watch as he comes around to my side, sat inert through my confusion. If I know anything about Harry, it’s that he doesn’t let things go so easily. And I know this must be serious for him, with the way he approached me on the subject. From past experience I know for a fact he can be even more stubborn than I am… and that says something.

He opens my door for me, and his impassive gaze gives nothing away. “Are you okay?” I ask, warily standing beside him. After he takes my hand as soon as I’m on my feet, he shuts the door lightly and without any force. For some reason I almost expect him to be angry, and I don’t understand why I think so. Maybe it’s his quietness, my refusal of the pepper spray. Either way, I suspect he might not be in much of a good mood.

Instead of dwelling on this like I usually would, I choose to try and make light of his odd mood again in hopes he’ll let this go, whatever this even is. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” I ask again and reach to place my palm to his forehead while he leads me away from the car.

To my surprise, Harry fights a smile and he shakes his head at my antics, unwilling to explain when he tugs me away from the path toward the front door and into the backyard. Really, I simply am trying to distract myself from the pepper spray Harry still holds loosely in his free hand and the worry over why he wants me to have it at all.

Did something happen to make him believe I need its protection? A particular event that caused his worry to spike so much he went out and bought me something to defend myself with? It’s the only conclusion I manage to draw, and it feels like a long shot. I just don’t understand, and I’m afraid to ask.

“Here,” Harry says, knocking me from the cogs working in my mind, and he releases my hand to step back and place the pepper spray onto the railing of the deck. He stands with a meter or two of distance between us. I watch him closely, more confused than ever.

Because my house doesn’t have a single light on inside, it’s near impossible to see him through the darkness. The motion sensing light on the side of the house went out moments ago, casting us in a blanket of black that leaves me feeling ever uncomfortable even though I know I have nothing to be afraid of.

I think.

“I have to show you something.”

“What—” I don’t even have the time to release one of my usual little squeals, only a small gasp when Harry rushes at me—without any warning—his long leg hooks behind both of mine to knock them clear from under me, his arms circling my waist. In a split second he is able to pin me onto the cool, plush grass, puffing out of fright and unable to grasp what exactly just happened.

This—this I did not expect. “Holy, shit, Harry,” I curse through my laboured breaths. My heart feels as if it’s knocking against my ribcage from its furious beat. I try to push him off me, to get up and away from the crazy boy before he decides to toss me around any further, but his hands have both of mine pinned at my sides and the weight of his torso keeps my much smaller frame firmly rooted to the ground.

In reality, all I felt from the altercation were Harry’s hands as he laid me gently onto the ground, ensuring I didn’t get hurt in the single deft motion. It’s memorized, I come to understand. He definitely knows how to defend himself. As soon as I make any sort of movement which points toward resistance, Harry easily transfers one of my hands into his other, trapping them both in just one of his. I glare up at him, indignant.

“See? Is this what you call defending yourself?”

My pride, as usual, gets the best of me. My eyes remain narrowed. So that’s what this is about. I knew he wouldn’t let it go without a fight… literally. Too bad I have my own stubborn streak ready to battle. “That’s not fair. You didn’t give me any warning.”

He shakes his head at my naivety. “If this were a real fight, do you think the bad guy would give you a fair warning before he attacks?”

Rather than acknowledge that he is indeed right and I am pathetically helpless, I grunt and buck my hips in an effort to loosen his rock solid hold. The way he sits, low on my hips, renders my legs totally useless in my plight. He chuckles at the movement and I gasp when he presses his hips back into mine, my plan backfiring. I go totally still underneath him.

“I didn’t fight back because it’s you,” I explain one more time, finally calming some. My explanation wipes the beginnings of a smile that previously graced his lips from existence and he frowns down at me. The grass is cold under my thin jersey, and while I hope no grass stains came to harm it, I pay no mind to such thoughts. Not when Harry is so serious and I have no idea why.

“You should have, Julia,” he rumbles in distaste. “If someone ever tries to hurt you, you don’t allow it to happen. Even if it’s me.”

As quickly as my annoyance cropped up it dissipates rapidly while I think about what he said, about Harry’s constant concern for my safety. I haven’t ever met someone so inherently protective, and yet I don’t find it overbearing in the slightest.

“But I don’t want to hurt you,” I admit softly, fighting moronic tears.

Harry’s eyes lose their determined heat at my shy, muttered words, and he loosens his hold on my hands as he leans down to place a playful kiss to the tip of my nose. “I know.”

“And you wouldn’t hurt me either, right?” It’s a wonder I even dare to ask such a question, but I need to make him see sense somehow.

Rearing back suddenly, he peers down at me as if I have completely lost my mind. “Never,” he vows, deep and forcefully.

“Exactly. So we don’t have anything to worry about.” Harry blinks several times as he tries to make sense of what I said, before ultimately he breaks down in soft, appreciative chuckles.

“But that’s not my point, darling. I would never hurt you, so you don’t have to worry about me. It’s other people you have to worry about.”

The way he puts such emphasis on the one word, my mind instantly goes off in search of a name and face to put to his warning. With all that has happened and the only plausible assumption I have in sight, I pull one of my hands from underneath his to hold onto his arm, hesitant to even bring it up at all. But I have to know, or else this will keep me up all night. “Other people… other people like Alex?”

I want to wince as soon as his name leaves my mouth. Harry’s relationship with Alex is non-existent on its best day, and on others—on others, I swear the two carry some huge, mysterious grudge against each other. I can’t hold my curiosity in any longer. Harry narrows his eyes, a dark obscure emotion passing through them so intense I have to look away.

“Julia.” The way he says my name makes it sound like an order. An order to spill, since I’ve already dug myself this deep, why not try a little more? Fingers swoop to either side of my chin, gentle despite his dark tone, and he guides my vision back to meet with his. He’s trying the subdued route, but I see the anger lurking beneath the surface of his actions and words. I swallow thickly. “What are you talking about?”

Oh, crap. He probably thinks Alex hurt me or something just as crazy. I’m such an idiot; here I am, bent on him worrying less about me, and I go and plant more seeds for concern in his mind. “It’s nothing, Harry, I just—I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

“And how is that?” He asks quietly, his immediate response to my explanation.

“Like… like you want to strangle each other.” I say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Accurate.” He says simply, and I’m happy for the darkness because I’m sure I pale several shades from the sound of his pure, ferocious conviction. On one hand at least I wasn’t imagining the silent confrontations and side eyes, on the other… this could result in trouble. Lots and lots of trouble. Meekly, my hand lowers on his arm until I’m tempted to let go, but I don’t. I’m not scared of Harry.

“Oh…” I all but whisper out, and Harry sighs when he realizes how shaken this tense conversation has made me. For a moment he focusses on holding my hand, his thumb running soothing circles into my palm while he remains quiet, trying to regain composure. Again—for my sake.

Seconds later, he comes back to present and in an all too easy movement he rolls off of me to the side and switches our positions, bringing me up by my hips to straddle his lap. I no longer feel quite as secure like this, but at the very least it isn’t as intense.

“To answer your question,” he starts lightly, back to normal as he trails his fingers up my arm to my hair, playing with the ends. “Exactly people like Alex.”

“I don’t get it,” I finally sigh. “You two haven’t even really talked and you seem to hate each other already. Is it, like, some guy thing I have no hope to understand?”

He smiles breathtakingly, relaxed and content with the night again. I wish I could say the same. “Sort of.”

I frown at his cryptic answer, unimpressed with how quiet he has gone. Usually it’s the other way around; usually he is the one trying to coax information out of me. “But Harry, I’ve known him since we were kids. He’s never been a threat to me, ever.”

“Jules, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Harry chooses his words very carefully, though it still manages to set me off.

“How the hell does he look at me?” I demand, defensive. Not because I’m mad at Harry, but just because I don’t believe it. Alex wouldn’t hurt me… at least, if this were a couple of months ago, I would have been able to say as much with a straight face. Now I’m not so sure any more. Harry holds me on his lap when I try to get up, intent on pacing around the backyard in an effort to vent my frustration.

“Calm down,” he says roughly, though he doesn’t sound like he is following his own advice. “I just know his type. I’ve seen what happens. You can’t tell me every time I’ve come by he hasn’t either been strung out or wanting a fix, Julia. If it comes to getting what he wants, he’ll hurt you. That much I know for certain.”

“Harry,” I gape, shocked by this information dump. Despite my brother having been an addict himself, I didn’t get to see much of that side of him. When he relapsed the second time when I was nineteen, he left and I didn’t see him for months. I never saw what an addict looks like, really, at their lowest. Is that what Alex is? Is that why his mood has changed so suddenly, why he has become near insufferable at work?

“I’m only telling you because I won’t stand to see you hurt. And if you do… I won’t be responsible for what happens to him,” he says darkly, much too serious for me to handle, and it takes me even longer to process his threat and how very much he means it.

“Jesus Christ,” I swear again, tumbling off his lap and to the side in astonishment. Somehow through it all I remain unafraid of Harry, but I just need a little space for a moment. He follows my actions, sitting up to watch my reaction totally unfazed. I throw my hands up in disbelief, puffing. “Are you serious?”

“Easy,” he says slowly, and he looks at me again like I’m a spooked animal. My heart rate quickens as I think about what he said and the new light in which I look at Alex. Now that it has been pointed out, it seems so obvious. I wonder how long I went totally clueless. I knew Alex was heavy into weed after he recovered from the loss of Caleb, but I didn’t realize there could have been something much worse.

“Yes. Very. But that’s not the point,” he tries to soothe, perhaps when he takes note of the hysteria clearly written across my vulnerable expression. “I’m only telling you because I don’t want you unprotected in case something does happen, understand? I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you got hurt and I could have done something to stop it, even if I’m not there to protect you.”

So we’re just going to ignore the bombshell that is Alex. Heck, it might be better that way. Harry looks like he might regret bringing it up at all and I just want to forget about it. Once again, I won’t let Alex ruin my night. My stubborn resolve softens with his sincere speech, and I try to see things from his outrageously protective point of view. Harry worries about me too much, and if this will help, I’ll do it.

Sighing, I push my hair over one shoulder and look at him again. “You win.”

I watch with a small amount of relief as Harry’s eyes light up and he reaches for me again, bringing me back onto his lap. I go willingly, and he forces a giggle from me when he nuzzles into my hair, the slight stubble on his chin tickling my neck. “So you’ll take the pepper spray?”

Playfully, I roll my eyes. “Do I have a choice?”

“Of course you do,” he tilts his head back to look at me, serious now though his plump lips upturn into a satisfied smile. “But I’m happiest with this one.”

While I may not understand fully why Harry wants me to have it or why he chose to spring it on me so suddenly, I’m aware this might have been bothering him for a while now. And really, in the big picture, it might be a good idea. Tonight has shown me that I really wouldn’t be able to defend myself should the need ever arise.

But it won’t. Alex isn’t a threat. He might be going through a rough time, but he’s never done anything to hurt me.

“As long as you’re happy,” I murmur. “And we don’t have to fight to prove anything else again.”

“Deal,” he grins, his dimples popping once more. “Thank you, baby.”

Sat in his lap in the back yard—which is becoming a common occurrence—after the wonderful evening I shared with him, I focus on right here and right now, with Harry, and I convince myself that everything is fine.

Notes

Ah. So. Microsoft Word rings this chapter in at just under 10,000 words. Yikes. I was tempted to split it up in order to get it out for everyone sooner, but I just couldn't leave you hanging! I know you don't like cliffhangers, haha.

Thank you to everyone who voted in the Valentine's awards! I didn't win, but I'm not too surprised. You wonderful lovelies are always so supportive, it's not that—I just didn't find out I was nominated until the last moment.

Anyhow! Thoughts... predictions? Do you think there may or may not be more behind Harry's latest gift? Anything at all, I'd love to hear from you!