Inherent

Only a few days after the disaster occurred at my house, and even fewer since I discovered the dangers Harry and I are now facing—together—I am sat, alone, on the wicker seating out on his private terrace. Days have passed with me not possessing the nerve to leave, this being the farthest I’ve been able to come. Unbeknownst to Harry, this entire time has been spent fearing what could be waiting for me beyond the protection and security of his apartment.

He reassured me several times that I would be safe, hated that I disrupted my normal life for something he feels is his fault and his alone. He offered to go out with me for added support, but really… for now, I am okay with staying tucked away here in this little safe haven, with him.

It doesn’t help a lot, however, that he hasn’t been home much since. Since I told him of Lucy, since he revealed his connection with The Rogues. Yesterday he was gone from two in the afternoon until ten p.m., and all of this morning. I try hard to let the warm early July air breathe new life into me, relax my still rattled nerves as I sip at my pink lemonade, but that doesn’t help very much either. Instead, all this time is spent worrying about Harry. The very real possibility that he could be putting himself in danger at this very moment.

For me.

Not even the gorgeous view from the top floor can distract me from such worrying thoughts, the clear blue of Lake Michigan seeming too far away to be of any tangible comfort.

I may not know specifics, but I can’t help to think that if I wasn’t a part of Harry’s life that maybe this would not be as hard for him as it is now. Maybe if The Rogues were not aware of me, they wouldn’t have been so harsh with him. Maybe they think I am the reason he doesn’t want to be a part of the club anymore. Hell, I think so far that maybe, if I wouldn’t have come along, he might still be involved if push came to shove and things got as bad as they are now. And being left so desperate and fearful for his own future, I don’t know if that is even such a terrible thing.

Perhaps he would be with Lucy right now, maybe he wouldn’t think it as deplorable and evil of a life as he does now. With me. I wonder if this is all my fault.

In truth, these past couple of days and the hours I have spent alone haven’t been the easiest on my already fragile, hurting mind. I have dwelled far too much on all the possible aspects of Harry’s life with The Rogues. I’ve dwelled, too, on the uncertainty of Lucy. Who she is to him.

Back when she made herself welcome in my house just before it was burglarized, she said some very strange things. Things that someone who has only worked with Harry wouldn’t say, not even things a platonic friend of his would mention. They were things a girlfriend—an ex-girlfriend—would say.

But still a girlfriend… and I don’t know how to feel about that. I really don’t like the fact that Lucy is still close. It leads me all the way back to insecure thoughts that clouded my mind months ago, and it makes it feel like we are only backpedalling. Thoughts like ‘did he find her more attractive than me? Am I more trouble? Am I not worth that trouble?

The worst part is that I don’t have answers to any of these questions, and I won’t get them unless I come up with the courage to ask.

Only haphazard guesses, elaborate theories that I have ample time to come up with. It’s funny, too, how bad news seems to come in pairs. Or in my case three’s and four’s.

Out on the terrace when I am in the middle of trying figure out a miraculous way to solve all of our problems and put my worries to rest once and for all, the book store’s manager calls. The two shifts I was scheduled since the incident at the house I gave to Laura, our new part-timer who was more than willing and eager to take them. This way, it worked out for everyone. Or at least I hoped it would, since things at work with Alex have been rocky at their very best. Hell, I haven’t even seen him in days.

Miss Mitchell's gravelly tone sifts through like it is being grated against sandpaper. Already, before she has even said anything, I know it's bad. I know what is coming, and I can't even brace myself.

"Good afternoon to you, Miss Townsend." Despite her cheerfulness which she uses for everyone, most times in a sardonic, unfriendly manner, she is straightforward and doesn't even allow me a moment to reply other than my first small greeting of 'hello.' “I wish this was a casual call, but I don’t have very good news.”

“You don’t?” I ask, trying not to sound too dumb, too shocked by her call in the first place. Instantly my mind jumps to Alex even though I know it isn’t about him, and it proves hard not to worry for just a second that it could be news about him. That maybe, like Caleb, his life came to an abrupt, shattering halt, and now his aunt is going to be the one to tell me. Then it hits me that she wouldn’t even bother to do that, anyway, because she really hasn’t ever cared for me much in particular.

“No, I don’t. I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go from the book store.”

My heart drops. I close my eyes and lean forward, unable to believe what she just dropped on me. So casually. As if, aside from Alex, I wasn’t her only steady dependable employee for the last four years. Yes, I may have dreaded going to work and facing him but as of today, this job was the only thing paying my bills. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to do any of that now—I feel absolutely paralyzed.

“I’m really very sorry, Julia. You’ve been such a great employee, but I just don’t see it working out any longer.”

Rather than argue, I bite my tongue and quietly, politely request a reason for my dismissal. I can’t even think to react yet, no tears have to be held back because there aren’t any. Yet. I feel numb to this news.

Decline in work performance. I really have to try hard to withhold a biting remark now. One like how about your nephew’s work performance?

But of course, she isn’t even aware of that. Foolishly I covered Alex’s ass too many times to count. Heck, over this past month alone there have been days where he hasn’t even showed up for work at all, and I have had to do all of his work myself plus my own. And she has the brass to accuse my performance of being ‘poor.’

Even still I choose not to mention any of this, don’t sell him out even when I have every reason to do exactly that. He didn’t bother to reply to that message days ago, either. Instead, with shaking hands and a racing heart I accept Miss Mitchell’s explanation and hang up, blinking once as I stare wide eyed out of Harry’s terrace. I hear the city street below, busy with afternoon traffic, and see specks of green life mottled throughout the cityscape, but that is all that I comprehend. I can’t even speak.

I don’t have more than three miniscule seconds to collect myself before I hear the sliding doors off from the living room open, followed by Harry’s even footsteps approaching. My gaze remains distant and focussed forward, although his tall form stands just feet from me now.

“Jules?” He calls uncertainly, and only now do I break my blank stare and glance toward him, phone held limply in my hand. I can’t quite believe that really just happened, that I am officially jobless, and for a freaking ridiculous reason. It would have been too hard to sit there and ask her for reasons, specific times when my performance faltered, not when I am already so insecure about my ability to do anything. But now, now I am left only to speculate, and that might be worse than anything.

Holy hell, I was fired.

“Harry…”

He takes one more glance at my surely ashen complexion, glossy eyes, and trembling lip before he swiftly draws closer to sit down next to me, placing one hand on my thigh. The contact shocks me, but not enough to push me out of my stupor all the way.

“Tell me what’s happened. Talk to me.” He removes the phone from my grasp on the hunch that my state of shock has everything to do with the small device, but before he can investigate further my flat, far-away voice breaks the silence.

“My manager. She just called me.”

Shamefully and finally close to tears, I can’t bear to look at him, not when faced with this. With someone having just told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t good enough. Literally. It makes me feel like a total failure.

A knowing look passes through his eyes, but he remains impassive, encouraging. “What did she want?” He softly inquires.

“She said that... I thought she was calling me because I gave Laura some of my shifts,” it’s all I can get out first, while I stare lifelessly down at my lap, at Harry’s hand, which has taken to gently caressing the outside of my thigh with his thumb. “She said that I was—that she was letting me go.”

He sighs quietly, and upon chancing a quick, timid, shameful look toward him before focussing anywhere else once again, I see that his worried expression has softened even more upon seeing exactly how hurt I am. “Come here, baby.”

His murmured encouragement is paired with gentle hands as he pulls me closer, gathers me in his embrace with his arms circled around me tightly. I still feel numb, not able to process it even after having said it aloud, but ironically enough his next quiet words of encouragement are what set off the first wave of panic.

“What am I going to do?” I ask frantically, and he shakes his head as I try to push up and away from him. The tears haven’t quite hit, the need to cry not even registering yet, but I realize just how much trouble I am in. Harry only pulls me closer, hushes me and runs a calm, comforting hand through my hair and ghosts over my spine. “I’m not going to have enough—to pay this month’s bills. Harry, what the hell am I going to do?”

This is the first time I have ever mentioned anything about my financial situation to him, the first time he’s been made aware aside from what he has figured out on his own. And it’s not even that, before now, I needed help. And I hate that, I hate that I have to talk about this, something I should be able to take care of myself. I hate feeling so weak, so dependent.

Tense and shaking against him, I am unable to sink into his comforting embrace like I would any other time. And he doesn’t push me close; he lets me work this out mostly on my own, knowing this needs to be sorted and that it cannot be brushed aside. Plus this comes so soon after the break in, the news of Harry’s past and whatever we are to face in the future—I have hardly been able to keep it all together, when it all seems to be coming down on me at once. I finally break, crack under this added, huge pressure.

Jobless. I don’t even have a job any more. What else can be taken from me? The thought is terrifying, and I subconsciously hold onto Harry’s shirt tighter.

“We are going to figure this out. You are not alone, Julia.”

In spite of all the fear growing in me, I try hard to listen to Harry, to believe what he has told me, because I know in my heart that it’s true. He means every word. I’m not alone. “We will figure it out. Together. Don’t worry about that right this second, okay? Just relax, try to relax for me. For just a moment while we get to the bottom of things, alright?”

Continually he poses questions; rational, logical questions which I have to respond to even if just through a nod, because he knows it will keep me grounded. So for a short time I focus on evening out my breathing, placing every last bit of my attention in him, aware of how steady and calm and solid he is, with us both somehow leaned back to rest against the back of the wicker seat, my torso all but draped over his.

“What did she say?” He is careful to ask this, as though he doesn’t want to bring it about again because he knows it might upset me more. With this knowledge I try to keep calm, collected. “Did she give you an explanation?”

Harry waits with limitless patience for me to answer, to compose myself enough to speak. My hands still shake from the shock, but all my energy goes into not reacting, not giving Miss Mitchell or Alex the satisfaction of breaking at this, after everything. I won’t allow it. “I think it was because I gave Laura those shifts.”

That’s all I can deduce. From her supposed ‘unsatisfactory work performance’, my missing shifts could be the only somewhat viable reason. I was far too overwhelmed when the news just hit me to ask for more details. I wouldn’t have been able to bear it, I don’t think. Even still, it is entirely all too common for employees to switch shifts with each other, so really it doesn’t add up. Not as much as I desperately want for it to.

If only I wasn’t so scared, too stressed over these last few days, I might still have my job. But the fear of what could happen while being so exposed and vulnerable out in public for such lengths of time at the book store immobilised me. I thought it would be okay to hole myself away here in the safety of Harry’s apartment for just a short while, a therapeutic, healing period of time that I could spend re-gathering my wits and courage. With Harry.

At least, that is, until my next shift which would have been on Monday.

He pulls back, both his hands now cupping my cheeks, and his eyes stare intensely into mine. His are unreadable now, though he nods and accepts my mumbled explanation. After sadly looking him in the eye for a moment longer, I sigh and duck to rest my head against his chest. “Let’s try to look at this positively.”

I groan into the collar of shit shirt, appreciative of the fact he will always attempt to help me feel better no matter what, but there’s no way any of this can be positive. At all. “How is that even possible?”

“Well, it was only a part-time job. Maybe now you can focus on your design full time now. I know you love that more than anything.”

My chest seems to expand and warm at this, at Harry knowing where my real passion lies, and that he is encouraging me to pursue it more.

“A potential client did email me the other day,” I muse, still pretty miserable, with a sniff. I bat at my eyes to wipe any moisture away, but he catches my hand with a frown and instead gently thumbs under them for me. In response, my frown isn’t quite as deep, and those telltale flutters erupt within me whenever he does such things. Even now when things are in a disastrous state, he is capable of knocking me totally off my feet.

“Did they?”

“Yeah. Everything has just been so hectic, though, I haven’t had the chance to get back to him. He wanted to set up a meeting, and with…” I stop, unable to explain further, but he understands exactly. “With everything, I wasn’t able to give him an exact time and date. And my laptop is still at home, too.”

Damn—I hope I haven’t sat on that too long—a law firm wants me to design a simplistic, professional website and some advertising. Over the last couple of months I have been expanding my coding skills, too, so it wouldn’t be a problem now that Alex is definitely out of the picture. If they are still interested, this will be a saving grace.

“You can use mine,” he offers instantly, but doesn’t move to get up and retrieve it for me. Not yet. He knows I am still hurting. “Plus, renovations on Lou’s salon are almost finished. She wants to open sooner, and she wanted me to ask you to start on a new round of advertising.”

Harry is certainly doing a stellar job at comforting me, doing just as he said: looking at this situation from an angle totally different from my initial panicked, negative one.

“She did?” I’m not sure yet if he is just making this up to help me feel better, but when I tilt my head to peer up at his expression, he appears totally sincere. He nods, provides me with a small and encouraging smile.

“She did. You aren’t alone in this, Jules. You’ve got me, and there are lots of opportunities waiting for you. And—I am in dire need at The Castle still. Even if you just want to come in a few days a week to help with the books and some HR things, that’s fine with me. We can even carpool.”

I crack a small, rueful smile and shake my head at how easily and effortlessly he was able to turn the situation around. Working with Harry seems like more and more of an inevitability now, but he has the best idea by far. I do want to focus on my design work over this summer, but if he needs help and I need the extra income, then it might not be such a bad idea. “Um… do I have to give you an answer on that right now?”

“What?” He huffs. “Working with me would be a joy, I’ll have you know.”

“Hmm…” I trail off as though I don’t believe him. “I’ll think about it.”

Now he can’t help but to release one of those soft, raspy chuckles, and he leans to press a kiss to my cheek. To say that he is a lifesaver is a total understatement… hell, I can’t even quite believe that we’re here now, making eyes and playful banter with each other after this last bombshell, after he’s been out all day and I’ve been worried sick about him. “What’s there to think about? A great benefits package is provided, I assure you.”

As he huskily murmurs this, a flirtatious note to each of his words, his hands run up my sides in a tickling, frisky manner. I squirm, of course, just as he predicted, and end up choking out a disbelieving laugh when he doesn’t relent, only pulls me closer until I end up on my back, Harry hovering over me with his usual cheeky smirk. The one I love to see. The one I have missed so, so much. It’s funny how with him in seconds I can go from being inches away from a breakdown to giggling and feeling a thousand times better. Even hopeful; optimistic for what the future might now hold. Harry didn’t achieve this by sweeping all my feelings and worries under the rug, either. We worked through them, looked at the situation I faced in a logical, smarter way.

Times like these are when I realize two things: exactly how much I love him, intensely and fully, and how much I really do appreciate every single little thing he does. How deep for him my feelings truly are. My heart swells again, warmth spreads from my chest and my hands feel like they’re tingling as I gaze up at him wonderingly, and I feel like I might just explode from feeling so powerfully.

“I love you,” I say suddenly, but so softly it’s hard to even hear myself. His eyes flit to my shy smile, and the playful heat in them softens. His dimples both pop he smiles so widely, breathtakingly.

“I love you too. Very, very much.”

For a long while we remain here, cuddled up in the warmth the sun overhead provides us, basking in the fresh summer air, and I have almost fallen asleep underneath him when he leans up from resting his head on the cushion, nose buried into the crook of my neck, with a sudden question. “Do you think that friend of yours could have had anything to do with it?”

“Who?” I ask, confused and a little groggy. These past few minutes must not have been as peaceful for him as they were for me—he has obviously spent it all thinking—something I am usually the culprit of doing.

His tongue slowly runs across his bottom lip, unmistakable anger flashing in his gaze before he composes himself some. “Alex.”

“Oh.” I know exactly what he means by ‘it’, by Alex being the one who caused it.

Me being dismissed. Feeling almost winded, a fleeting second is spent quickly unraveling Harry’s train of thought. And seeing the logic in it. If I could I would forget about Alex entirely. Ignore the fact that he was ever even a part of my life, by family obligation or no. He has continued to prove just as terrible of a friend to me as he was to my brother… by now he must have heard at least some of the news of my house, and he hasn’t even bothered to reply to my message.

Tellingly, I look away for just a bit in my hesitation to answer with the truth, and Harry notices. He sits up slowly, calmly, and I have no choice but to follow. “I—I don’t think so…”

My voice ends up dying, utterly unconvincing, which is enough of an answer for him. He sighs.

Details of the last times I saw Alex run through my mind, details which cause me to falter. Could Alex really have been so cruel after I refused to give anything to the likes of drug dealers… or perhaps after that day Louis showed up just as he was about to chew into me, the day Liam had to pull Harry away from coming in. Could he really have gone to his aunt after that and had me fired? I don’t want to believe it, but his behaviour lately has been so out of control that it is hard for me to shrug off the idea like I so want to. It seems all too plausible.

Harry must have been mulling this over ever since he asked if my manager gave me an explanation for being fired. He shakes his head, still calm but resolute. Unrelenting in this matter. That’s something else I’ve seen change in him a little; no longer does he allow me to keep important things from him. Now, he wants to know everything, and he pushes because he knows that beneath my hesitation, I want him to know too. “That isn’t the truth, Julia. You know it isn’t.”

I blow out a puffed breath and absentmindedly train my line of sight on his nearly half open shirt, the exposed tan skin and the top of his butterfly peeking out.

Even if I could evade his questioning for a while, I want this off my chest. I want to tell him, want him to know how much anguish and stress that Alex has caused me. Keeping it to myself for any longer would be wrong, and up until now, I didn’t even realize that this is something I should have told him, told him when we vowed to be nothing but honest with each other from that point forward.

Alex has always been so personally connected with me, to the infinite grief I harbour for Caleb. Because of that, because of how withdrawn and alone and scared I have always been, it didn’t even occur to me to tell Harry. I would only be giving him the details that hurt me so very much… but now he is asking, and I want to tell him.

“Last week…” I start and stall almost instantly, the words getting stuck halfway out of my mouth like they always do when I can hardly breathe, let alone speak about something that is so hard to even process silently. Soon I feel his large, warm hands caress my cheeks again, and when I look up there is a warm softness to his expression. A warmth that tells me it’s okay to be scared to talk of such things, still, and that he will wait for me to gather the right words. And he will listen, and he will try to understand even if he doesn’t. He won’t get angry—hopefully. I know he won’t be mad at me, but Alex, on the other hand… well, that is a totally different story.

“Take your time, baby. I just want to know.”

“Last week,” I force out again, and try hard to my any emotion from showing through. Right now all I want is for Harry to lean back down, encase me in his hold once more, and feel utterly safe. I don’t want to think about Alex, I don’t want to think about Caleb or his death. I don’t want to think about drugs and the people who pedal them. The people—the person in my life who still does them. “At work, he said some really weird things to me.”

Terrifying things, things that kept me up at night. But of course I choose to tell Harry in a slightly more delicate manner, so hopefully we both manage to keep our heads by the end of this. At once, though, I can feel him bristle, his physical reaction like a striking current of electricity as he tenses, eyes hardening, and the contoured muscles in his biceps all tighten in both outrage and restraint. And he doesn’t even know what Alex said yet. Oh, boy.

“Alex did?” He asks cuttingly, voice low.

I hesitate to provide the confirmation, but trust he can keep his cool considering I have broken far worse to him before. Like, just a few days ago. But those times, they all involved me. My heart. From firsthand experience I know exactly how negatively he feels about Alex. No, I really don’t know how intensely he might react.

“Yes. He told me…” It’s all I can get say, again. But this time it isn’t out of pure hesitation—it’s because tears well in my eyes and my throat thickens and constricts and it feels physically impossible to speak. This happens because I can’t stop thinking about Caleb, about money and gangs, and I feel absolutely defeated. Where should I even begin?

Overwhelmed, I look away with a shake of my head and reach to take hold of his hand. He is quicker, however, and engulfs mine in both his with a secure, comforting squeeze. It is so hard not to cry. The effort of maintaining my composure alone is exhausting. Harry waits, patient, though it is obvious he won’t let this go. He knows it’s bad, and that it will only hurt me if I continue to keep it to myself.

“Jules,” he encourages softly. “I’m not going to be mad. You can tell me. Anything.”

I know that, and that is what gives me the remaining courage to finally get out with it. “I haven’t heard from him in over a week. He’s been avoiding me ever since.”

“Since what?”

“Since Louis came into the bookstore on Monday.”

When he was fighting with Liam outside, but I opt not to mention that.

“But it was before that. At work a couple weeks ago he told me something about Caleb,” I let my lost brother’s name sink in for a moment—it strikes me how hard it still is to talk about him, especially when it’s something as horrid as this. Harry nods, chews his lip as his eyes soften with understanding. He knows know why I haven’t spoken of the encounter until now. “He told me that Caleb owed money to a dealer. Before he died.”

I am confused when he untangles one hand from mine and brings it up again, only to finally feel the moisture of a few involuntary tears that have slipped despite my best efforts. God, I’ve cried more today than I would have ever cared to. And all the reasons for my tears have a central theme: Alex. Only now do I see exactly how bad he is, how bad he was in my life.

Harry appears at odds with himself while he gently thumbs these tears away, too. “I don’t want you upset,” he murmurs comfortingly. “We don’t have to talk about this right now, if you really don’t want to.”

This brings me to a small, fighting smile. The kindness he manages to show me even when he is so obviously ready to burst with anger himself shows exactly how much he cares. “No, no. It’s okay. I kind of haven’t let myself think about—what he said. I would have told you sooner.”

Quietly and supportively, he nods again. “It’s alright. I understand.”

My resolve hardens and I become more determined to get this out once and for all so I don’t have to do what has become instinctive for me; bear it, this burden, alone.

“Alex said that the dealer wants him to pay Caleb’s debt. He was the only person to know my brother as well as he did, his only friend toward the end. He was the one who introduced him to the harder drugs in the first place.”

On this fact alone is where most of my dislike for Alex has always stemmed. Further than that too he has always just seemed a little off to me, and creepy. But being my brother’s only friend for a long, long time, I tolerated him as much as I could at the time. “I don’t think they knew about me either, though. The only reason he actually told me any of this was because I guess he wanted me to foot the bill. But I refused,” I hurry when Harry opens his mouth to speak, eyes ablaze. “I said no. I don’t have that kind of money, anyway. I left after he was being a total dick—he even suggested I asked Mom for the money.”

Harry can hardly contain his anger; it bursts through the careful seams tightly stitched to keep me from getting upset at his own reaction. He sits straighter, jaw clenched and green eyes dark even in the bright sunlight, and while his glare if focussed on me I know it is mean for someone else.

“D’you think,” he pauses, looks away and out over the terrace to the vastness of the city around us. Fists balled and lip taken harshly between his teeth, I can tell it is taking everything in him to control himself in front of me. “Do you think, after you refused, that he could have gotten you fired as payback?”

The way he words it—blunt, like it’s totally obvious, should cause me to flinch. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t because of the exact words that Mitchell used during our phone call. On Monday right before Louis showed up with an irate Harry and Liam in tow, Alex said something very similar. After I told him that my relationship with Harry was none of his concern, he said it would be if it affected my work performance.

Telling Harry it isn’t possible could be a lie—because in reality, it is likely.

More likely than not.

Unfaltering Harry stares at me steadily, gaze hard as he silently demands the truth. I quickly and nervously run my tongue across my bottom lip, wishing to do nothing more than to kiss him so he would stop abusing his own lip with frustrated teeth. Then I wonder if it really is a good idea to tell him, and just as his deep, rumbling voice growls out a quiet “tell me,” I crack.

“Maybe,” I squeak out. Now he explodes, pushes himself up from the sofa and stands broadly with his hands fisted at his sides still, huffing.

“I’ve let him go long enough,” he snaps, his movements jerky as he raises a hand to run through his hair, like his own body cannot control the fury building within him.

“But we don’t know for sure,” I say, desperate and on the verge of shouting. Despite him being so absolutely enraged, my voice echoes throughout the room louder than his. Other than the shake of his head, he ignores my attempted shoddy reasoning. At least for the moment.

“Julia, since we met you haven’t been able to tell be a single good thing about that boy. And that is not because you just don’t like him or you’re mean—because you are not. You are the opposite. You did the right thing in telling him to bugger off—he is just a terrible fucking person.”

This sudden outburst of the truth, of how Harry truly feels about Alex so frankly leaves me more than a little overwhelmed. “Harry…”

“He’s filth,” he spits, refusing to change his mind. I’m not even trying to sway him any way in particular. I know how sure he is of this, and I know he is right. “I know he has tried to take advantage of you. You just told me yourself. Because he saw you are a genuinely good person. You’re too good to have to put up with any of his shit. And I know he has been rough with you. He’s laid his hands on you, left marks on your skin.”

I swallow hard when comprehension overcomes me. Shortly after that night at The Castle when he found what were then faded bruises of Alex’s fingerprints on the inside of my arm, he really had paid Alex a visit. As I first suspected Harry was the one to give him that black eye.

For right now, he allows my silence, the silence that he has rendered. “But this… this is just fucking malicious, and I’m not putting up with it any longer.”

Oh, no. This isn’t good. He doesn’t need to be this angry over something—someone—in my life, when he already has so much on his plate.

“Harry, please,” I try anyway, all but begging while dread fills me at his utter conviction and rise to stand too. Unafraid, I approach his tense form. His arms are rock hard beneath my fingertips, and he doesn’t relax even slightly at the sight of my pleading, desperate eyes. “Look, you even suggested months ago that I quit and find a better job remember? This way I’ll probably never see him again—”

“If he’s dumb enough to come near you again, I will end him,” he interrupts, growling out the threatening sentence lowly.

“Please, Harry. What’s done is done.”

Past that, I wish, hope that I will never lay eyes on Alex again either. And I pray that Harry isn’t going to go off on his overprotective yet still appreciated rage, and make it worse. I can’t take that added conflict. Not on top off all that’s already happened. Not when Harry leaves for hours on end without much of an explanation or even a real promise that he will keep out of danger and I’m stuck, scared and alone in his apartment, about all the risks he might be taking for me. I can’t add to it more than I already have. As all of this runs through my mind, I become emotional all over again. My face heats and my hold on his still taut forearm tightens. My eyes gloss over, too, while I stare up at him imploringly, on the verge of falling apart.

Again.

Harry sees this—my rare, sudden display of total vulnerability, what is right now a just barely fended off breakdown, and he realizes that maybe in this particular moment such hostility and anger isn’t what is best for this situation. For me.

What I need right now is him close, perhaps cuddled into his side with his arm around me on the couch or maybe in his bed. He sees I need that, because I have just lost my job and it feels as though the last firm thread holding my life together has broken now, too, and it’s all gone to hell.

And he is the only good thing left. The only source of hope is that we will come out of this together. Happy—finally. Before me I watch the fury melt away, disappearing from the depths of his eyes and softening his features. He swallows the angered shout he was about to let loose, and without another word from me he takes me into his arms.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs after ducking to bury his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply as he nuzzles more into my hair. He wraps his arms around me in a tight, reassuring embrace, one that almost lifts me off the ground altogether. “I’m sorry. I got so angry. That doesn’t matter right now—it can wait.”

Relief fills me, but I wonder how long it will ‘wait’, and what he might plan to do, if it’s something I might not find out about until after the fact, like Alex with his black eye. If Harry would feel he really has to make it clear to Alex that he won’t put up with this any longer. I wonder as I cling to Harry, if I stood up for myself to Alex and if I wasn’t so spineless with him, maybe Harry wouldn’t feel such an intense need to protect me. Maybe he would feel more confident in my ability to protect myself. God, I wish I could. But when faced with the premise of acting anything less than civilised with Alex or anyone else for that matter, I melt. I liquefy, let others walk all over me. And Harry, once again, sees that, and refuses to let it continue.

“Just please,” I begin, muffled as I bury my head in his shoulder. “Let’s try to minimize any violence and drama from this point forward.”

I am being serious. This not only applies to the issues surrounding my poor choice in friends, but also to things in his life, things I haven’t been long aware of.

“I’ll try,” he bargains eventually, after a moment’s worth of obvious hesitation. “But if he ever comes near you again…”

When I feel the anger in him reignite, how his hold around me tightens, I am quick to try and smooth this over once and for all. “Alright, alright. I really don’t think we have to worry about that. Especially now.”

It hits me that I won’t be working at the bookstore any longer, the place I spent at least twenty hours a week in for four years. I grew so used to it and actually came to take comfort in it being one of the few constant things I could depend on in my life. Now that has been taken away, too, and it all leads to me clinging desperately onto the one thing I have left—Harry. It’s like now I realize how much he means to me, how very much I really do love him.

Likewise, I realize how fearful I am of losing him too.

With a soft exhale Harry calms again and marginally pulls away though only for a moment, to sit me on his lap on the back on the wicker loveseat. Just as I wanted, without having to tell him so.

“You don’t have to worry,” he tells me softly, pulls me down to rest comfortably against his chest, my legs resting on the cushion beside us. “Not about money of all things. This all looks like I am the one to blame, what with my… visit, to the store earlier in the week. I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry about that, for God’s sake.”

My hands absentmindedly run through the loose, soft curls of dark hair near his neck. I nod, too, and I really do feel better, but I would never even think of taking advantage of him in such a way. The last thing I want is for money to become such a huge part of our relationship. No, I won’t let it.

“It isn’t your fault, though.” I’m sure of at least that much. If Alex wanted me gone for any reason, it is because I refused to be used as a doormat for him any longer. That was the final nail in the proverbial coffin for our ‘friendship’. Not Harry. He is among the only good parts of my life, and I can’t allow him to think anything less of himself. He has helped me. Through so, so much. Made me see how much stronger of a person I could be, and that I have become. With his support.

When he makes to protest I interrupt with one simple, all-inclusive remark—one I find I can’t say enough.

“I love you.”

This stops him short just as I hoped, and I watch his small smile slowly form. Under the sunlight the light green of his eyes almost appears to shimmer. “I’m aware of what you’re doing, but I love you too. Very, very much.”

How often we say it is almost cheesy—okay, it’s totally cheesy. Utterly cheesy. But from having held back for so long, it’s impossible for either us of to keep quiet about our feelings for each other for even a minute. I laugh quietly, and it feels nice to relax a little. After today it’s safe I need it.

On a growing smile of my own I lean forward to lightly peck his lips with mine, flirtatious and quick before pulling away and giggling some more when he tries to deepen the innocent kiss even still, and end up pushing back from him farther. With my bottom lip taken between my teeth, I gaze at him playfully. He pouts but leans back against the chair once more, eyes meeting with mine. The flare of heat that resides in them tells me he isn’t finished. Not even quite.

“Do you know what tomorrow is?” He asks, as usual refusing to give anything away with his deep, monotone voice and impassive stare.

Recognition comes over me, but I furrow my eyebrows. “July Fourth.”

With all that has happened, I assumed that we wouldn’t be doing anything special for the long weekend. Not like we talked about. The most we’d do, perhaps, is come out here on the terrace to watch all the fireworks being set off throughout the city and over the lake together. Which would be enough for me, really. More than enough. As long as I get to spend it with him.

I am maybe a little too comfortable with staying in because of our particular circumstances, anyway. He watches my mouth form those few softly spoken words, and he progressively inches closer, using one hand braced on the edge of the chair’s bare wicker to steady himself. “I’ve got a little something planned for tomorrow night. For us.”

Surprised, I teeter back even farther just as he is about to capture my mouth with his again, finally, until I am all but falling off his lap entirely. He huffs in playful annoyance.

“Really?”

“Really,” is all he says before his hands loop around my waist and he surges forward to kiss me deeply—or that’s what he wants, at least. I lay a hand on his shoulder to stop him at the last moment, ever curious.

“What are we doing?”

“My friend,” he groans impatiently, lowering his head to press his intended kiss to my neck instead. I end up shivering against him, clinging onto his bicep to hopefully keep balance and prevent myself from toppling onto the ground. It’s an odd position we’re in, with the both of us leaned so far backward that we might as well just lay on the floor. But Harry, being strong enough for the both of us, supports our weight easily. “He has lakefront property up north. I figure it would be nice for us to spend a day or two there.”

His smile widens when my eyes light up, uninhibited in my excitement. “That—that sounds awesome.”

“It will be,” he grins toothily, making a half-hearted attempt to be seductive, but his goofy expression somewhat contradicts his intended affect. “It’s up in Lake Bluff. Very nice. Private.”

There’s something missing here, like maybe he isn’t telling me everything, that he might have omitted a key detail. I blink dumbly but my mind is working a mile a minute. When I refocus, I send him a mock frustrated glare. “What else?”

Harry huffs out a laugh, a disbelieving one, and with his own strength he leans us both backward on the chair to rest comfortably, me sitting straight on his lap again. “I didn’t want to tell you yet, not ‘til you saw the place. It’s kind of—he’s got it up for sale.”

“Why would you want me to see it before you told me?” I ask, the gears not quite turning as much as I would like for them to. What am I missing here?

Amused and willing to entertain my less than intelligent, innocent questioning, his smile intensifies, eyes twinkling. “I was thinking of maybe purchasing it.”

I swallow. A house? He is sat here, casual and nonchalant, telling me about how he is just thinking about buying an entire house? A house sat right on top of Lake Michigan? And he wants my opinion on it?

“What?”

“It’s really nice,” he assures me. “A little far away from the city, but that’s what I like about it. If I did decide to take it, I was hoping maybe we could use it mostly during the summer.”

We.

It’s obvious that I play an apparently large part in making this decision, and it dawns on me why. Harry is thinking of our future together, of us living together, and it sends a shock through me. Admittedly these past few days have been nothing short of wonderful, all this time spent here with him when he was home. It certainly feels so much safer than living by myself out in the suburbs, miles and miles away from any of my friends even. From Harry. And now he is talking about buying a house for us to share? There’s just one small problem, which is actually somewhat huge, but I choose not to bring it about yet. Not when none of this is even being said aloud.

“What—what about this apartment?” I ask despite the fact that he has made it very clear, but a slight panic consumes me at the thought of him being not only across the city from me, but more than an hour away on top of that. “Are you going to sell it?”

“No, no,” he calmly reassures me, knowing it isn’t just my attachment to this place that has me worried. “I only want it to be a place for us to get away. Just you and me. Nothing is changing.”

“Okay.” The relief I feel is clear, and I quickly warm up to the idea. A little. The notion of having multiple houses is a little foreign and strange to me, but probably normal to Harry. Very normal. I seem to be so involved in his deciding to even want a new home, even if just a summer retreat, that I feel as though I should contribute to buying it, too. And right now that would be absolutely possible, and will be for quite some time. But again—Harry is talking about buying this house himself, and I don’t want to push that envelope at all right this second.

Nothing is changing. Nothing for the worse, at least.

“So is that a yes?” Harry hedges quietly, anticipant.

How on earth he could think I would say no absolutely eludes me. Spending July 4th weekend with him on the lake… just us… sounds nothing short of amazing. A dream come true compared to the last few weeks we have endured. We need this.

It worries me more why he thinks I might reject the idea.

“Of course,” I say instantly, but end up faltering at a new thought—one I’m not so keen to share.

“What is it?” He coaxes. Quiet, patient. As always.

Still I hesitate. This will ruin the moment, I just know it. Keeping it to myself is something that I don’t want to do, though. Not now, not after how far we’ve come, not after we promised each other we wouldn’t. And since I don’t quite know how he will react to what I now have to ask since he has clearly noticed and won’t let it go, I bite my lip once more and force it out. “Is… is it safe?”

His eyebrows furrow, he sits up straighter, and levels me with a calm though careful look. “Julia,” he starts slowly, disbelieving yet again but not in way either of us find humour in. “You must be crazy to think I would take you anywhere that wasn’t one hundred percent safe.”

The ferocity in both his eyes and voice surprise me some, but I understand. And I don’t have a moment to respond and say as much before he continues, believing I could still somehow have lingering doubts.

“I will never, ever put you in danger, Jules. Ever.”

“Okay,” I murmur, and reach to hold his hand. I can’t stand to see him appear desperate for me to understand something I already do. With a firm nod and my lips taken between my teeth, I nod before somehow managing to verbalize how I feel. “Alright. It’s just, after Tuesday…” my voice dies, ultimately unable to articulate my fears… a large part of me doesn’t want Harry to know how much this has all scared me, although clearly he has some idea. Especially after just now.

But I want to be strong, or at least attempt to appear as such. Whatever’s on my mind pales in comparison to what Harry is facing. The last thing I set out to do is add to his already sky-high worries. I don’t want him to fear for me, I want him to focus on himself, on keeping himself safe.

“I know baby, I know,” he says after a moment, his jaw having ticked once out of agitation. Agitation for our situation, and how this has affected me.

“I’m worried about you,” I say in an effort to deflect attention away from myself, but it is also the truth. I am so, so scared for him, and I am unable to hide this fact any longer.

It backfires on me horribly, though. A new fire erupts within his gaze, and his free hand clasps firmly over mine. “Do not worry about me. I already told you—I’ll be fine, and this will all be over soon enough. I promise you.”

Trapped in the heat of his passionate eyes, I nod again, but only slightly, only enough to tell him I understand. In theory. It’s obviously going to be totally impossible to do as he says; it would be nothing short of selfish and mean to not worry about him. But for the moment I agree, I agree because I love him, and I know he needs to hear this from me. Still, he knows it just as well as I do, and tugs me closer, tighter until our hips brush through my straddling him, until I have to steady one hand on his chest to keep from falling straight into him.

“Promise me you won’t worry. At least during this weekend,” he adds when I begin to protest, although without much heat because his mouth is so close to mine, and even though he is talking he keeps glancing down to my own, and I can feel the air between us begin to electrify. “For this weekend, promise me. It will be just the two of us, with absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“Just us?” I ask, almost mesmerised. Physically it’s clear we will be alone, but I’m asking more than that. I’m asking if for these couple of days we can leave everything else behind us—the break-in, the club, Alex, and all the fear that goes along with it. Desperately and more than anything, I want it to be just us, without any added pressure. I want to enjoy Harry, to love him more this weekend than I have ever before gotten the chance to, and to make up for so much lost time. Suddenly, I want to agree with him. So badly.

“Just us,” he confirms, barely above a whisper. He’d been slowly inching toward me, eyes growing hooded, and I can hardly stand the anticipation, can hardly hold back from my reply.

“I promise.”

Then he kisses me. With passion, with intention, and with promise. Only for a moment, however, before he withdraws. “And I promise you, this really will all be over soon.”

He is talking about The Rogues, without having to say their name aloud, without bringing such stress into the moment. This way, he is leaving them exactly where he wants them to be: in the past. And out of our relationship, or as much as they can be for the moment. He rests his forehead against mine gently, breathing deep and soft, and I become emotional.

“I can’t lose you.” My statement is wavered, more of a desperate question than fact. This moment is a dangerous mingling of fear and passion, and it amplifies our need for each other even more. “I hate—I hate that you’re putting yourself at risk.”

For me. Something tells me that if I weren’t involved, things wouldn’t be half as complicated. But I am involved, and there’s no getting out of it now. There’s no running away from this, as if I would ever even consider it anyway. Still I can’t help but to feel guilty and fearful and wish that things could be different.

“Please,” I hurry to continue, aware of how much he hates when I worry about him. “Please, just… after this, be done with it.”

Because I can’t handle the possibility of this recurring, of it coming back, the dangers of the club following Harry even after our current trouble is resolved. No—I wouldn’t let him endanger himself then. Not for me, not for hell or high water. “I love you.”

The last sentence comes out breathy, desperate, and with a wish that I could say something more. Something that would fix all of this, something that could make this weekend respite be permanent instead of having all our worries piled on top of us once again as soon as we get back. One of my hands grips tight to his chest, while the other has looped around his neck in our effort to decrease the amount of distance between us as much as we possibly can.

“I love you too.” His reply is instant, instinctual, as though absolutely no thought had to be put into the statement before it was uttered, and it makes my chest flutter and my hold tightens, lungs losing the last of anticipant breath they held. “You are my everything, and I won’t do anything to risk your safety or your happiness. The club is in the past, I promise, and you will not lose me. I promise you.”

Finally, I can no longer handle even this miniscule distance, and I lean forward to brush my lips against his. With concealed need, but it is met with an erupted passion between us that actually shocks me. Harry presses me closer, palm at the small of my back and the other on my waist under my tank top and his mouth working hard against mine, hot and ardent.

We both know we are going to keep each other’s word. We know where this is going, too.

Only a few seconds pass in this heated lock before Harry is sweeping me up in his arms, striding easily from outside and through the house, into his bedroom, and it seems like only a split second passes and then I’m resting with my back against the sheets of his bed, his mouth now attached to the base of my throat, and a long shiver runs through me. I want this, however far he is willing to go—I am ready.

“Fuck,” he swears quietly, rearing back some to lock his gaze with mine. I can almost see the resistance in his eyes, the control, and I know this is different. “You are so beautiful, Julia. I will take care of you.”

He speaks with fever, passion, and kisses me again. His touch is different this time—it has purpose, intention, no longer as careful and measured as he has been for so long. Missing is the caution he has exercised, especially over these past several days, since that night before, during, and after our bath… when it was clear that we wouldn’t go any farther than this right now.

“I want to try something more, today, but only if you want. Only if you’re sure.” As he says this, he plants gentle, non-pressuring and open mouthed kisses along my jaw, breathing even but shallow. For a moment I have to simply lay there and blink dumbly, to realize the full extent of his words, and exactly what they mean. Today, Harry wants to take a step farther. No more teasing, no more limits, no more boundaries.

“I’m sure.” In such a moment where my nervous thoughts get the better of me, the insure part of me, it’s hard to sound confident. But I nod, refusing to look away from him, and only grow surer. “I’m positive.”

With a soft exhale, he nods too. In a controlled manner, but not one that tells me he doubts my sincerity, or that he’s changed his mind.

“Come here,” he murmurs smoothly, a soft and reassuring note to his tone, and his hand comes around my waist to rest under my back, silently instructing me to lean up. I do, and slowly my shirt is eased over my head and his dextrous fingers are making quick work of my bra’s clasp. Throughout all of this, however, he continually ensures I am okay with his actions, his eyes never leaving mine. His stare is heady, scorching, and very nearly overwhelming. Especially when he holds it even as his palm traces the curve of my breast, his other arm still looped under and around my waist, and I think I might combust totally when his sure touch brushes over the bud, causing it to draw tight.

Instead I inhale sharply, finally allowing myself to give into all the pleasure he seeks to give me, and I can’t help but to arch into him.

With one lick of his lips, Harry holds my gaze for a moment longer before his head dips and I feel his breath, hot, fan over my breast before his mouth envelops the hardened bud. My eyes are squeezed shut as I gasp again, breathing out a soft, pleading “Harry,” while his shirt is clenched between my fingers even though I wish it was off of him altogether. Bolts of pleasure rattle me, shoot straight to my core.

He hums in return and gently applies pressure, his teeth gingerly sweeping over the sensitive flesh.

“You are so, so beautiful,” he says in a pant after several torturous moments, mouth only abandoning its task when I am whining softly and gently pulling at his hair. “So beautiful.”

His hips rut into mine, and the friction found past our clothing leaves us both on edge and wanting for more, to test our limits farther than we ever have before—and it leaves us ready to finally take that step. Skillfully, he unbuttons his own shirt in record time and roughly shrugs it off before carelessly tossing it to the floor, his attention never leaving me. Being shirtless underneath him doesn’t bother me; insecure thoughts don’t even have the opportunity to cross my mind.

Slight nervousness flutters through me at the feeling of our bare torsos pressed close together, skin against skin, coupled with his enchanting, melodic words that come very close to putting me utterly under his spell. He only smiles softly, catches my flittering gaze as I take in the bare expanse of his chest, all while aching for more of his touch.

“This isn’t about me today,” he tells me firm and low, his gaze heavy with nearly unhinged desire as his touch slowly drifts lower toward the waistband of my shorts. My breath catches. “This is about you. I’ll take care of you.”

I exhale, slightly shaky, unbelieving of this entire situation, of how absolutely selfless Harry is, and ultimately nod. In understanding and permission.

He wastes no time in bringing his mouth to mine, and he kisses me slowly and lastingly. “You tell me if it becomes too much. If you want to stop.”

All I can focus on is his hand, stalled at the same place as it always has, the farthest it has ever ventured, and it hits me that today will be different. Today there are no more boundaries, and that is totally exhilarating. Today, Harry is taking care of me.

My eyes almost close entirely once again out of pure anticipation, and I can hardly believe this is actually happening.

“Jules,” he calls, hints of restrained, lust-filled impatience seeping through. My eyes snap open to meet his. “Answer me—please. I need to know that you can tell me how you feel.”

He doesn’t want me silent in this; he doesn’t want me to be scared or feel pressured. He wants me fully aware of what is happening, and that, really, I am in control here. At the sound of his hushed command, I quickly try to focus my clouded vision and really see him. I catch the most intense passion I have ever witnessed laid in his eyes, and careful restraint. He clearly is exercising all the control he can muster, over his own desire, and he means exactly what he said. This is about me. My pleasure is all that he’s concerned with today. A sense of security and safety encompasses me at this, and I nod. I am ready. Finally; after so long spent hiding myself, shutting out others, and refusing to let anyone close to me for years, for nearly my entire existence.

“Alright, okay. I’ll—I’ll keep you informed.”

A throaty chuckle is produced at my jumbled words, and his smirk is both sexy and frustrating. “Oh, I’ll make sure that you do.”

Such a remark almost certainly has my face reddening, but despite this small show of cheekiness, Harry remains quiet, watching, deciding. It’s only after he sees the change in me, the decrease in my nerves and the shaking of my hands after I realize that we really are ready, that he leans down to kiss me deeply. His tongue slips into my mouth and softly caresses my own. This is done in an obvious means of distracting me, calm me as he hooks his thumb into the edge of my shorts and pulls them down, smiling into the kiss when he lifts my lower torso off the bed with his free hand, tips of his fingers brushing the lace of my underwear that covers my backside. Soon the shorts are off and I lay underneath him, very nearly naked, and not feeling all that bad about it. The gentle skimming of his fingertips down the side of my back against my naked skin causes several shivers to run through me, which he notices—and continues, just to prolong the effect.

Finally I can’t hold it in any longer and I pull back to release a breathy giggle at the tickling sensation, but then he gives the cheek of my ass a firm squeeze with the hand that remained there, thumbing the delicate edges of my panties. And it totally silences me, has me surging forward in search of his mouth with my own. I become lost in his touch.

Against mine, his mouth never pauses as he slowly lowers me back down, fingertips migrating to dance across my hip, teasingly, before finally taking down my underwear. Swiftly, with less patience than he has exercised but the same amount of control. He pulls the fabric down my hips and past my thighs, breaking our embrace only long enough to toss garment off to the side, where his shirt and my shorts probably are too.

For just a transient moment we both pause, mouths still connected, and I lose my breath completely at his first smoldering trace, his first delicate caress of my folds.

“Harry,” I gasp, his name the only word I am capable of uttering, and I clutch onto his arm. Underneath my grasp his bicep flexes, the muscle tight and firm under the strength he exudes, the level of strength he maintains to take this so slow.

“Breathe, Jules,” he coaxes, though it comes out thick and husky. And I do—I try to even out each inhale and exhale that is shakily taken, my eyes still closed. But then his thumb grazes against the bud of nerve endings that sends a shocking rush of pleasure coursing throughout my system, and I cling to him with a soft whimper, a moan helplessly falling from my mouth past that. His own moves to kiss along my jaw, thumb starting a slow and torturous pattern along my clit as he slowly increases the pressure, which only causes me to arch into him even father, my torso lifting off the bed.

With a pant his free hand holds firm to my hip to keep me in place, but the task is quickly abandoned in a heady search upward, my nipple being rolled between his index finger and thumb. It’s now that I feel his clothed hardness against my bare thigh, his jeans coarse as his hips are pressed firmly into me in search of some amount of release. My own hips buck at such intense pleasure, and his head falls into the crook of my neck where he delivers hard, sucking kisses that will surely leave marks after muttering a low “fuck, Julia.”

This is so much more than I ever thought it would be—so much more intense, infinitely more intimate, raw, and I am at my most exposed. There’s no possible way I could hide myself, my emotions, how I feel right now. I am lost in Harry, in his touch, in his bare chest heaving against mine and the touch that makes me shiver from head to toe.

He continues his onslaught, relentless and unyielding to my quivered and quiet whimpering pleads for more, all I can focus on is the mounting pleasure, low in my hips, my pleads becoming slightly louder when he increases the speed, his thumb circling my clit faster, harder, until I feel as though I am on the verge of exploding. A jolt of pleasure rocks me when he tweaks my nipple once more, and I feel on the verge of hurtling off the most intense ledge I have ever stood on in my life. But as soon as a soft, desperate moan of his name slips past my lips, Harry slows his movement until it’s nothing more than a slow, agonizing pace, and my thighs clench, my hips move to meet his touch in an obvious attempt to tell him I want more, that I need more.

He delivers—except he slips his index finger lower, teases my entrance, and leans up to capture my mouth in a heated passionate lock. My breath is taken totally when he slowly thrusts into my heat, and momentarily my pleasure is dulled at the slightly tight and uncomfortable feeling, but then he picks up his ministrations, thumb flicking against my clit at a much faster, fervent pace, and he’s swearing under his breath. Our parted mouths brush against each other, mine desperately murmuring his name, him panting and cursing.

Patiently, he sinks his finger deeper, sighs when he feels me tense around him. “Fuck, baby. You are really tight.”

Feeling myself on the verge of overheating, I can hardly string together any semblance of a coherent reply. Past the uncomfortable initial twinges I focus on the building pleasure, of the calloused pad of his thumb circling, slowing until I’ve withered to the point where I’m tempted to beg only to speed up suddenly and totally throwing me, increasing the pleasure.

“I—I’m okay,” I breathe, because I know he needs the reassurance just as much as I do. My restless heart increases its beat, but not once do I worry. “Please, Harry.”

He swears again and covers my mouth with his after murmuring that I can let go, all while slowly withdrawing and thrusting his finger once more. I have since grown used to this new feeling, and I whimper unintelligibly when he curls his finger, touches a place in me that sets my entire body absolutely ablaze. It’s with this, and with his permission, coaxing to release the last of my inhibitions, that I come utterly undone beneath him. My fingers are tangled in his hair at the nape of his neck, my forehead brought against his with my eyes tightly shut while I say his name once more, loudly this time, and my legs clench around him as my climax comes to a high. Limbs shaking, held onto him for dear life, I spend an indeterminate amount trembling, eyes closed, mouth parted, nose brushing against the side of his.

When I come back to present somewhat, I hazily glimpse the heated passion in his eyes, but he softens considerably when he sees how spent I am, vulnerable, and he leans to gently draw my mouth back to his.


“You are absolutely the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
I release a shaky sigh, still reeling, and force my trembling fingers to release his hair, but quickly return to stroke it as I peck his lips lightly, several times, still trying to get a hold of myself.

“Holy crap,” he laughs throatily at the genuine shock in my voice. “That… that was…”

I can’t even find the words. I can’t describe what he just made me feel, what we just felt together, and he quietly hushes me when my voice dies with the rest of my words lost.

“I know. It’s overwhelming, baby,” he assures me quietly, hands withdrawn now and one curled back around my waist, and he leans back down until his chest comes against my own and he lays several soft kisses to the side of my neck. “Now all I want is for you to relax, rest.”

My thigh, a few moments later, brushes against his crotch when I attempt to calm my spasming legs. But it also brushes against the hardness still clear through his jeans, and his sharp intake of breath is unmistakable. It jolts me to awareness, realizing how he has been left with such a situation in his pants after he pleasured me.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says upon feeling that I’ve tensed with guilt over doing this to him, of him giving everything and taking nothing in return. “I’ll take care of it later.”

“Are you sure?” I ask quietly, unsure, still feeling terrible.

After nuzzling farther into my neck and releasing an easy sigh, he nods, and I relax some. “Yes, darling,” he ends up finishing sweetly. “There’s lots of time for all of that yet.”

We stay like this. For a long time, Harry simply holds me tight in his unhurried embrace, and allows me to fully come to terms with all that has just unfolded, all that he made me feel, and eventually we both end up drifting in and out of sleep throughout the day in each other’s arms. It’s the most peaceful day we have spent together in a long, long time, and I come to a decision later that evening, as I think of the weekend ahead of us and how fully we are going to utilise our downtime. Everything that has unfolded today; the stress, the reassurance, the planning, the good and the bad… we needed it. It all happened for a reason. One which was not immediately clear when things went from bad to worse, but a reason all the same.

After all, here I am, as close to happy as I’m going to get in spite of everything, and I wouldn’t change a single thing.

Because of Harry, because of us, I am a firm believer in fate.

Notes

Okay, I'm sorry it took more time than I anticipated for this chapter. It was just so difficult for me to write and also it's so long, too, and I overthought basically every tiny part of every scene, and I apologize! Please do tell me what you thought of this chapter, I've never written anything quite like it and am pretty much in desperate need of feedback!