In My Arms

He walked out of the hotel in silence and straight to his car. He tried her phone five or six more times—it always went to voicemail. This was happening. It was real. She wasn’t going to win that Oscar or suddenly forgive him, walking back into his life like she used to walk into his flat with her gorgeous smile and her adorable Hazza.

The phone rang in his hand, it was Gemma. He reluctantly lifted the phone to his ear. “Gem, I can’t talk right now.”

“Mum is beside herself. Have you heard for sure? Is it a mistake; it could be a mistake.”

“I have no idea. I just talked to Anna and Tom and the last they saw her, she was leaving the party with that Jameson bastard. Her cell is going to voicemail.”

“Harry, you can’t blame yourself.” Gemma could always read him like a book, even when they were an ocean apart.

“Gem, I have to go.”

“Harry—“

“I’ll call you later.” He hung up the phone and turned the ignition over in the car, pulling out onto the street. He had no idea where he was going. He had no actual idea what to do; he and Elizabeth had been apart for over a month. Did he have any business finding where Anna and Tom were waiting and going to wait for confirmation with them? Did he have business calling Keith or saying anything to her mom? What did he do? They weren’t together anymore. She didn’t love him.

He choked back tears. She didn’t love him. And now, there was no chance to ever fix that; to apologize to her and at least try to stay her friend. The last words they’d ever said to each other were in anger. He could never, ever change that.

He found himself driving to her house, following the winding, familiar streets through elite Los Angeles; past modern mansions and Classic Hollywood estates. He punched her security code into both the gate and into the pad by the door—she hadn’t changed it—and unlocked the front door with his key.

He stepped inside.

The house was silent; he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. He walked up to the bedroom, with tears streaming down his face. She’d left in a hurry: her jewelry box was still open, three pairs of shoes were discarded on the floor, and a perfume bottle was tossed on the bed. He picked up the bottle and held it under his nose. It was her; it was life. That smell, sweet like warm vanilla; how many times had he held her from behind and inhaled that smell?

Sinking down onto his knees, he cried. He wept over his mistakes, for losing her when he should have been holding her, protecting her—it might not directly have been his fault, but he was never going to forgive himself for what he’d said. What he didn’t say. If only he could go back to that night and, instead of getting argumentative, had listened to what she’d said. Kissed away her tears and held her in his arms while she fell asleep…he was never going to get that chance again.

He struggled to his feet and sank down on the bed, pressing her pillow to his face to suppress his sobs. The smell of her hair made him cry harder. How was he going to go on? How was he going to get up on stage and sing songs like Night Changes? It will never change me and you.

He opened his eyes for a moment, his gaze settling on her bedside table. His eyes filled with fresh tears. Their pictures were still on her nightstand. She hadn’t taken them down; pictures of her in his arms, one of them laughing and making faces at each other, and the one he knew was her favorite: a selfie she’d taken of them in bed, her glossy hair around her like an aura. The sheets were pulled up over her breasts but he was bare chested. They were both supposed to be looking up at the camera—he was making his typical, innocent “boyband” face—but she was looking at him and smiling. God, he loved her smile.

Once he’d calmed down enough, he walked downstairs and sat on the couch, pulling out his cell phone. There were three texts on the screen of the phone: Liam, Niall, and Gemma. They all were worried about him. He’d answer them later. For now, he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts and his memories.

He tried her cell again. Still straight to voicemail.

He wondered if it would be okay to spend the night at the house, to sleep in her bed for a final time. They weren’t together anymore, but he still had the apartment in New York. How was he going to go back there? It was hard enough being there, knowing that their relationship was over, but now…with the accident…

…A sound at the door roused him from sleep. He struggled into an upright position, unsure of how long he’d dozed; it was still dark outside, so it couldn’t have been too long. After a moment, the door swung open.

Elizabeth.

His jaw dropped slightly and he stared at her. She was as beautiful as she looked on television, with her turquoise gown and the Golden Globe clutched in her hand. It had to be a dream; he had to be hallucinating. She was his angel.

She closed the door behind her. “What are you doing here? I saw your car in the driveway and…look, I realize that sounded incredibly rude. I just didn’t expect to see you…ah…here. Now.”

His heart was pounding in his chest, fresh tears spilling over his cheeks. “Lizzie…Jesus, you’re okay?”

She stared at him as she leaned over to unbuckle her high heels. “My feet hurt, but I’m fine. Are you crying? Shit, are you okay? Did something happen?”

He was so overwhelmed that he couldn’t respond to her. Covering his face with his hands, he prayed it wasn’t a dream, that when he opened his eyes she’d still be standing there looking at him, like a goddess in her couture gown. And, if it was a dream, he hoped that he’d never wake up.

“Harry?” He felt her fingertips on his arm; felt her sink down on the couch beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“There was an accident. A car accident with that Jameson bloke, the car spun out of control and caught on fire when it hit a tree.” He looked up at her and, without thinking, grabbed her hand and pressed it to his cheek. “The media is reporting that you were in the car with him. I thought I’d lost you.”

Her mouth fell open and she stared at him. “No…no, I was going to go with him but I didn’t feel good. I asked Chris to take me home, but we ended up going out and getting pitas and coffee. We sat and talked awhile. I didn’t realize…oh, Jesus Christ.”

“Your phone was off. I tried calling you, everyone’s been calling you. It goes straight to your voicemail.” His arms ached to hold her, to pull her to him and never let her ago. He could feel his jaw tremble with each word. “I was so scared you were in that car.”

“I never turned it back on after the ceremony.” She slid her hand to his jawline, forcing him to look up at her. “Harry, I’m okay. I’m right here.”

He cupped her hand in his and squeezed it. It was smooth and warm; this wasn’t a dream, she was okay. She was alive. “Lizzie, I was afraid I’d lost you. I didn’t know what I was goin’ to do without you in my life—I don’t want to spend another second away from you. I’m sorry, baby, please forgive me. I’m so, so sorry.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks. “It’s my fault, Harry, I should have trusted you. I knew better and I shouldn’t have said—“

“Forget what we said. You are my everything.” He swallowed hard and lifted his hands to her cheeks, cradling her face. “Do you think you can love me again?”

“Hazza,”she flashed her beautiful smile at him, “I never stopped loving you.”

He pulled her to him and crushed his lips against hers. Sliding his hands down her shoulders and arms, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. Her mouth tasted like coffee and sweet vanilla cream; he caressed her tongue with his, reacquainting himself with how she felt. The feeling of her hands in his hair, tugging at his curls was rapidly driving him mad. Her lips, her body against his…each time she moved against him, he got more turned on. “Baby…I’m so hard for you.”

“I want you, Hazza.” She mumbled against his lips, crawling up onto his lap. “Let me make the last month up to you.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “You know I’m goin’ to let you—and I’m gonna make you scream my name—but first things first. You need to call your mum.”

She pouted. “Hazza.”

“Don’t make me spank you, naughty girl.” He touched his forehead to hers. “They need to know you’re alright.”

“Point taken.” She slid off his lap, running her hands down his abdomen and across the bulge in his pants. He exhaled deeply, biting his lower lip. She knew what turned him on…

He watched her retrieve her phone from her purse and switch it on, his eyes running up and down her body. “It’s been a month since I last had you, baby girl, it’s goin’ to last all of five minutes.”

“Then you can use your mouth on me.” She abruptly stopped talking. The person on the other end of the phone evidently had picked up. “Hi Momma, it’s me. I’m fine. I Know, I know. But I’m fine.”

Harry pulled out his own cell phone and dialed Liam. He answered quickly which, being Liam, was not all that surprising. “Did you hear something, mate?”

“She’s fine, Li,” He smiled broadly at Elizabeth, her responding smile sending waves of heat through his body. “She wasn’t in the car.”

“Jesus, thank God.” Liam exhaled loudly, his breath sharp in the phone. “Where are you now?”

“With her. At her place.”

“Oh. Oh! Well, that’s a good thing, eh? Gonna make up to her?”

“I plan on it.” He glanced at her. She was dialing her phone again, rolling her eyes dramatically as someone picked up. From the squawking he could hear, he was willing to bet it was Anna. “I gotta go, mate. If you don’t hear from me until tomorrow…well, you’ll know why.”

“Cheers to that.”

Harry hung up the phone and then dialed his sister. “Gem? She’s fine. We’re good.”

“We’re good? What’s that supposed to mean?

“It means that she wasn’t in the car with that guy and I’m at her place. With her. And we’re good.”

“You’re back together?”

“I’m working on that.” He caught Elizabeth’s eye and suggestively ran his hand down the front of his pants. “So, I have to go and do her. I mean, do that. Work on that. Doing that.”

Gemma giggled. “I’ll let Mum know. That’s she’s fine, I mean, and that you two are working things out. I’m sure she’ll figure the rest out on her own.”

“Goodbye Gemma.” He hung up the phone and set it on the coffee table, then looked up at Elizabeth.

She was still on the phone, “Brent. Brent, calm the fuck down. Issue a statement, I don’t know. I’m fine. I wasn’t with that guy, I was with Chris and we went out for food because I’m a pig and dinner wasn’t enough. No. No, I’m with Harry. My Harry. Yes. Well, seeing as how you never made a statement that we weren’t together, there doesn’t seem to be any point to issuing a statement that we’re back together. Well, do what you want. Okay, thanks, I gotta go. Bye.”

Harry crooked his finger, beckoning her to him. “All good?”

“I called my mom, Keith, Anna, and Brent.” She sank down on his lap and adjusted her gown so she could straddle him. “Everyone else can read it on TMZ.”

Harry tilted her chin down and kissed her softly. “So, about us.” “What about us?” He slid his hands underneath her dress, trailing his hands up her legs. Her skin was like silk underneath his fingertips; he mentally knew every inch of her body, where her rose tattoo started on her thigh and where it ended by her knee. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.” She looked into his eyes and wetted her lips. “I want you to stay.”

He kissed her full, pouty lips and pushed her skirt up so he could see her legs. “Well, that means I stay forever.”

“Darn.” She smiled at him and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, nibbling on the pouty flesh. Trailing her fingers down his chest, she stared into his eyes. “Fuck me, Hazza.”

He guided her lips to his and kissed her. It deepened instantly; he slid his hands to her panties and maneuvered his index finger between the elastic and her skin. Slowly, he pushed his finger inside her. He gave her a second and then dipped his middle finger in as well.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Harry…I don’t want your fingers, I want you.”

“You can have me.” He pressed his lips to her throat, trailing his kisses down to her collarbone. “Once you cum for me.”

She pulled his face back to hers and kissed him. Dropping her hands to his pants, she fumbled with his belt and unfastened the button and zipper; sliding her hands past his jeans and briefs. Her fingertips brushed against him.

“That’s not playing fair.” He tried to keep his fingers in a constant rhythm, but her hands in his pants made it hard to think. Shifting his arm, he rubbed his thumb against her clit.

She squirmed against him, frantically pressing her lips to his. After a moment, she yanked on his pants and tugged them lower down his hips. She slid her hand into his boxer briefs and touched him, running her hand down his length. He was already hard, but her hands touching him was hot; it drove him mad. He desperately wanted to rock his hips in time to her touch. Sliding his fingers out of her, he groped around the back of her dress and trailed his lips down to the hollow of her throat. “You win, baby girl, how do you get this dress off?”

She started to laugh and lifted up her arm, unzipping the hidden fastener at the side of the dress. Harry unhooked the hook and eye around the halter neckline and then raised up on his heels, tugging his shirt over his head. He shimmied out of his jeans and briefs and tossed them to the floor; she was still gathering tulle and gauzy fabric over her head. “Okay, Hazza, help me. This dress has a life of its own.”

He laughed, kissing his way up her body and helping her maneuver out from the yards of fabric. Once her arms were free, he lowered himself on top of her and entered her with one easy thrust of his hips. It took his breath away; his eyes fluttered closed. “Oh…baby…”

She reached up and pulled his head to her, tangling her fingers in his hair. “I love you, Harry. I never want to be away from you again.”

He braced his feet against the arm of the couch and nudged her knee upwards, pinning it between his elbow and his body. She felt amazing; with each thrust, he teetered closer to the edge. “You won’t. You’re mine, baby girl, and one stupid fight isn’t going to change that.”

“It was a pretty big fight.”

He stared into her eyes, caressing her breasts with one hand. “I fucking love makeup sex.”

“Then fuck me harder.” She ran her fingernails down his back; he sucked in a breath, biting his lip to hold back a loud moan. Elizabeth arched her back in time with his movement, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. He was so close—and they’d barely just started.

Her dress slid off the back of the couch and over them. Elizabeth started laughing, again pulling his face to hers. “Hazza, fuck me harder.”

“I can’t.” He kissed her, nibbling on her bottom lip. “I’m about to break our record for fastest fuck.”

“Want to fight again so we can make up again?”

He laughed and buried his face against her neck, trailing his mouth down her shoulder and biting her collarbone. She gasped and then pulled her other leg up, hooking it around his waist. The dress fabric was everywhere, settling over them like a gauzy, billowy blanket as he made love to her, moving his mouth down to her breasts.

“Hazza,” she grabbed onto this shoulders, “I’m so close.”

He moved back up to her lips and kissed her, keeping his face close to hers as he spoke. “Cum for me, Lizzie baby.”

He’d barely gotten the words out of his mouth when the feeling of her release pushed him over the edge. He dropped his face her shoulder, pressing lips to her neck as he came; biting his lip as the feelings of passion, release, ecstasy, and absolute mind-numbing love for her washed over him. He laid still for a moment, breath rapid, and kissed her shoulder. “I love you, Lizzie.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, playing with his curls. “I love you, Hazza. I…um…”

“What?” He cradled her face in his hand. “Tell me.”

“I’ve been lost without you.” She smiled sheepishly. There was something else there, something that she was holding back—but he wasn’t going to pry. He just wanted her back, no questions asked.

They laid in each other’s arms for several minutes before scrambling upstairs and into the shower, taking turns washing each other. It was the best shower he’d had in a month, full of his favorite things: Lizzie, touching Lizzie, kissing Lizzie, singing to Lizzie. He reacquainted himself with every inch of her body and, when the shower was over, he spent as much time he could keeping her away from putting on clothes.

“You’re a bad influence.” She playfully pushed him. “I could get pneumonia again from all this nudity and this drafty old house.”

He pulled her back against him, nuzzling his face against her neck. “Since when do you have a problem with nudity? You were in Playboy.”

“Once.” She turned around in his arms, pressing her lips to his and then pulling him towards the bed. “It was tasteful.”

“Dirty girl.”

“Teenage dirt bag.”

He laughed and sank down on the bed, pulling her down after him. “If we stay up like, two more hours, we can watch the sun come up.”

She snuggled down next to him and started tracing the tattooed sparrows on his chest. “I just want to make up for the last month. I want to hear everything that happened to you—I’ll bore you with tales of how awkward I was at the SAG awards. Jen was my date.”

“Whatever we said…that night, it doesn’t count. It doesn’t matter.” He kissed her. “The only woman I want is you. Nobody else makes me feel the way you do; I’m not attracted to anyone like I am to you. You are everything to me.”

She looked down, focusing her attention to his tattoos. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything, baby girl.”

She was quiet for a moment, idly tracing his tattoos with her fingertips. Finally, she burst out, “I slept with Niall. I mean, I didn’t sleep with him as in, I fucked him, but as in we shared a bed. It was that first night and…and I just didn’t want to be alone. I was afraid I’d relapse. I almost did, actually, but I accidentally dialed Niall instead. I thought you should know.”

“Not a big deal.” He lowered his cell phone to their crisscrossed feet, with her tangle of tattooed cherry blossoms winding up the tops of her feet to her ankles and the random ink on his toes and ankle, and snapped a picture. “I’m putting this on Twitter. It’s a statement. It’s bold.”

“It implies we’re naked.”

“Precisely.” He posted the picture to Twitter, sending a tweet along with it: Happily

She kissed him and then nodded to her own phone. “Brent sent a link to his statement. This is why I pay him the big bucks. From TMZ, and I quote, ‘Breaking: Elizabeth Richards is fine. Moments ago, her agent, Brent Lowe, released this statement: Miss Richards was not with Mr. Jameson at the time of the accident and was not aware anything had happened until much later this evening. She is currently at home, celebrating her Golden Globe win, and sends her condolences and prayers to Mr. Jameson’s family.’ Lowe would not comment on Elizabeth’s relationship with One Direction hottie Harry Styles, stating, “Miss Richards and Mr. Styles relationship is their business. Not mine. I wasn’t aware a statement was made that they’d broken up, so I don’t see why a statement needs to be made about their current status.’ Here’s hoping ‘Hazbeth’ is celebrating in style together.”

Harry pressed his lips to her temple. It almost felt like the fight hadn’t happened; like they were just picking up where they’d left off. “Do you think ‘celebrating in style’ is a reference to me fucking you?”

“That’s hot.”

“Well, fucking you is amazing.”

“Let’s put that on Twitter.”

He chuckled, leaning towards her so that his forehead touched hers. Nuzzling her face, so that their noses bumped, he murmured, “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t.” She trailed her fingers down his cheek, rubbing her thumb across his dimple. “Leaving you just felt wrong. The last month was uncomfortable, like trying to squeeze my feet into shoes that were too small. And…”

He waited for several beats, searching her eyes with his. “And?”

“And I realized what a mistake it was.” She kissed him and snuggled against him. “I love you.”

“I love you, Lizzie baby.”

They snuggled and talked until he lost track of time, eventually falling asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. He jolted himself awake several times, subconsciously panicking it had been a dream and he’d wake up to find her gone. But she was always there, real and warm in his arms, her hair still pinned and piled on top of her head as it was for the ceremony. She was so beautiful, both her physical body and her personality, and he felt like things were finally back to the way they should be. He’d never felt a stronger love for anyone before. They were young, yes, but he knew without hesitation that they were meant to be together.

####

When he woke in the morning, she was still sleeping. He pressed his lips to her temple and slid out of bed, being careful not to wake her up. He’d make her breakfast first: assuming she had food in the house (hit or miss) he could probably manage French toast or pancakes. If nothing else, he could spread cinnamon sugar butter on a piece of toast and make her a cup of tea.

He retrieved his Calvin Klein boxer briefs from the living room floor and walked to the kitchen, yanking them up his legs as he surveyed the refrigerator. Milk, eggs; bread on the counter. French toast it is. As the bread sizzled in the pan, he switched on the Keurig to warm up water for tea. He realized he was humming—it felt like happiness was bursting at his seams. This girl; damn. She made everything better.

She padded into the kitchen in her bare feet, wearing one of his tshirts, and smiled at him. “Morning, Hazza.” “

Good morning, my beauty.” He motioned to the pan. “How does French toast catch your fancy?”

“Um, amazing.” She shook out her hair, now free of pins, and leaned against the counter. “You make cooking extremely sexy.”

“Well, prior to dominating the world with my vocal abilities, I was a baker. A damn good baker.”

“Then why are you making French toast when you could be making cake?”

He laughed and reached over to gently tug on one of the curls created by her sleeping in hair pins. “I quite literally just noticed your hair is red now.”

“Copper penny.” She shrugged. “I was tired of mousy brown from the movie and wasn’t sure I wanted to go back to black. Just something new. Now I want to go back to black, of course.”

“Why don’t you?” He carefully flipped the bread over in the pan to cook the other side. “Although, I do think you look beautiful this way.”

She looked down at the floor. “Harry…”

“Do you want tea or coffee, love?” He pulled the syrup out of the cabinet beside the stove. “You have British in you when we fuck….so that means tea? Right?”

She was quiet for several moments, staring at him with wide, serious eyes. Just when he was about to ask her if everything was okay, she took a deep breath and blurted out, “I’m pregnant.”

Notes

Plot twist!!!