by Vivian Wood
“Intense, right?” P said. He pushed himself up with a groan. “I have to get ready for the afternoon shift,” he said. “But, babe?” P paused in the doorway to the small hallway. “You can stay here forever. You know that right? But you gotta figure out what you’re gonna do with yourself.”
“I know.” She smiled up at P. “Thanks.”
When P left, low-carb, no-sugar protein bars in hand, she went right back to the want ads. P was right, get your shit together. But there was nothing there for her. Everything required experience and degrees in industries she knew nothing about.
Harper had almost dozed off to a rerun of Keeping Up with the Kardashians when the bell blasted through the fog. She glanced at the video display on P’s notebook, which lit up instantly with the ring. “Holy shit,” she whispered. It was Connor. She’d only met him once, but he was so striking she’d never forget him.
He looked impatient, and Harper scrambled for a hair tie as she raced to the door. At least she didn’t have to look like a total mess. “Connor?” she asked at the intercom to the door. “Come on up.”
Harper caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror and moaned. She tried to smooth out the wrinkles of the white cami, but it was no use.
The sudden hard knock at the steel door brought her back to reality. “Hi,” she said shyly. “Come on in.”
“Nice place,” Connor said as he surveyed the loft. “Kind of messy, though.”
“Yeah, my, uh … my roommate isn’t much of a neat freak.”
“So … how are you?” Connor asked. He sat awkwardly, perched on the edge of the couch.
“I’m fine … how did you find me?”
“I have to admit, you weren’t easy to track down,” he said. “The last address I could find for you was where all those models are staying. And some weird Russian lady.”
“Yugoslavian,” she corrected. Stupid. Who cares?
“Oh. Okay,” Connor said. “Well, anyway, nobody there knew where I could find you. Or at least they wouldn’t say. That Yugoslavian woman seemed really protective.”
Harper smiled grimly at the mention of Helena. “Yet, here you are.”
“Yeah,” Connor said. “Sean was no help. He didn’t want me to find you, didn’t want to bother you. But … I think you should know.”
“Know what?”
“That he’s being charged with a bunch of stuff he didn’t do.”
“I’m aware of that,” Harper said coldly. Connor didn’t need to know that she’d just been made aware that morning.
“Oh. Well … Sean’s attorney thinks that he could get off if he can show that he was going somewhere stable. In life, I mean. And … I think it would be better if he had someone to talk to, when and if we get him free.”
Harper raised her brow. “And you thought of me? I’m what you think is stable in his life? Was?”
He bristled at the tense correction. “You’re the only person other than his sponsor that he knows well enough to live with out here. Sam and I can move here, but … I wanted to try this first.”
“Connor,” she said, “I don’t—Jesus, I don’t even have a place for myself to live! I’m sleeping on this couch.”
He glanced down, suddenly aware that he’d been lounging on her bed.
“I mean, I’m just staying here temporarily.”
“I’m sure we can finance it,” Connor said with a shrug. “This sounds really bougie, but money isn’t really an object. We’ll take care of the funding, and you’ll be his ‘stable place to live’ for awhile.”
No. There’s no way I’m letting you bankroll me. Harper had always felt somewhat like a whore during some modeling campaigns. But this? This was way too close. “Can I think about it?”
“Of course!” Connor said, eager at her almost-yes. “Just don’t think about it too long, okay? Because we’re back in court the day after tomorrow.”
They both looked up as heavy footsteps appeared in the doorway. P’s overpriced sunglasses were perched on his shiny obsidian head. He clutched a paper bag in his hand. “Harper?” he asked as his eyes shot back and forth between them. “Who’s this? I thought you might want some lunch on my break …”
“P! This is Connor, Sean’s brother. He … tracked me down.”
“Oh! Sean’s brother. Yes, I can see the resemblance,” P said. He turned up the charm and started to preen.
“Good to meet you,” Connor said as he stood up.
“I have enough for everyone! I went to that new Whole Foods by my work—”
“Sounds good, but I’m actually just leaving.”
“Oh, well if you’re sure—”
Connor couldn’t get out of there fast enough. As soon as the heavy doors clicked shut, P turned on Harper. “What the fuck was that about?”
“He wants me to live with Sean.” The words sounded foreign in her mouth.
“He what?” P’s mouth dropped open.
“Just for a little while! So he can say in court that he has a stable environment to return to.”
“Sweetie, you don’t have a stable environment to go to. And all of a sudden you’re supposed to change your entire life to do some guy a favor? Someone you haven’t heard a peep from since his arrest?”
“Yep.” She looked up at him bluntly.
“Look, I’m not here to tell you what to do. But you know you’ll always have a place here. Just you, though.”
“Thanks,” she said. Harper began to toe the sharp-cornered edge of the table. “Really,” she said. “I mean it.”
P retreated to his bedroom. She heard shuffling in the drawers. There’s no way I can stay here forever. She mulled over the offer in her head. It was generous, that was for sure. Still, there was a sting that the first time anyone in Sean’s family had contacted her, it was for a favor.
But the feeling of security she’d had in his arms was impossible to resist. She missed it with a physical pang she’d never felt before. There was nothing like it.
How do you even know you’d feel the same way about him now? She fell back onto the couch and cradled her head in her hands. What am I supposed to do?
3
Sean
Sean craned his neck up as the jail cell was opened. “Harris, you’re being released,” the guard said brusquely. “Not you, Johnson,” he warned the newbie who’d shared Sean’s cell for the past twelve hours.
“Fucker,” the new guy muttered under his breath.
Sean pulled himself up wearily. “Released?” he asked. “What happened? My lawyer didn’t—”
“I’m just a guard, not a messenger,” the middle-aged man said. He shifted his weight. “You coming? Or you prefer to sit a spell more?”
Sean followed the beast of a man out the doors where he was reprocessed. A pretty, petite officer instructed him to sign for his phone and wallet, the only two items that had been in his possession during the arrest. He was lucky he’d had those, though the phone was long dead.
In the reception area, T, Connor and Sam jumped on him. Sam hugged him tight, though he’d only met her a few times. Connor gave him the same boyish, shit-eating grin he’d known since childhood.
“How’d you do it?” he asked. “I didn’t even know—”
As Sam let him go, he saw Joon-ki and Harper over her shoulder. His sponsor looked sheepish, but all was forgotten as he drank Harper in. Goddamn, does she look gorgeous. Somehow more amazing than his memories or fantasies could capture.
“Hey,” she said, almost shyly, to the floor. She tucked a lock of fiery hair behind her ear and shifted her hips. Even beneath the flowing black miniskirt and leather jacket with the arms pushed up, he could make out the familiar curves of her body. To him, she may as well have worn nothing at all.
“What … what are you doing here?” She wouldn’t meet his gaze, and he couldn’t blame her. What are you doing here? That’s what you came up with?
“Why don’t we go outside?” T asked, an attempt to soften the blow.
> On the concrete steps of the jailhouse, he let Connor wrap an arm around his shoulder. Joon-ki approached with arms open. It felt partly awkward and a little comforting.
“So, let’s give you the rundown,” T said. Everyone was aware that Harper hadn’t hugged him. He could feel it in their body language. Instead, she kept to the perimeter of the circle, wary and uncertain.
“You’re out on bail,” T told him. “Connor paid it.”
“It’s nothing,” Connor said quickly before Sean could protest or make promises of repayment.
“But it’s only while I hash out a plea deal with the DA,” she said. “Honestly, that might take some time. He’s fresh out of law school and a total prick. Sorry. Anyway, until then, you’re on house arrest.”
House arrest. That wasn’t so bad. Sean thought of the ankle monitors he’d seen on television.
Connor cleared his throat. “Sean, you’ll be living with Harper.”
“Excuse me?” Sean gave Connor a death glare. Was this some sort of fucked up joke?
“It’s a new apartment,” Connor said brightly, like he was trying to sell it to him. “I took care of it, it’s furnished and everything. It’ll help Sam and me out, too. We can stay put until the baby comes, and then—”
“Hold up,” Sean said. He closed his eyes and commanded Connor to shut up. “What … why …”
T interrupted. “It wasn’t easy getting to this point,” she said. “The judge wants to see that you’re in a stable environment, that you have somewhere safe to live while on house arrest. It was either Harper or your brother, and given Sam’s condition, it just didn’t seem right to force this on them.”
“This, uh … this is going to be our last trip out here for awhile,” Sam said. She rested her hand on her pregnant belly. “My doctor says I shouldn’t fly anymore after this.”
“We have three hours,” T said, “and then the police will arrive at your new apartment to fit you with an ankle monitor. My understanding is that Harper has already moved in?” She gave Harper a curious look, and Harper nodded numbly at the ground. “And you’d better be there. You hear me?” T asked.
“Yeah. I hear you.” T gave a tight-lipped smile to the rest of the group and traipsed down the last of the stairs toward her car.
“I’m sorry, but I think I need to lie down awhile,” Sam said. Connor put his hand on the small of her back.
“We’ll catch up with you before we leave tomorrow. Okay?” Connor asked. “Harper, you got this?”
Both Sean and Harper nodded obediently in Connor’s direction.
“I should get going, too,” Joon-ki said. “But I’ll check in with you daily, alright? Get that phone charged. We’ll get back on those daily AA meetings as soon as you’re off house arrest, and we’ll set up virtual meetings until then.”
“Right.” Even now, he was embarrassed for Harper to hear those two little letters associated with him. AA.
For what felt like a full minute, he was left alone with Harper on the steps. “We, uh, we should get going,” she said.
“Harper—”
“Seriously?” she turned and finally looked him in the eye. “We don’t have time for this. Don’t make everything worse by being late to get your ankle bracelet put on.”
“I’m really sorry.” It was all he could manage. But surely she could fill in the blanks.
“I saw your face when you saw me,” she said slowly. “I saw your surprise in there. I know you didn’t choose to contact me. That was all Connor.”
“If you would just let me apologize—”
“For what, exactly?” she asked. There was a steeliness in her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. “For not calling me? For being shitfaced the last time I saw you? Or were you more worried about the fact that you were being arrested? Maybe it’s the long list of drug charges that you’ve accumulated? Which part, exactly, are you apologizing for?”
She had him there. He wanted to say all of it, and he wanted to defend himself, but there was nothing to say. She’d silenced him with a fire he’d only guessed she carried deep inside.
She stalked toward a new Tesla and slipped into the driver’s seat without another word. Is this from Connor? But he didn’t dare speak.
As she weaved through traffic, he saw the neighborhoods get nicer and nicer. Finally, a sign for Brentwood appeared. The luxury high-rise was part of the classic neighborhood’s latest reincarnation. Harper pulled into the parking deck and got out.
“Coming?” she asked, the disdain palpable in her voice.
“Is my brother paying for all this?” he asked. “This … this car, the apartment—”
She gave a mean laugh. “No. You are,” she said. “Apparently, you’re quite wealthy. Who would have guessed?”
She jammed the button for the elevator and he was slammed back into silence.
He thought he’d told her that. Kind of. It’s family money, not mine! he wanted to scream at her. But how did he explain that to his girlfriend? Or ex-girlfriend, whatever they were now?
Harper led him into the sleek apartment kitted out in midcentury modern furniture. The tufted gray sofa, steel and glass tables, and the concrete flooring was all right on trend. He knew exactly who’d been responsible for finding this place. It had Connor written all over it. Sean couldn’t even imagine what Harper thought of the place. He pictured her dream home to be a little Victorian with rich moldings and intricate décor at every corner. Though they’d never talked about things like that, he realized. How much did he really know about her? Suddenly, he was desperate to know every little detail, from her first grade teacher’s name to whether she’d ever roller skated. But those words were still buried in his throat.
She must think he was the biggest poser, slumming it in a crappy little apartment and needling away his days at a tattoo parlor when he had millions of dollars at his disposal. Millions of his father’s dollars.
4
Harper
She tried to act unimpressed with the penthouse, but it was still a shock every time she saw it. When Connor had first sent her the photos, she tried to brush it off as creative photography even as P squealed at the location. The first time she’d arrived with nothing but three suitcases stuffed with her meager belongings, it had taken her breath away.
“You like it?” Sam had asked.
“Uh, yeah,” she had said. Who wouldn’t?
Even now, as Sean trailed behind her and her anger simmered just below the surface, she caught her breath at the sight of the too-perfect penthouse. It was like something out of a magazine. Gorgeous, and she was all too aware she didn’t belong.
Harper hadn’t known what to expect when Sean emerged from the jail cell. Would he be excited to see her? Sheepish, but with that smirk that let her know everything would be okay? She hadn’t known, but she certainly hadn’t expected him to flat out ignore her. Sprinkle in the thorny heartache and their complete lack of trust, and it didn’t take long for a hurricane to brew inside her.
Harper strode through the living room, aware of his eyes on her back. Even at her biggest runway show, she’d never embraced so much height or taken up so much room. She tossed the keys on the sofa console table where they made a neat tinkle in the handblown glass bowl.
Immediately, Harper retreated to what she secretly called her side of the apartment. Connor knew what he was doing, alright. A penthouse with two master en-suites, equal in size and luxury, with a stretch of semineutral ground parading as the living room, dining room and kitchen.
Harper didn’t give a damn about the lack of bedding in Sean’s bedroom. She didn’t even peek when Connor dragged the big bag with a duvet, pillows and sheets into the other room. Instead, she’d quickly torn into her own bedding, gifted from Connor, of course, and set about making “her room” as personal and safe as possible.
She clicked the push-button lock behind her, waltzed into the posh bathroom, and turned on the tap. As she sank to the floor, the sobs came before she
could even curl up on the warm tiles with the radiant heat.
You shouldn’t have yelled at him about the money, she chastised herself. After all, there were a million other things she could be pissed about—was pissed about. Screaming about his wealth just made her look like she was mad because he’d cut off any potential for gold digging when they’d been happy together.
Happy together. That was a funny thought. She shook her head and the tears splattered across the gray floor. Having money is hardly a crime, she thought. And he certainly hadn’t owed her any transparency in that regard.
She should have known, anyway. The fancy dinners, what had to be an unbelievable sum to enter the sex party, that night at the hotel—how had she thought he’d afforded it? Had she hoped he was so much of a bad boy that he was bankrolling that lifestyle on a stolen credit card? Laundered money, what?
Harper sighed. Hiding the money had just been the last straw. Her heart was already overburdened, and it wouldn’t have taken much at all to push her over the edge. When her tears had gone dry, she pulled herself up from the floor and examined herself in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy and her lashes damp. Streaked down her cheeks were black rivulets of mascara that was supposed to be waterproof.
In the unfamiliar closet that smelled of a strange cleaning solution, she flipped through the few dresses, skirts and blouses that had made it from her earlier move-in. She pulled out a simple sleeveless black maxi dress.
“You can do this,” she told her reflection in the angled free-standing mirror. She looked like she was in mourning, and perhaps she was. “You can’t hide in here forever.”
Just as she’d pumped herself up enough to face him, she heard the doorbell ring and the click of the front door opening. Male voices mumbled, unintelligible from her quarters.
Harper stepped out lightly, barefoot, onto the concrete flooring of the living room. Two brusque parole officers talked to Sean as he sat on the couch. One leaned menacingly over him while one hand rested leisurely on a pistol. The other was crouched down to fit the ankle monitor.
