Page 166 of One Wrong Move

“It’s late, I’m sorry I called. Didn’t mean to bother you, I just wanted…”

“I know,” he says. He clears his throat, a rough sound that reverberates through the phone. “Harper, I’m sorry.”

I swallow hard. Heartache and disappointment form a tight knot in my stomach, and another tear joins its mate sliding down my cheek. In a well-worn path. “I know. I am, too.”

He takes a deep breath. I hear the inhale as if he’s lying right next to me. “I never wanted to hurt you. Fuck, it was the last thing I ever wanted to do. You… you mean the world to me.”

I screw my eyes shut, and this time, I can’t stop my voice from wavering. “I’m sorry, too. For everything. I reacted strongly, but… I just need to think about this.”

“I understand. Take your time, baby,” he says, but he sounds as miserable as I feel. “If I can do anything, anything at all… you tell me. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper. “I hope you have fun with your family. I know it means a lot that they’re here.”

“I wish you could meet them.”

I blot my cheek with the edge of the duvet. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“I’ll try to be at the house when you come by,” he says, and his voice strengthens.

“Okay. Good.”

“I miss you,” he says.

If we keep talking, I’m going to burst into sobs. I already feel the quiet tears streaking down my cheeks.

I want him so much, and I want my newfound freedom and the ability to explore a stronger version of myself. A new version. “I miss you, too,” I murmur. “We should go to sleep now.”

“Right. I’ll let you go,” he says. “Sleep tight, baby.”

The familiar endearment hangs in the air between us. “Bye,” I whisper and hit the red button on my phone.

Turning over, I curl my knees up to my chest.

I thought I wouldn’t feel like this again. Heartache wasn’t on my “30 Under 30” list. It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t expected.

And maybe that’s why it hurts so much.

I thought I left the pain behind in New York, but it followed me here.

Nate

Six people are hanging out in my garden. A bottle of white wine is on the table between the four adults, low conversation hanging in the afternoon air.

I lean against the frame of the French doors and just watch them. It feels odd, and almost wrong, to have them here. In this London house that I’ve made my home, and in this city where I’ve lived for over two years.

Connie is next to her husband, Gabriel, her auburn hair pulled up into a messy bun. With the warm weather back upon us, she’s holding a small water gun that my nephew, Sam, handed her. The kiddo is lying on the grass next to his sister, Willa, and looking up at the fast-moving clouds, another water gun forgotten beside them. Gabriel is nodding along to whatever Isabel is saying. She’s sitting next to my brother, her hand clasped firmly in Alec’s grip.

It’s still strange to see Alec display his affection so casually. He’s never done so before. Never been a PDA kind of guy. And to be fair, he still isn’t. Not really. But the small touches, his hand reaching for Isabel’s or placed on her lower back, continue to surprise me.

I don’t want to be bitter.

But it’s hard to see my siblings sitting out there, enjoying the sunshine, the company, and being deeply in love with their partners… and to know that the woman of my dreams is as far out of my reach now as she was before she arrived in London. When she was about to marry another man.

“Nate!” Willa says. She pushes up onto her elbows and looks at me with demanding eyes. My brother’s eldest is so much like him. “Did you fill the water balloons?”

“I did, yes.” I hold up a bowl of ten squashy rubber bombs. As many as I had the patience for. It was a stupid idea that popped into my head while driving past a toy store, knowing that my siblings were coming and Alec was bringing the kids. To get water guns and water balloons.

But the kids have been here for five hours, and they’re loving it.

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