Page 66 of Harper

Fuck this.

Before my family gets too nosy and starts asking questions I’m not remotely ready to answer, I jump up and leave. When I get to the boardwalk outside the restaurant, I turn toward the harbor, the cool air a relief on my hot cheeks.

How dare he? How dare he behave like that in front of my family? Is this what the next nine months are going to be like?

“Harper!”

I look over my shoulder to see Joe running down the boardwalk to catch up with me.

“Leave me alone, Joe.”

“You’d take a risk like that? Drinking alcohol? I can’t believe you’d be that stupid!”

“I can’t believe you don’t have more faith in me!” I yell, whipping around to face him. With my hands planted on my hips, my whole body shakes with rage. “It was non-alcoholic. I went to the bar and ordered it before I sat down, you monumental asshole!”

He stares at me, his mouth gaping open in surprise.

“I wouldn’t hurt my baby on purpose,” I add, placing my hand protectively over my abdomen.

“Fuck,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” I say. “So thanks for embarrassing me in front of my family and making a scene for no reason. They already sense that something’s off with me, so…yeah. Great. Thanks for that.”

I turn on my heel and continue walking away from him, but he falls into stride beside me.

“It’s been a rough week,” he mutters.

“Oh, I see,” I say, scoffing bitterly. “Has it been a rough week for you, Joe? All that vomiting and hormones and exhaustion? Yeah. I’m sure it’s been real tough.”

“That’s not what I mean! Of course you’re going through more than I am—I just mean we need to talk!” he says, getting frustrated. “I’m going crazy, Harper.”

“I have no interest in talking to you right now,” I say, my pace quickening. “I’m mad at you.”

“Well,” he says, his voice raising as he matches his steps to mine. “That’s too bad. What happened at the Parsnip was an honest mistake. We need to talk.”

“Is that right, Sheriff?” I demand.

“Yes, goddamnit!” he cries. “It’s my baby too!”

“Shut. Up!” I snarl, stopping in my tracks to see if anyone we know is listening to us. Luckily, we’re only surrounded by tourists hoofing it back double-time to their soon-to-be departing cruise ships.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning splits the sky, followed by a bellow of thunder, and Joe takes my arm, pulling me toward the three-sided, gazebo-shed in Skagway’s Centennial Park. We hurry past the bronze statues of a Native guide and a backpacked stampeder, making it under cover just before the sky opens up.

Joe sits down on the wooden bench with a sigh, while I stand by the opening of the shed, watching the rain come down in sheets. I don’t want to be trapped here with Joe. I don’t want to talk about everything. I just want to go home, pull the covers over my head, and buy some more time.

“Harp,” he says softly from behind me, his voice filled with the sort of tenderness that breaks my heart. “It’s time.”

“I’m not ready,” I say, still staring out at the rain.

“I’m pretty sure you never will be,” he says.

He’s right. I never will be. I have lived my life for the past ten years protecting my secrets. I turn around to look at him.

“This is the last moment of my life that you’ll still love me,” I whisper.

He stares at me, but for the first time I can remember, he doesn’t contradict me. He doesn’t tell me he’ll love me no matter what. And strangely enough, it’s that space—that open field of terrible, awful, unknown possibility—that finally gives me the courage to start talking.

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