Page 82 of The Secrets We Share

We’ve been a closed-off unit, helping Harkin recoup and get back to his old self through much-needed therapy, both physical and psychological. He convinced me to seek my own psychiatrist when the night terrors got so bad I started getting physically harmed in my sleep. It’s been good. Not only have we talked about everything surrounding my father and the shooting, but she’s started prying into my childhood. There was more to unlock there than I remembered, and it’s been like removing cylinder blocks from my ankles by working through it. After all my tears from fearing I was going to lose Harkin for good, I thought my body was incapable of producing more. I was wrong. It’s a miracle if I can make it through a single session without going through a box of tissues, but it’s worth it.

The music swaps to something upbeat, and I bob my head back and forth, finally deciding on a little emerald slip dress from the back of my closet.

“Ahhh!” The dress flies from my hands when I feel an unexpected pressure on my shoulder.

Stacey’s boisterous laughter fills the closet as she hunches over, legs crossed. “Oh my god. That was totally worth almost peeing myself. Did you not hear me calling you?”

“Obviously, fucking not,” I deadpan.

Her laughter calms, and she looks me up and down. “You’re not ready.”

“I just have to get dressed. My hair and makeup are done.”

She lifts an eyebrow, inspecting me closer. It’s weird. Why does it matter if I only put on a little mascara and eyeliner? I didn’t want to bother with a full face for dinner and a movie. Plus, I was too lazy to curl my hair, so the natural half-tamed waves will have to do. She’s seen me way worse.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” She juts her chin to my dress, hanging haphazardly off the rest of the clothes.

“Yeah. Is that okay?” I ask, getting suspicious.

“Perfect! Hurry up, I don’t want to be late for our reservation. I’m starving. Eating for two and all,” she calls over her shoulder, heading back out of the closet and out of the bedroom door.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m changed and done up a little extra with gold jewelry to complement the rich hue of my dress. Since the guys are still busy, we hail a cab at the curb, and Stacey rattles off the restaurant’s address to the driver. We chat about nothing important while the car moves slowly through evening traffic. I didn’t realize we were trekking it all the way uptown, but I just went with whatever Stace wanted to do with her last night of freedom.

“Okay, here you are,” the driver announces, pulling up to the curb in front of a nondescript building.

“Uh, Stace. Where are we?”

“Come on! I found this place online; the food looks delicious.” She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the front door.

I’m more hesitant about the unknown these days, and I nearly yank her pregnant body back from opening the tinted door. But when we step inside, a woman waits near the door as if she’s expecting our arrival.

“Ms. Fitzpatrick, if you’ll follow me.”

I eye the two women suspiciously but follow her down a hall. I expect to see a quiet dining area, with cutlery clanking softly as people enjoy an evening out. It’s quiet, alright, because it’s empty. No one occupies the booths in the small nooks as we swiftly step into the open seating area. In the middle, surrounded by empty tables, Harkin looks dangerously delicious in an all-black tailored suit.

I stop on unsteady heels and whirl around to question Stacey about what’s happening, but she’s gone. Looking back at Harkin, I notice the woman who led me here has also disappeared.

“Are you just going to stand over there with your mouth hanging open, or should I give you something better to do with that face?”

His lewd statement pulls my wits back together, and I stumble into motion toward him. “Harkin, what—What’s going on?”

“Come here, sweetness,” he commands, stepping around the table to pull my chair out for me.

The tea-light candles flicker in the center of the table. Two wineglasses sit full of dark red, the notes of which dance in the air as I slide into my seat. The gentle music filters into the room, extinguishing the abandoned building vibes.

“We’ve had one hell of a year, sweetness. The last couple of months have been immensely arduous for both of us. I thought we deserved a nice night to ourselves,” he says, sitting back on the other side of the table.

“Harkin, I would have been happy to do that at home. With take-out and a lot less clothing.” I smirk.

“That’s any other night of the week. I wanted to do something special.”

“Stacey was in on it, huh?”

“How else was I supposed to pull this off?” His bright smile lights up his face.

The five-course meal of tiny dishes is fine. I don’t understand the hype over places where you drop a car payment to leave hungry. Maybe my palate isn’t sophisticated enough to appreciate it. The company, however, makes up for my dissatisfied tastebuds. I could watch him talk for hours, hanging on to every word he utters and appreciating how lucky we are to have this second chance together.

“Keira.” My name breaks through the haze.

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