Page 16 of Shattered Chords

Knowing how sensitive Harper could get, I chose to tread lightly. “Good morning.”

He continued to mess with the bras. “Morning.”

The fact that he deliberately left the word “good” out of his greeting didn’t go unnoticed.

“It’s Monday,” I said in a sing-song voice, strolling through the racks of chiffon and lace. The displays had been dusted and organized. The windows had been wiped clean. Old flower arrangements had been replaced with fresh ones. My mother would be proud. Although she only showed up here once a month for our team meeting, her name was still on the paperwork.

“I’m aware.” Harper dodged my lead-in, but the crack in his tone was evident.

“Why are you here?”

He paused and absently stared at a stack of lingerie.

“Come on.” I approached him. “Don’t do this to me. Ally’s already pissed at me.”

The song playing in the background stopped, and for a second, it was so silent inside the store, you could hear a pin drop.

Finally, Harper spun to face me. “You always know how to guilt me into telling you everything, sweets.”

“I’m not guilting you. I just don’t like you like this.”

He arched a brow.

“Sad, Harper. I don’t like you sad,” I explained.

“Sweets”—he rolled his eyes—“I’m not sad. I’m fucking furious. I’ve wasted two years of my life on a lying sack of shit.”

Oh no! My heart skipped a beat. I knew what was coming next.

“Lucas cheated,” Harper confirmed.

“Seriously?” Shock and disappointment tightened my chest. “How did you find out?”

“He happened to leave his phone unlocked.”

“I’m so sorry.” I had a sudden urge to hug him, but Harper didn’t like to be touched unless he initiated the physical contact first or the person was his lover. I’d learned that the hard way right after we met in high school. He hadn’t come out yet and someone had painted his locker with horrible homophobic graffiti. Later that day, I found him crying behind the bleachers and tried to console him the way I’d learned from my own mother—with an embrace. He freaked out and didn’t speak to me for three days.

“I was hoping at least one of us would get married before we’re fifty,” I joked bitterly.

Getting married wasn’t on my agenda at all, but Lucas seemed like a decent guy and I’d been rooting for Harper. Apparently, we were both wrong.

“And you know what?” Harper’s face took on a truly furious expression. “Asshole attempted to lay claim to Tallulah.”

“No way!”

“I had to drop her off at my neighbor’s on the way here.”

“That’s insane!” Now I was feeling just as hurt as my best friend. Tallulah washiscat, not Lucas’s. The cheating piece of shit had some nerve.

Harper drew a deep breath and braved a smile. “I think it’s time for a break.”

“You don’t need to be here today. You’ve worked seven days straight. Go home.”

“The last thing I want to do is watch that asshole pack.” He reached for my hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Sweets, I need to work.”

Our gazes locked and I saw it then—the despair that filled his eyes, the despair he’d been trying to hide since I got here. I knew the feeling quite well. I’d gone through similar turmoil several times in my life. Once after I told Ally’s father I was pregnant, and then when my girl was six, and again when she was twelve.

Breakups hurt. They smashed our hearts into a million pieces, leaving us hopeless and hollow.

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