Page 36 of Shot Through the Heart

I sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face as I think about all Stella has had to do without me because of my mom.

“You raised her alone,” I whisper, unable to think of anything else to say.

“No,” Stella says calmly, moving to sit beside me. “I went to New York and moved in with my nana.”

The distant memory of her grandma comes back. She was the only family who truly showed up for Stella, more so than even her parents. If I had to bet, her parents probably haven’t even met their own grandchild, too caught up in their own work and travel to stop and think about their daughter. I used to wonder why Stella didn’t live with her nana but never dared ask because I didn’t want to lose her.

“Nana helped me with literally everything. Finding a doctor, enrolling in college…Good thing she did because it was there that I met three amazing women.Theyhelped me raise her. And stay somewhat sane. We weren’t alone.”

We sit in silence as I process what she said. While I’m glad she had help, I also can’t deny the jealousy of the fact that anyone other than me was there for her and…

“What’s her name?” I ask.

“Harper,” she says, smiling fondly even as a single tear falls down her cheek. “Harper Rose…Owens.”

I smile, repeating the name. I find myself oddly okay with the fact that she has Stella’s last name instead of mine. Or at least, unable to be mad at Stella for choosing to leave my name off, considering she believed I didn’t want her.

“What’s she like?”

Stella laughs, looking around her living room.

“She’s a tornado of joy and chaos. She’s funny, so smart, which is dangerous considering how sassy she can be while being brilliant about it.” She pauses, bending forward to pick up a pink stuffed unicorn off the floor. “She’s perfect.”

The urge to experience Harper for myself right now is overwhelming, but I shove it aside as Stella continues.

“She loves crafts, which means she also enjoys making a mess, clearly.” Stella waves a hand at the toys on the floor and cringes. “I swear it’s not normally this dirty. She got hit with a bug and it’s completely?—”

Unable to resist, I reach over and place my hand on top of hers.

“There’s a difference between dirty and messy. Toys on the floor show me this house is lived in. It tells me that she’s having fun. Your home isn’t dirty, it’s messy. Having a mess isn’t always a bad thing.”

Stella offers me a tired smile and something else she said catches up with me.

“You said she has a bug. Is she okay?” I rack my brain for anything that could be useful when it comes to a sick child but come up blank.

“She’s fine,” Stella says calmly, easing some of the worry festering. “Her friend Zoey was sick and passed along a lovely bug. We should be in the clear and back to normal in another day or two.”

I nod and we fall back into silence for another moment, both of us content to gather our thoughts. My mind races, trying to sort through all the new information and process how I’m feeling.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Stella shrugs. “You don’t?—”

“I should have come to find you.”

She raises a delicate eyebrow. “If I recall correctly, you had a broken legandwrist. Wasn’t exactly easy for you to do anything.”

“Still, there were so many nights that I planned a way to show up at your house. If I had asked my dad or one of the guys, maybe I could have seen you before you left. I could have been there for you and…” I trail off, emotion clogging my throat before I can say Harper’s name out loud. I’m not exactly sure what I would have done. There were so many nights in those first few weeks where I plotted how to get out of the hospital or my house, but my mom always turned up looking to help me at just the right moment.

Only now I remember all the times she managed to fit in a snide comment about me being better off with Stella gone. I chalked up her newfound hovering and commentary being brought on from the accident scaring her.

Now I see it for what it was. My mother forced us apart and subtly shifted the love we had to resentment and hate.

“Greyson,” Stella says, her voice cracking as she says my name. “We were manipulated and lied to. We made decisions based on what we thought was true at the time. You don’t need to apologize for something you didn’t even know was done.”

“Still,” I start, shaking my head and twisting on the couch to face her. She looks tired, the dark bags under her eyes a testament to taking care of a sick toddler. The exhaustion doesn’t detract from her breathtaking beauty. Her curls are done up in a big, messy bun on the top of her head, with a couple strands escaping and framing her face. Pale blue eyes sparkle as they stare back at me. “I feel…shitty. If it weren’t formymom…we might still be?—”

“We can’t think like that. We don’t know what would or would not have happened if she hadn’t done what she did. And there’s no use dwelling on the woulda, coulda, shouldas.”

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