Page 85 of The Heartstrings of Harry
“There’s nothing to talk about, Harry,” he snapped over his shoulder, already walking faster along the perimeter line.
“Bullshit!” I caught up, staying on his heels. “You don’t just get to walk away from a lifetime of friendship like it’s nothing.”
He spun on me then, eyes blazing. “No,youdon’t get to stand there and talk about friendship after what you did!”
“What Idid?” I threw my hands out, breath already tight. “Andy, I fell in love with your son. I didn’t plan it, I didn’t go looking for it, but it happened. And you know what? I’m not sorry.”
His face darkened, lips pressing into a hard line. “You should be.”
I stepped closer, fighting to keep my voice steady. “I know this hurts. I know it’s a lot. But dammit, Andy—you know me. You know I would never,neverhurt him. I love him.”
Andy’s jaw clenched. “You couldn’t have picked anyone else?”
“It doesn’t work like that!” I shot back. “I didn’tpickDean like I was choosing a goddamn wrench off the shelf! I love him because he’s him. Because he’s good, and kind, and brilliant, and he makes me feel like maybe I’m not just some tired old man running a hardware store. He makes me feel like I’msomebody.”
Andy shook his head, eyes still flashing with anger. “You’re twice his age, Harry.”
“I know,” I said, swallowing hard. “And you can hate me for that if you want. You can hate me for the way you found out about it. But don’t tell me what I feel isn’t real.”
The crowd started screaming then—a roar like thunder rolling across the park.
Astrid’s voice boomed through the speakers. “Music-lovers, please welcome to the stage—the one, the only, Dean Reeves!”
The place exploded with excitement.
Andy’s eyes drifted toward the stage, jaw still tight. I could see the hurt in him, the stubborn twist of his mouth, but beneath it… I could see the worry… the love of a father for his son.
“I know you’re angry,” I said, softer now. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry it came out the way it did. But Dean and me—we’re not gonna stop. We can’t. We’re in this now. And I hope one day you can come around to that. But if it takes time… if it takesyears… then so be it. I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as it takes for us to be friends again.”
Andy didn’t answer. His shoulders stayed stiff, his fists clenched at his sides.
On stage, Dean’s voice rang out through the night, clear and strong, the first few lines of the opening song sending the crowd into a frenzy.
The bass thumped beneath my feet, lights flashing wild across the faces of the fans pressed tight against the front barricades. The screaming was deafening.
But something—something felt off.
I caught it out of the corner of my eye.
A ripple in the crowd near stage right.
Not the usual concert surge.
Not just people bouncing or dancing.
It was more like panic.
A shove. Then another. People were turning, shouting.
My stomach dropped.
“Andy,” I breathed, my eyes glued to the movement at the edge of the pit. “Something’s wrong.”
He followed my gaze, frowning, then straightened. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” I said, already moving. “But I’m gonna find out.”
I pushed past the crew barricade, down into the pit, heart pounding, eyes scanning the crowd. The roar of the music blurred with the rising edge of shouting voices, hands waving, a crush of bodies turning against each other.
