Page 90 of The Heartstrings of Harry
“Do you hate me now?” I asked.
Harry’s brow creased even more. “Dean, I…”
“Are you disappointed in me?”
For a moment, he didn’t move.
Just stared at me with those deep, steady eyes.
Then he dropped the magazine onto the floor and crossed the room in two steps.
His arms wrapped around me tight, pulling me in against his chest, holding me like he could put all my broken pieces back together with just the strength of his arms.
“Babe,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into my hair. “I could never hate you.”
I shook against him, sobbing into his chest as he held me tighter.
“I’m sorry,” I kept gasping. “I’m sorry, Harry, I’m sorry—”
“Shh.” He ran his hands slowly down my back, soft and sure, rocking me just a little. “I know, babe. I know. You’re scared. You’re hurting. But listen to me—I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna keep you safe. I love you, Dean.”
I gasped softly. “You do?”
“Of course I do.”
I laughed and cried at the same time. “I love you too, Harry. God how I love you.”
I gripped his shirt in my fists, holding on like it was the only thing keeping me from falling.
Harry kissed the top of my head again, his lips gentle against my hair.
“We’re gonna fix this,” he murmured. “I’ll help you. I’ll make everything better.”
I could barely breathe through the tears, but I believed him.
Because he was Harry.
And he was holding me like he meant every word.
HARRY
Dean fellasleep in my arms, a slumber so deep it was like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
His body curled into mine, breath slow and deep against my chest, fingers still tangled lightly in the fabric of my T-shirt like he wasn’t quite ready to let go, even in sleep. But the tightness had gone out of him. The panic, the guilt, the shaking—it had all ebbed away as exhaustion took over.
I held him close, one hand stroking slowly down his back, the other brushing through his soft blond hair.
My heart still felt like it was breaking in half.
God, the weight that kid had been carrying. Alone. Hurting. Wrapped up in fear and shame so deep he hadn’t seen any other way out.
I kissed the top of his head gently, careful not to wake him.
“You’re safe now, babe,” I whispered. “I got you.”
The night was still and quiet, serene after such a night of panic and pain. All I could hear was the faint sound of the crickets outside the window, the slow rise and fall of Dean’s breathing.
Then came a soft knock at the door.
