Page 27 of Harper's Song

“You have Harper to thank you’re alive. Always remember that. Do you understand me?”

He nods like a scared little kid and I get to my feet, pulling him after me and ripping his fancy t-shirt even worse. He’s wobbly but able to stand on his own, which is another good sign that he’s probably fully aware of everything that’s happening. It just means I didn’t hit him hard enough.

“Now limp back to those lights and the boat and get some medical attention,” I tell him. “And don’t even look back. You deserved what I did to you. And it could get much worse if you don’t stay away.”

He nods and starts walking, or more like stumbling and dragging his feet across the rocky, grassy terrain.

“We should get out of here,” I tell Harper who actually looks mildly concerned for the guy walking away.

“OK, my car’s just there,” she says, picks up her guitar and bag and starts walking down the row of cars very quickly

I follow, wishing she hadn’t pushed me away, wishing I never left her, wishing I was a better man than I am. All things I’ll never get, in other words.

10

Harper

I handed him the keys as soon as we reached my car then carefully placed my guitar in the back. I should check if it’s still whole, but I’m afraid to. Afraid it’s not, afraid it broke to show me just how out of my depth I am trying to make it out in the world on my own.

Although I’m not so sure it’s really the guitar that bothers me. Whatever happened to it can be fixed.

As for Jax and I? I’m not so sure we even should be fixed.

How can he be here?

He escaped from prison, that’s how.

But why? Just to be with me? He really shouldn’t have done that.

I’m afraid to ask because then it’ll be a conversation I don’t want to have. And I’ll say things I don’t want to say.

He saved me. He was here at exactly the right moment, right when I needed him the most. I don’t want to spoil that by saying the wrong thing.

He’s staring straight ahead at the road, and his green eyes are like two clear orbs, catching all the streetlights we pass however small and dim. Like a psychic’s ball—that’s what they are—giving me nothing but truth. Showing nothing but my future. Blissful and long. Honest and true. I wrote a song about his eyes years ago and it’s still one of my most popular songs.

He smells of sea water, blood and that musky scent I associate with a clearing in a deep wild forest where time stands still yet life crackles all around me and I am part of everything. I wrote a song about that too.

His hands are all mangled, some of the cuts oozing blood. Every so often he glances at me from the corner of his eyes, the look in them guarded and unsure. He’s always been unsure about his welcome and acceptance anywhere, even if he hides it well. A lifetime of getting abandoned will do that to you, I guess. First by his father then his mother several times over. That’s a large part of why he prefers to think I’m better off without him. It’s less painful for him to leave me than it would be the other way around. He’d never admit that, but I know it’s true.

I met Jax when we were both twelve years old and he was fostered by Rook, the MC’s Sergeant at Arms and his wife Ines. He’d been in and out of the system for eight years by then, seen it all, done a lot and had many things done to him. Bad things. Things he won’t talk about much, even to me.

The cigarette burns on his arms are just one remainder or those things. They’re covered by tattoos now, but they’re clearly visible even in the near darkness of the inside of my car.

It was one of his mother’s boyfriends who gave him those after she had taken him back soon after we kissed for the first time. That was the first time he left me. I had asked him to stay with me when his mother had come to take him away to some farm on the border with Canada where she claimed they’d finally be a family. He went with her. Said no to me. Left me. Came back with his scars, calling the experience a year in Hell and wouldn’t say more about it. It was the beginning of a cycle that’s been repeating itself for more than a decade now. I beg him to stay, he leaves anyway. Then he comes back, with one more terrible experience under his belt, tells me he doesn’t deserve me yet wants me to take him back anyway. And I always do. It’s a pattern that’s leading nowhere. Except to more pain and heartbreak.

And if I just focus on that then I won’t fall right back into his arms as soon as the car stops.

I keep my gaze fixed on the dark, empty road ahead of us. To our left is the sea, black yet streaked with silver where the moonlight hits the ripples, to our right a pine forest swaying in the wind. But in the distance, city lights are already twinkling and growing brighter.

I messed up big time tonight. I messed up trusting Manny. It never even occurred to me that he was potentially dangerous. And it could’ve been so much worse if Jax hadn’t showed up. I could’ve died. Or been forced to live out the rest of my life the victim of brutal rape. I don’t think I could do that. I’m not strong enough to do that.

Jax clears his throat, which is another thing he always does when he’s uncomfortable and unsure of himself.

“Where am I driving to?” he asks.

I look at him for the first time since we got in the car. And very nearly get sucked into his oracle orb eyes. I clear my throat too and look away before that can happen.

“Somewhere we can talk,” I say. “Maybe my motel room? I still haven’t checked out.”

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