Chapter 21 Chapter 20
Logan POV
For a second, I can’t move.
The door is open, the hallway empty, and the only sound left in the room is the echo of her footsteps running away from me.
My pulse hits hard. Too hard.
Sophia smooths her hair like she was just interrupted in the middle of a photoshoot. “Guess the little president learned a valuable lesson.”
I whip around so fast she blinks.
“What lesson?”
She smirks. “That she’s not the girl who gets this bed. She’s the girl who walks past it.”
Something ugly ignites in my chest — not heat, not lust.
Fire.
“Get out.”
Sophia pauses, lips parting. “What?”
“You heard me. Get. Out.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re seriously kicking me out because Miss Perfect got her feelings hurt?”
“Now.”
She gives a cold little laugh. “Pathetic. She isn’t even your type.”
My voice drops, low and lethal. “I said. Out.”
Sophia grabs her jacket, muttering under her breath. “You’re going to regret this.”
I don’t wait to listen. I move before the shame can set in — down the stairs, through the living room, the house feeling too loud with everything I don’t want to be thinking.
Heads turn as I hit the bottom step. The guys are mid–video game, a couple of girls on the couch with popcorn. For a beat everything freezes.
Marco stands first, hands up like he’s keeping the peace. “Bro — we tried to stop her.”
Zack’s already wide-eyed, talking too fast. “Yeah, man. She just barged up like she owned the place. Didn’t even knock. We told her your room was off-limits and she—she didn’t care.”
Marco throws his hands up. “She had that ‘I will bite your feet off’ energy. I swear.”
They both look at me like I’m the headline of the worst news show.
“Why didn’t you stop her?” I ask, though it sounds small compared to everything else.
Zack points to Marco with a guilty look. “Dude, I tried. I went for a block and she sidestepped like she’d practiced. It was humiliating.”
Marco shoves his palms out. “I did too, man. She’s fast. Like a freight train with a clipboard.”
Their attempts to explain feel childish and not nearly enough.
I don’t need the details. I need where she went.
Cold air cuts me in the face as I burst through the front door. I spot movement — a brown head of hair rounding the far corner of the walk. She’s already gone a few steps.
“Harper!” I shout.
I’m running before I know what I’m doing.
A hand yanks at my arm and jerks me sideways.
“Don’t.” Cole’s grip is hard, unyielding.
I rip at his hold. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“She thinks—” My voice breaks like a twig. “She thinks I—”
“I know what she thinks,” Cole says, voice sharp. “And if you chase her right now you’ll make it worse.”
“I have to fix this.”
“You can’t fix it tonight.” He’s blunt. “You’ll defend yourself. You’ll get defensive. You’ll say something she can’t take back.”
“I didn’t—” I swallow. “I didn’t mean for any of this.”
“Intent doesn’t matter when she saw Sophia in your lap,” he says. “She saw impact.”
I look at my hands like they betrayed me. I wanted distraction. I wanted something to dull the itch in my ribs. I didn’t want to ruin whatever fragile thing we had. But watching Harper’s face fracture — that’s on me.
Sophia’s laugh filters down the hall from the house. “Are we done out here or are we crying for drama?”
“Shut up,” I snap. My voice cracks. I’m louder than I mean to be.
She blinks, offended, like words have never been thrown at her. “Over her? That’s pathetic.”
“Don’t talk about her. Ever.” The words come out cold. Final.
She scoffs and storms back inside. “Fine. Be a saint. See you later, Captain Morality.”
Her heel slams on the last step. Her voice is a mocking echo behind me.
Cole still holds me, but he’s gentler now. “Go inside. Cool your head. Don’t make a midnight rescue mission the thing that ruins everything.”
“I can’t just wait,” I say. “She thinks I—”
“Then be the guy who sits in what he did,” Cole says, voice low, almost pleading. “Don’t chase her to prove something. Chase her to apologize — and not to defend. Not tonight. That’s the difference.”
I take a ragged breath, the cold burning my lungs. I want to rip across the quad, catch her by the arm, tell her the truth, tell her I never wanted this — that I’m an idiot and I’m sorry — but Cole’s right in that awful way: my first reaction would be to fix the image in her head, not the wound in her chest.
“Tomorrow,” I whisper. “Tomorrow I’ll do something right.”
He lets go of my arm slowly. “Tomorrow better be tomorrow.”
I stand in the street a moment longer and let the night close around me. My hands shake. The house behind me hums with normal noise — video games, laughter — a world that feels like it belongs to everyone but me.
I should have wanted a distraction. I wanted escape. Instead I made the only thing that mattered worse.
And now I have to figure out how to be the guy who owns it.