Chapter 59 Chapter 58
Cole POV
I see her before she sees me.
She’s walking across the quad with a stack of folders pressed to her chest, ponytail swinging, steps quick and purposeful like she’s got somewhere important to be and zero patience for the world.
Which tracks.
Harper Lane always looks like she’s holding herself together with willpower and color-coded schedules.
Today, though?
Today she looks… thinner somehow. Not physically. Emotionally. Like someone took a little shine off her.
Her shoulders are tight. Her mouth is set in that polite-not-okay line. And there’s something in her eyes that makes my chest pinch.
Yeah.
Logan did a number on her.
I angle off the path and fall into step beside her. “You’re going to walk straight into a pole if you keep staring at those papers like they owe you money.”
She startles, then looks over.
“Oh. Hi, Cole.”
Not angry. Not cold.
Just… tired.
“How’s the kingdom?” I ask. “Still standing?”
She gives me a small smile. “Barely. The auction has turned into a full-scale circus.”
“I’m shocked,” I deadpan. “Truly.”
She huffs a breath that might almost be a laugh, then shifts the folders in her arms. “What are you doing over here? Don’t you have class?”
“Canceled,” I say. “Coach pulled the assistant into a meeting. Something about Shaw skating like he wants to commit a felony.”
Her step stutters for half a second.
She recovers fast. “Oh.”
That’s it. Just oh.
I glance at her. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
There it is. The automatic answer.
I arch a brow. “Want to try that again but with honesty?”
She stops walking.
Actually stops.
People flow around us like we’re a rock in a stream.
She looks at me for a long second, then exhales. “I’m… managing.”
Which is not the same as okay.
I nod. “That’s a very Harper answer.”
She tilts her head. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“No,” I say. “It’s supposed to be an observation. You’re very good at holding everything together until you’re alone.”
Her grip tightens on the folders.
“…I don’t fall apart.”
“I didn’t say you did,” I reply gently. “I said you carry a lot.”
She looks away.
Yeah. Definitely not okay.
We start walking again.
“So,” I say lightly, “I hear you’re about to become the most expensive date on campus.”
She groans. “Don’t.”
“I’m serious,” I continue. “People are already talking. PR is drooling. Alumni donors are sharpening their checkbooks.”
“Fantastic,” she mutters. “Exactly what I wanted. To be an item on a bidding sheet.”
“You’ll be a very impressive item,” I say.
She shoots me a look.
“What?” I shrug. “You are. You always have been.”
Something flickers across her face. Not pride. Not flirtation.
Something closer to… uncertainty.
We walk in silence for a few steps.
Then she says quietly, “You don’t have to be nice to me, you know.”
I stop again.
She stops too.
“I’m not being nice,” I say. “I’m being honest.”
Her eyes search my face like she’s trying to figure out what I want.
I hold her gaze. “How are you really holding up?”
She hesitates.
Just a second.
Then: “I feel stupid.”
That one hits harder.
“For what?”
“For…” She trails off, then shakes her head. “For thinking things might be different. For letting my guard down. For not being better at… not caring.”
I don’t push. I don’t need to.
I know exactly who she’s talking about.
“He’s an idiot,” I say.
She lets out a soft, humorless laugh. “That seems to be a popular opinion.”
“He’s also scared,” I add.
She stiffens. “Of what?”
“Of anything that isn’t easy,” I say. “Of anything that might actually matter.”
She studies me. “You always defend him like this?”
“No,” I say honestly. “But I also know when he’s screwing something up in spectacular fashion.”
Her mouth tightens. “It’s not your job to fix him.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m not trying to.”
We start walking again.
I watch her for a moment, then ask, “Did he hurt you?”
She doesn’t answer right away.
Then: “He confused me.”
That might be worse.
I nod slowly.
We reach the edge of the quad where the paths split.
“You heading to the house?” I ask.
“Library first,” she says. “I have a meeting in an hour.”
Of course she does.
“Walk you partway?”
She hesitates. Then nods. “Okay.”
We walk.
I’m not sure when the idea forms.
Maybe it’s the way she keeps pulling herself straighter, like she’s trying to put armor back on.
Maybe it’s the way she keeps her eyes forward, like she’s afraid of what she might see if she looks around.
Maybe it’s just that I’m tired of watching my best friend self-destruct and take good people with him.
Or maybe…
Maybe I just think Harper deserves to be seen.
“Hey,” I say casually. “You doing anything Friday night?”
She glances at me. “Other than running the universe?”
“Other than that.”
She thinks. “I don’t think so. Why?”
I keep my tone light. “Want to get dinner?”
She stops again.
Turns to face me fully.
“Cole…”
“Before you panic,” I add quickly, “this is not a pity invite. Or a rebound thing. Or a scheme.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “That was very specific.”
I smile. “I’m a very specific guy.”
She studies me for a long moment. “Why?”
Because I want Logan to see what he’s blind to.
Because I want you to remember you’re wanted.
Because I think he needs a wake-up call.
But I don’t say any of that.
Instead I say, “Because you’re smart and funny and way too hard on yourself, and I think you could use a night where no one expects anything from you.”
She looks… surprised.
“I thought you and Logan—”
“We are,” I say. “Friends. That doesn’t mean I think he’s always right.”
She swallows. “This feels… complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” I say. “Just dinner. No pressure. No expectations.”
She searches my face again.
“Let me think about it,” she says finally.
“Fair,” I reply. “Take your time.”
We start walking again.
We don’t get far.
Because suddenly I feel it.
That prickle at the back of my neck.
The sense of being watched.
I look up.
And there he is.
Logan.
Standing on the steps of the science building across the quad, backpack slung over one shoulder, jaw tight, eyes locked on us like he’s just walked in on a crime scene.
He doesn’t move.
He just stares.
And the look on his face?
That’s not curiosity.
That’s not confusion.
That’s fury.
Possessive. Sharp. Barely contained.
Harper feels it too. She glances over, sees him, and her shoulders go rigid.
I don’t look away.
I meet his eyes.
And something in me decides, right then and there, that this isn’t going to be comfortable for him.
Good.
Harper shifts her folders. “I should go.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Probably.”
She hesitates, then says, “Thanks. For checking on me.”
“Anytime,” I reply. “Really.”
She walks off toward the library.
Logan doesn’t take his eyes off her until she disappears into the building.
Then his gaze snaps back to me.
And if looks could commit homicide, I’d be dead.
He crosses the quad in long, angry strides.
“Are you kidding me?” he snaps, stopping inches from me. “What the hell was that?”
“Conversation,” I say calmly. “You should try them sometime.”
“Were you asking her out?”
I raise a brow. “Why?”
“Because if you were—”
“Because if I was what?” I cut in. “You don’t get to finish that sentence, Shaw.”
His jaw clenches. “She’s not—”
“Yours?” I supply. “Yeah. I noticed.”
He looks like he wants to punch something.
Maybe me.
Maybe a wall.
Maybe himself.
“You don’t get to suddenly care now,” I continue. “Not after acting like she’s optional.”
“She’s not my type.”
I laugh. Actually laugh. “That is the weakest excuse you’ve ever used.”
“She’s not—”
“Latina?” I finish. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve got a pattern. Congratulations. Guess what? Patterns aren’t laws.”
He glares. “Stay out of this.”
“No,” I say. “You don’t get to screw her up and then tell everyone else to stay away.”
His voice drops. “Did you ask her out?”
I don’t answer right away.
I let it sit.
Let it burn.
“I might,” I say.
His hands curl into fists.
And there it is.
The meltdown.
Good.
I lean in just enough to make sure he hears me.
“You want her? Figure it out. Or someone else will.”
Then I walk past him.
And behind me, Logan Shaw looks like a man who just realized he’s about to lose something he never admitted he wanted.