Chapter 39 Defending Her
The chain-link fence around the community basketball courts rattled in the wind, a lonely, metallic sound that grated against Alex’s nerves. He stood on the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, staring at the empty asphalt.
This court had once been his sanctuary. It was the place where the weight of being a Harrington didn't exist. Here, under the flickering hum of the overhead lights, he had just been a guy with a good jump shot and a friend who wouldn't let him quit.
Mark.
Alex closed his eyes, and for a second, he could hear the rhythmic thump-thump of a ball and the sound of Mark’s breathless laughter. Mark had been the only person in this city who didn't care about Alex's last name or the shadow of his father. When Alex had walked away from the Harrington mansion seven years ago with nothing but a bruised ego and his mother’s maiden name, Mark had been the one to hand him a Gatorade and tell him to get over it. Mark was his anchor to a normal life—the only person who made him feel like he wasn't just a project or an heir.
Now, that anchor was gone, cut loose by Alex’s own hand.
He felt like a traitor. Every step he took in this neighborhood felt like a trespass. He knew Mark was out there somewhere, likely nursing a heart full of glass, and it was entirely Alex’s fault. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to find Mark, grab him by the shoulders, and explain that his love for Sarah wasn't a joke or a betrayal of their friendship. He wanted to say that he adored her, that he respected her more than any woman he had ever met, and that the "love affair" wasn't some cheap thrill. It was the only real thing he had left.
But he couldn't do it.
He sighed, the cold air blooming like smoke in front of his face. He turned away from the court, intending to head back to his apartment, but a flash of light caught his eye.
A silver SUV was idling at the curb about fifty yards down the street. Alex’s heart stopped. He knew that car. He knew the dent in the rear bumper from the time Mark had backed into a light pole while they were arguing about a football game.
Alex froze. That was definitely Mark.
Before Alex could even raise a hand, Mark shifted the car into gear. The tires chirped against the pavement as the SUV surged forward, speeding away into the dark without a single word.
Alex stood there, rooted to the spot, feeling the emptiness of the street settle into his bones.
"Alex? Is that you?"
The voice was high and hopeful. Alex turned to see Rosie walking toward him. She lived in the apartment complex nearby and had been a part of their social circle for a year. She was pretty in a conventional way, with a bright smile that she usually saved exclusively for Mark. She had always liked Mark, following him around like a shadow at parties, though Mark had never given her more than a polite nod.
"Hey, Rosie," Alex said, his voice flat. He wasn't in the mood for small talk, but he wasn't a mean guy. He adjusted his jacket, wanting to leave.
"I saw the SUV," Rosie said, her eyes searching the street where Mark had just vanished.
"Was that Mark? I’ve been trying to call him, but he isn't answering anyone. Is he okay?"
"He's just going through some things," Alex replied shortly. "He needs space."
Rosie stepped closer, her perfume clashing with the scent of damp pavement. She looked up at Alex with a pouting expression.
"You’re always so brooding lately, Alex. You and Mark both. Why don't you come over to my place? A few people are coming by for drinks. You look like you need to relax."
"I’m good, Rosie. Thanks," Alex said, his tone final. "I’ve got a lot on my mind."
Rosie sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You know, I’ve always liked you, Alex. Even when you were being the quiet one. I never understood why you didn't like me back. I'm right here."
Alex looked at her, really looked at her, and saw the shallow desperation in her eyes. He felt a flicker of annoyance. He was thinking about a woman who was currently fighting a billionaire for her life’s work—a woman who melted in his arms with a sophisticated grace that Rosie couldn't even imagine.
"It’s nothing, Rosie," Alex said, trying to be polite. "I’m just not into you. You’re a nice girl, but you’re not for me."
Rosie’s face twisted. Her ego, bruised by Mark’s disappearance and Alex’s rejection, finally snapped. She let out a sharp, nasty little laugh.
"Oh, right. I forgot," she said, her voice dripping with sudden venom.
"You’re not into girls my age, are you? So, what is it? You’re into women over forty now? Is that the new thing? Digging for 'vintage' treasure?"
The air around Alex suddenly felt very, very cold. His protective instincts, the ones he usually reserved for Sarah, flared up like a wildfire. He stepped toward Rosie, his height suddenly becoming an intimidating shadow. He didn't touch her, but his presence was heavy, dominant, and utterly unforgiving.
"Careful, Rosie," he said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous whisper that made her flinch.
"You’re talking about things you don't understand. You’re talking about a woman who has more class in her little finger than you’ll have in your entire life."
Rosie blinked, her confidence wavering. "I was just—"
"You were being small," Alex interrupted, his eyes burning with a harsh light.
"You’re bitter because you can’t get a callback, so you decide to insult a woman who is ten times the person you are. Let me be very clear: stay out of my business. If I hear you breathing a word like that again, you’ll find out exactly how much 'brooding' I can really do."
Rosie stepped back, her face turning a bright, embarrassed red. She looked like she wanted to cry, but Alex didn't care. He was tired of the whispers. He was tired of the judgment.
"Go home, Rosie," he said, turning his back on her.
He walked away, leaving her standing on the sidewalk. His heart was still hammering with a mixture of rage and grief. He had defended Sarah’s honor, but at what cost? He looked down the street where Mark’s car had disappeared.