Chapter 39 HARPER
I’d managed to get through classes. Put on fake smiles. And apologize to my group for not showing up yesterday.
But as soon as the closing bell rang, I grabbed my things and headed straight for the girls’ bathroom.
My throat tightened the moment I stepped in, pulse rising. I dropped my bag on the counter and gripped the edge of the sink, trying to steady my breathing.
“It’s just divorce, Harper,” I said to myself in the mirror. “It’s not the end of the world.”
The girl staring back didn’t look like she believed a single word.
The skin beneath her eyes was swollen from lack of sleep, her entire look barely held together, expression wrecked beyond pretending.
No matter how many times I repeated those words, I couldn’t make myself believe them. How could I?
The house that used to be filled with laughter, warmth, hugs, had turned cold. Quiet. Empty. And after the divorce… it’d only get worse. Who would I live with? How often would I see them both? How do you pick between two people who can’t stand to be in the same room?
I blinked hard, trying to stay composed. Just then, the bathroom door opened, and Megan stepped in.
She hadn’t replied to any of my texts yesterday. I didn’t even know if we were still friends, so I waited, unsure of what she’d say.
“I saw your texts,” she said, hovering by the doorway. “I was going to reply, but my dad took my phone after Cassie’s mom called him.”
“Oh,” I croaked.
“Yeah.” She hesitated, then asked quietly, “You okay?”
“If you’re standing right there and still have to ask, then I guess I’m looking better than I feel,” I said, forcing a weak laugh.
She eyed me for a moment, like she was trying to measure how far I’d fallen. I hated it.
“You’re making it awkward,” I muttered.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say. Maybe it’s because I’m still—”
“Mad at me,” I finished for her. I shrugged, reaching for my bag. “It’s fine. I get it. Nothing terrible’s really happening in my life right now so you can keep being mad at me over some hockey boy who clearly doesn’t give two shits about you.”
“Harper, that’s not—”
I pushed past her, slamming the door on my way out. A shiver crawled up my spine. Maybe I’d overreacted, but she couldn’t seriously think I didn’t need her right now.
My vision blurred with tears I refused to let fall. I just wanted to be alone—to think about what any of this meant.
If Mom and Dad had just talked it out instead of taking ‘space,’ maybe it wouldn’t have come to this. Maybe we’d still be a family.
My thoughts spiraled with what I should’ve noticed, what I could’ve done, what I might still be able to fix—when I collided with someone solid.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurted, snapping back to reality.
Tyler’s eyes narrowed like he was about to say something cutting, and for a second, I almost welcomed it. I wanted pain that matched what I felt inside.
But instead, he asked quietly, “You good?”
The softness caught me off guard. “Yeah. Why?”
His gaze flicked over me—my hair, my face, my trembling hands—before returning to my eyes.
“Nothing. Just asking.”
“I’m good,” I lied, forcing another smile. It was practically muscle memory by now.
I brushed past him, but his voice stopped me. “Aren’t we supposed to have a project meeting? Or at least my session?”
I froze.
Crap. I’d completely forgotten. Just what I needed—three more hours of pretending everything was fine.
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “I just wanted to get some fresh air. You know, um, soak up the sun since it’s been cold all day. Sunshine feels like a luxury nowadays.”
He adjusted his backpack strap, studying me with a look that felt too perceptive. “Is this still about what I said? The ‘being cold’ thing?”
“No—what? I’m over that. You win. It’s obvious I’m not that kind of person, so… yeah.”
“Hmm.” His lips twitched. “For the record, I didn’t mean it like that. I’d rather you be how you are during our sessions than try to be someone else. And—” he gave a small, almost hesitant smile, “I’m trusting you now to help me get back in shape for the game.”
“Cool,” I said lamely, throwing him a thumbs-up that earned me a confused frown.
I didn’t wait for him to figure me out. I spun on my heel and practically ran down the hallway. By the time I reached the school’s exit, the storm clouds opened up as if mocking me.
Students rushed past, tripping over each other to get inside, their laughter echoing as they escaped the rain. Within seconds, the lot was empty—except for me.
I stepped into the downpour.
The cold drops soaked through my clothes, my hair plastering to my face, but I didn’t care. I needed the rain. Needed something to hide the tears I could no longer hold back.
My chest ached as memories crashed over me—Dad’s calm voice at dinner, Mom’s absence at the table, their smiles that used to make everything feel safe.
Now, all of it felt like a lie.
The first sob broke before I could swallow it. Then another. Each one louder than the rain pounding around me.
I didn’t hear him approach—just felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, startled, and found Tyler standing there, soaked but still composed, his eyes shadowed beneath his damp hair.
He didn’t say a word. Just looked at me for a long second, like he understood without needing to ask.
Then he stepped forward and pulled me against him.
I didn’t think. I let myself collapse into his chest, my fists clutching his shirt as the tears came harder. His scent—rain, musk, and something faintly familiar—filled my lungs.
He didn’t shush me. Didn’t try to fix it or ask what was wrong. He just stayed there, arms around me, like he knew words would only make it worse.
And somehow, in that quiet, broken moment, I realized I didn’t feel completely alone anymore.