Chapter 87 HARPER
“I’m so happy you came to practice today,” Mark said, one hand resting comfortably on my lap while the other guided the steering wheel as he pulled into my driveway.
“I loved watching you play,” I replied, turning toward him with a grin that still hadn’t faded since the final whistle. “If I knew hockey was this fun, I would’ve been watching all your games a long time ago.”
He shifted in his seat so he could face me properly, his knee pressing against the console between us. “Oh yeah? Is hockey suddenly fun,” he teased, “or is it fun because your boyfriend is the one playing?”
I laughed, the tight knot that had been sitting in my chest since I’d walked in on Tyler pushing himself too hard on the cable machine finally beginning to loosen. The cold air outside fogged the windows, but inside the car, I felt warm and safe.
“Fine,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender. “You caught me. The game is way more interesting watching you run around out there, owning the ice.”
Mark’s grin widened, pride lighting up his face. He leaned in, brushing a quick kiss against my lips. “And you know what’s even more interesting when I’m involved?”
I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Being between your legs,” he joked, but the moment the words left his mouth, his expression shifted. His brows scrunched together as if he were replaying the sentence in his head. “Wait. That came out wrong. I meant—”
I didn’t let him finish. Grabbing the front of his sweater, I pulled him toward me and pressed my mouth to his, cutting off the spiral before it could turn into an apology-fueled rant. His surprise melted instantly, and he kissed me back with a softness that settled me.
“You’re so cute when you get all worked up,” I murmured when I pulled away.
He tried to look offended, but the faint pink spreading across his cheeks gave him away. “You know what? I don’t even mind. If cute is your thing, then I’m totally and wholesomely cute for you, babe.”
He reached for me, one arm circling my waist as his other hand adjusted his seat. Laughing, I climbed over the console and straddled him, the cold leather beneath my knees making me shiver. A quiet, satisfied moan slipped from his lips, vibrating against my skin. I leaned in, about to kiss him again, when a loud crash echoed from inside my house.
The sound cut through the moment like glass shattering.
I froze.
“What was that?” Mark asked, the humor gone from his voice.
My heart started racing. I already knew. I just couldn’t say it out loud.
“It’s probably my cousin,” I said quickly, pushing his car door open and climbing out. “He’s always been clumsy.”
“You sure?” Mark followed me out, glancing toward the house. “That didn’t sound like clumsiness.”
I stepped directly into his path, forcing a smile. Reaching up, I pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and placed my hands flat against his chest, nudging him backward. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got this. Just go home, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Harper.” He caught my hand before I could turn away.
I cupped his face, forcing calm into my expression even as dread curled in my stomach. “You trust me, right? I can take care of myself. I promise.”
The front door creaked open then, just slightly. Warm Christmas lights spilled onto the porch, illuminating the snow piled along the steps. Mark’s head turned toward it, his body tensing as if he were about to step forward.
I blocked him again, my voice firmer this time. “It’s late. Your parents will worry.”
That reached him. He sighed, leaned down, and kissed me one last time before heading back to his car. “I’ll call you when I get home.”
“Okay,” I said, forcing a nod.
“I love you,” he added, starting the engine.
My reply was swallowed by the sound of it roaring to life. I watched his car disappear down the street before turning back toward the house, my pulse pounding in my ears.
I already knew what I was walking into.
Sam’s big-brother act had died this morning when I came home from Mark’s place last night and found him half drunk, sitting alone in the dark living room. He’d told me he and Racquel had broken up, which hadn’t surprised me. But what came next had.
He’d found her chat with Tyler. Messages she’d sent over and over again, filled with explicit pictures, even though Tyler never responded. That was how Sam found out she was Tyler’s ex. Somehow, that discovery turned into my fault.
Again.
I was blamed for knowing the people involved. For not warning him beforehand. For existing too close to the mess. It felt like Megan versus Cassie all over again, like I was stuck in some endless loop of being the convenient villain.
We’d argued when I told him I’d never liked Racquel and that I didn’t even know they were dating until he moved in and brought her into my house. But Sam wasn’t interested in logic. He blamed everything except the person who’d actually betrayed him.
He blamed me for attending Westfield. For being friends with the hockey team. For inviting my friends and my boyfriend to a party he barely helped host.
If Coach Turner hadn’t called me earlier that morning, things might’ve already crossed a line.
I took a deep breath as I approached the door, promising myself I wouldn’t argue. I’d comfort him. I’d keep things calm. Mostly because I was terrified of what would happen if we slipped back into how things used to be.
I took a hesitant step forward, just as a shadow moved behind the door.
“Sam?” I called softly.
No one answered.
I stepped inside.
The living room looked like a crime scene. Frames shattered across the floor. A lamp lay overturned, its shade ripped clean in half. The coffee table was cracked straight down the middle.
“Oh my God,” I snapped, panic and anger colliding. “Are you serious right now?”
I moved through the house, my voice rising with every step. “Sam, you better have money to replace this stuff!”
The kitchen was empty. One bathroom was wrecked. The second untouched. All three bedrooms were empty.
When I returned to the living room, my stomach dropped.
He stood by the door, the bolt now in place.
How did I miss him before?
“Look,” I started, lifting my hands slowly. “I know you’re hurt. I get that Racquel betrayed you. But if I’d known you were serious about her, I would’ve warned you. I didn’t know, okay? This is on her. Not me.”
His eyes were glassy, unfocused.
“So if you want to be angry,” I continued, “be angry at her.”
“Where were you last night?” he asked.
The question hit me like a slap.
“Excuse me?” I shot back. “Since when is that any of your business?”
He staggered forward, abandoning the door. “I told you what that Westfield brat did to me, and you’re still hanging out with him?”
“What’re you talking about?” I snapped. “Tyler didn’t do anything to you. And I wasn’t with him. I was with Mark.”
“Then whose picture did I see on Facebook?” he spat. “His arm wrapped around your waist.”
My vision tunneled. “And how am I supposed to know? Racquel humiliating herself has nothing to do with me. Tyler never even responded to her. Maybe next time, do your research before committing yourself to a community hole.”
The words were out before I could stop them. Sam was on me in seconds.
His hand closed around my throat, cutting off my breath. I clawed at his wrist, my face burning as panic surged. The smell of alcohol filled my lungs.
“I think you’ve forgotten your place,” he hissed. “I’m three years older than you. Don’t you dare talk to me like that. And if I ever see you around those Westfield scum again—”
“What?” I choked. “What are you going to do about it?”
His fist connected with my face.
White exploded behind my eyes. The floor rushed up too fast, the world tilting violently as I went down.
My vision blurred. Somewhere above me, metal scraped softly.
The last thing I saw was his hands at his belt—then everything went dark.