Chapter 5

The back room of the Golden Harp was just as bare as ever, fitted only with a card table and a set of folding chairs. The difference now, of course, was how the room reeked of old beer and stale cigarette smoke. Lucas Whalen sat, stooped at the table, a swirl of smoke curling around his head like a halo. He ashed half-heartedly into an empty beer bottle, scattering the charred tobacco romans around the periphery of the bottle. As he did so, he examined his hands: strong, callused hands that had spent years gripping the clutch of a motorcycle or the trigger of a gun. He still wore his wedding ring, could never bring himself to take it off. And he noticed that he had just a little bit of blood beneath his fingernails. He wondered, then, if his hands could ever really be clean.

No wonder Harper left, he thought, his mood turning somber, sour. He leaned forward, his elbows on the tabletop, and brooded silently over half a Coors Light and half a Winston. She should have stayed away. She never would have been kidnapped, attacked, if it hadn’t been for him and the goddamned Iron Banshees. No, she had to leave. There was no way she could stay. Not after all this.

His heart ached—he wanted nothing more than for Harper to stay with him, in the life he knew. He wanted to be a family, he wanted to help raise his son to be a better man than he was. But after everything that had happened…

He leaned back and let the cigarette dangle from his lips, letting the smoke get in his eyes. He raked his fingers through his mass of blond hair, heaving a sigh through his nose that scattered some ash onto his jeans. Is there a way, he wondered, that he could be the man his wife and son needed, a way for him to leave the life behind? But there wasn’t: the club, the brotherhood to which he had devoted his life, needed him more than ever. The sudden, violent death of Old Pete Harrington, the club’s erstwhile President, meant that it was time for Lucas Whalen to step up and take the helm. It was the job he’d been bred for, the job he’d practiced for all his life. He could no sooner leave the Iron Banshees than he could shed his own skin. And Harper knew that, too. Which is why she had never pressed him to leave it all behind. Good woman.

A knock at the door jerked him out of his reverie and he flicked the cigarette to the concrete floor and crushed it under the toe of his boot. “Yeah,” he barked, and the door swung open. In walked Oliver Flynn, with Fitz and Brian close on his heels.

“Was the escort really necessary?” Oliver asked, his arms crossed in front of him. Lucas slowly rose to his feet, not liking to see Oliver tower over him as he was. They were about the same height, Lucas and Oliver, but Lucas was lithe, lean; Oliver was some kind of muscled behemoth.

“I wanted to make sure you’d come,” Lucas said, reaching into the inside pocket of his black leather vest and fishing out his cigarettes. He felt sturdier when he had one between his lips, as though he needed always to have something to do with his hands.

“Well. Here I am. What do you want, Whalen?”

Lucas glanced back at Fitz and Brian, canting his chin toward them to indicate he wanted them to leave. Fitz obeyed with the easy nature of a well-trained puppy, but Brian lingered in the doorway, falling into an easy lean against the frame.

“Brian,” Lucas said, by way of urging him forward. He remained.

“This conversation concerns my family,” he said, “I’ve every intention of staying.” Brian had that same obstinate nature that Harper had, so Lucas should not have been surprised that he wanted to stay and would not leave unless he were bodily removed.

Lucas grumbled and let it lay. “I wanted to ask you about Harper,” Lucas said to Oliver, whose expression indicated that he was in no way surprised.

“What is it you want to know?”

“What are your…intentions with her, exactly?” Lucas asked.

Oliver grinned, broad and bright, flashing his perfect white teeth. “My ‘intentions’? Lord alive, Lucas, are you her Da now?”

“Just answer his fucking question,” Brian shot back, clearly made uncomfortable by the trajectory of this questioning, despite his insistence on being present for it.

“I don’t see how it’s any of your bloody business,” Oliver quipped.

“Oliver…”

“She’s his wife, asshole,” Brian retorted, gesturing pointedly toward Lucas. “And she’s my fucking sister, so, thank you very much, she is our business.”

“Fine,” Oliver acquiesced. “I love her, all right? And I told her as much. And I want her to…be with me. To choose me.”

Lucas considered him for a moment before giving a slow nod of his head. “I can’t say I blame you,” he said quietly. “I certainly know what it feels like.” Lucas locked his gaze on Oliver then, taking a long drag of his cigarette and exhaling slowly, sending a plume of smoke into the air between him. “I meant what I said before,” he continued, “that your debt is paid, that your business with the club is concluded. And you have my deep gratitude for everything you’ve done for us, helping us with your father…”

“What happened to him, by the way?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. “I mean, so long as we’re talking about family.”

Lucas and Brian exchanged a set of nervous glances, but ultimately Lucas nodded his head. “You’re right. You have a right to know.”

“Aye.”

“We couldn’t let him live, Oliver,” Lucas said gently. Oliver knew that much, but couldn’t bring himself to say, Oh, sure, that’s all right, I get it. He’d only ever have one father, after all, even if that father was a murderous, greedy lunatic.

Brian moved more fully into the room then, allowing the door to close gently behind him. “But he died well,” he added. “He was brave. Honorable. He understood, ultimately.”

“How’d you do it?” Oliver asked.

“Oliver…” Lucas intoned. “Don’t.”

“I want to know.” He glanced between the two men, then, examining their kuttes. These vests that proclaimed they were Iron Banshees, that Lucas was the President, that they were a gang of organized killers, criminals, businessmen, and lastly, motorcycle enthusiasts. “Tell me.” Despite the regalia, Oliver was not afraid. He would know how Tommy Flynn had met his end.

“Simple,” Lucas said, meeting his gaze. “One bullet to the head. Quick, painless, clean.”

“Who did it?”

“I did,” Brian stated, firm and confident. “He murdered my father; he kidnapped my sister. I put the old man down.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, locking his eyes on Oliver. “You can hit me, if you want to,” he offered.

Oliver furrowed his brow, trying to determine if the immediate violence would make him feel any better. He doubted very much that it would. “Nah,” he said. “Thanks for the offer.”

The three of them could not help but break into a series of sad, awkward little smiles. If nothing else, they understood each other.

“So, about Harper.”

“Aye.” Oliver relaxed a little and slid into one of the folding chairs. Lucas sat across from him; Brian lingered, leaning against the wall. “I love her. I’ve asked her to choose me. What more do you need to know?”

“Has she?” He asked. “Chosen you, I mean.”

“Not yet. She told me she would think about it.”

Lucas nodded again, letting his cigarette drop into the beer bottle. “I have one more favor to ask you,” he said.

Oliver groaned. “No, you’re done with me, man. You don’t get to have any further influence on my life. The debt is paid; I’m done.”

“This is just a favor. I’m asking you man to man: let her go. Don’t try to make her stay. That’s all. Just let her get the hell out of this town.” There was such raw desperation in his eyes that Oliver knew immediately how much he loved her. He leaned forward, examining Lucas’ expression, and could nothing, ultimately, but nod his head in consent.

“Aye,” he agreed. “I would never ask her to stay here. Not with the little one, not around all this violence.”

“Thank you,” Lucas whispered. He jerked his head toward the door, another indication that he was free to go. Oliver would have been annoyed with the nonverbal dismissal, if he didn’t think, perhaps, that Lucas was trying to conceal the fact that his voice was shaking.

Lucas rose to his feet and extended his hand to Lucas, who grinned a lopsided sort of grin and took it. The two men shook hands, as though they had concluded some sort of business transaction, and Oliver turned on his heel to leave the room, to leave the Iron Banshees to their dirty business.

* * *

I love the sounds of a house beginning to start the day: the comfortable, homey sounds of happy voices, brewing coffee, sizzling bacon, silverware hitting plates. I stayed in bed as long as I could, so I might listen to my son’s voice, like a light, airy descant over the alto and baritone sounds of my mother and brother as they had their breakfast, chatting happily now that I was home, now that the ordeal of my father’s death, and his murder’s demise, was finally over.

For my part, I was content to stay under the covers, dreamy and bleary from the horrible events of the previous few days. I was still nursing some injuries, still powering through some anxiety, and cultivating my strength to make the big decisions ahead of me: Do I stay in Hollybrook with Lucas, or do I leave with Oliver? I could barely seriously consider either option, so rife were they both with peril. I’d had enough, first as a young mother in this crime-ridden town, and certainly over the last couple of days. I’d seen my brother in a ring, fighting Oliver; I’d been threatened, kidnapped; and I’d killed men as I made my escape.

At least, I think I killed them. Everything was such a blur, and I was replaying the scene over and over in my head, trying to figure out what was real, and what details my mind was filling in for me. Was I a killer, too? Did that mean I belonged here, with the Iron Banshees? Or was I somehow exempt from it all, acting as I was in self-defense?

I tugged the blankets up over my head and buried my face in the pillow, not wanting to see these grisly images on the IMAX of my mind. But they wouldn’t be held at bay, and I feared that if I spent too much more time with them, they would consume me utterly.

I was unprepared for Lucas to barge into the guest room, and I shot up in bed when I heard him enter, my eyes wide, startled. He wore a grim sort of expression, colored with something that looked like fear.

“Sorry,” he said, grinning, and closing the door behind him. “Your mom said you were up here—I thought maybe you’d be packing.”

“Packing?” I echoed, clutching the flannel shirt I was wearing tight around my torso. His shirt, which I realized even as he first noticed. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was wearing it when I had a set of perfectly good pajamas that had previously been discarded on the bedroom floor. I must have tugged it on the night before, wanting to be comforted by his familiar scent.

“Yeah, I figured with everything wrapping up, you’d be wanting to head out.”

“I thought you wanted me to stay.” He moved closer to me then and sat on the edge of the bed. He shrugged out of his kutte and tossed it onto a chair in the corner, wanting only to be Lucas, my Lucky, not the president of the Iron Banshees.

“I do want you to stay,” he said quietly. “More than anything.” He turned and looked at me then, his eyes watery with unshed tears. The stark display of emotion caught me off guard, and I climbed out from under the blankets to sit next to him. I was clad only in his flannel shirt and a pair of panties, but this was a man I’d married, loved, lived with. I had born his son—I thought, maybe, it was all right if I were slightly underdressed in this vulnerable moment.

I slid my arms around his neck, hugging him from behind so that my chest pressed against his back. He lifted a hand up and gripped one of my wrists, holding me in place. He spoke openly, then, I think because he didn’t have to look me in the eye. “I want you to stay, but I think you should go. I think you were right, Harper. I think you were right to get the hell out of here and stay as far away from me as you could.” He let go of me then, and I felt his shoulders drop beneath my embrace. “I’m no good for you,” he muttered. “I never was.”

I didn’t know what to say—he was right, of course. But my heart ached for him, and I wanted only to bring him some modicum of comfort. I tilted my head so that my long, black hair tumbled down over his arm and pressed a kiss to his neck. I held my lips there, willing him to turn, for his mouth to meet mine. But he remained still. “I love you, Lucky,” I whispered. Because I did. I always had. But that wouldn’t mean I would stay.

“I love you, Harper,” came his tremulous reply, and he did turn, then, and caught my mouth with his in a kiss full of longing, and regret. I shifted so that he could turn and slid an arm around my waist, pulling me onto his lap as he kissed me. I could feel him rising to attention, but a knock at my bedroom door made us freeze where we sat.

“Just a sec,” I said, and rose to my feet, bidding him to stay where he was. I opened the door just a crack, and my eyes widened to see Oliver standing there.

“Oliver,” I breathed, eyes wide. “What…what are you doing here?”

“I just came to bring you your purse, and ah, cell phone,” he said, holding up the items in question. “I fetched them from the Casino for you.”

I balked. “You went back there?” I was shocked—he had played a key role in my escape, so I could only imagine that his father’s cronies bore no lover for him. “How…why did you do that? Weren’t you afraid that you’d be killed?”

“They’re still in a scramble to figure out who’s in charge after the, ah…sudden passing of my Da. As far as anyone there can see, I cleared the way for a series of promotions.” He shrugged. “No one gave me much of a hard time. I think they assumed I’d shown up there to claim the throne or some such. They were relieved when I told them I wasn’t interested in the job.” He paused, trying to peer around me into the room. “Ah, can I come in, then?”

I hesitated, but allowed him to come in. And why not? There was no sense in trying to hide these men from one another. He hesitated to enter further when his eyes landed on Lucas, but I shut the door behind him, and locked it. This is what I wanted, both of them here, with me, now. This is what I’d fantasized about, and I could put off making my decisions if I could just have them, if I could take them both, keep them both with me for just a moment longer.

“Whalen,” Oliver said, not without warmth, but perhaps a little stiffly.

“Flynn,” came Lucas’ playful reply.

I shrugged out of Lucas’ flannel shirt and tossed it aside, before shimmying out of my panties and allowing them to puddle at my feet. I was bared to them, my hair like black ink spilling over my shoulders, and concealing my nipples—erect in the cool air—from sight. I affixed my gaze first on Oliver, whose eyes, like two glasses of fine sherry, were darting furtively between Lucas and me, before settling finally on me, drinking me in. He allowed his eyes to rove hungrily over the landscape of my body, up and down. Lucas was frozen still, his eyes like two brilliant cut emeralds, locked on my face, trying to read my expression. He looked as though he were making a decision: I could see the wheels turning in his mind. I thought for a moment that he might bolt from the room when he rose to his feet. But he didn’t run; instead, he tugged his white tee shirt off over his head and tossed it as well over the chair. Then he sat down again to unlace his boots.

This gesture seemed to incite Oliver, who was not to be outdone. He kicked out of his shoes and tugged his shirt off as well before racing over to me and curling his fingers around my neck. He brought my face toward his and kissed me long and hard, his tongue pressing its way into my mouth. He scooped me up into his arms then and I wrapped my legs about his waist as he carried me over to the bed. He dropped me rather unceremoniously onto the mattress and stared down at me as I allowed my knees to part and fall open, exposing my sex to both of them. It was already damp and tingling, yearning for attention.

“Is this what you really want, Harper?” Lucas asked, and I turned my head to look at him. He was standing on the other side of the bed, and as such, I could glance easily between my two lovers. It was what I wanted, it was what I had wanted for a long time, and all I could do was nod my head and whisper, “Yes.”

I saw the men look at one another, saying nothing, an imperceptible agreement passing between them. And then Lucas moved around to the foot of the bed, trailing his fingers lightly over the flesh of my inner thighs. It sent a shiver down my spine, even as Oliver dropped to his knees and took one of my nipples between his lips. I arched my back to meet him, just as I felt Lucas’ mouth press a series of fluttering kisses along the plane of my lower abdomen, from one hip bone to the other. My body was a map, and they were purposeful and cautious explorers, careful not to disrupt their fellow traveler’s path.

As Oliver suckled at one breast, he kneaded the other with one large, steady hand. I felt Lucas kiss his way over my pubic bone as he parted my nether lips with two deft fingers. His eager little tongue made contact with the pulsing pith of my sex, and I moaned so loudly that Oliver placed a hand over my mouth to quiet me. I wasn’t used to such attention—even in my wildest fantasy, I hadn’t prepared myself for this surplus of sensation. Lucas was running his free hand up and down the line of my silhouette, from my knee, up to my waist and back again, and I was overwhelmed.

Lucas began to move his tongue more quickly, and he slid a finger inside of me as he worked my clit. Oliver abandoned the breast upon which he’d been heaping his attention to focus on the other, removing his hand from my mouth so that he could unzip his fly and tug his turgid manhood out of his jeans, stroking it to full attention. I turned my head to watch him pleasure himself as Lucas slid a second finger into me. I was ready, ready for both of them, and I wanted them to fill me up.

I think they could sense how desperate I was becoming, and I could feel the ache between my legs growing as Lucas continued to perform his luscious ministrations on me. But after a while, he lifted his head and pulled his fingers out of me, using his kisses to travel north, over the plain of my abdomen and up the slope of my breast. He found my mouth then, and I could taste myself on his tongue as he kissed me.

Oliver took his cue and moved south, shedding his jeans as he went, and tugging his boxers down just enough for his cock to be free. He climbed onto the mattress between my legs and plunged himself into me to the hilt. I broke free of Lucas’ kiss to let out a cry as Oliver thrust the full amount of his considerable length into my orifice, wet and warm as damp velvet. Lucas knelt on the mattress in front of my face, unzipping his own fly and pulling out his cock, already at full attention. He pressed forward and I parted my lips for him, taking him into my mouth as deeply as I could. I curled my fingers around the base of his shaft and worked it with my hand and my lips, as Oliver bucked his hips back and forth, back and forth into me.

I allowed my eyes to come to a close and focused on the cornucopia of feelings: penetrated in two places, with four hands exploring every inch of my body. I could feel my orgasm starting to build already—indeed, I couldn’t recall a time in my life where I had been more turned on than I was in that moment. My skin was hypersensitive, and so much as a static shock would have sent me utterly over the edge. I was consumed by them: I was totally theirs, and they were mine.

And more than that, I was so full of them that they pushed the demons out. For the first time since it had happened, I was free of the images that had plagued me and made me sleepless. I was boiled down to my sense of touch, and my lovers lit me up from the inside out.

I pulled away from the both of them then, wanting them every which way, and sat up on the mattress. They both froze, gripping their cocks in their fists, and waited to take their cues from me. I got up onto my knees then and bent forward so that I was on my hands and knees, facing in the opposite direction than I had been previously. I presented my ass to Lucas, my mouth to Oliver, and let them both come into me.

Lucas gripped my hips and found my entrance, slick as a water weed, and pressed into me. I was comforted by his familiar, steady rhythm. And while Oliver’s cock was slightly larger, Lucas had a quickness to him that I knew would bring me to fruition with speed. Lucas knew just how to make love to me, knew exactly how I liked it. He knew my body, every inch of it, as well as he knew his own, and I took solace in that. Oliver, on the other hand, was still new. He was the intrepid explorer, learning me, and focusing on me with a keen interest. He excited me, the way he watched me, wanting to make sure that what he was doing was precisely how I liked it done. It was sweet, the attentiveness; it was thrilling, the newness of it all.

I took Oliver into my mouth and bobbed my head up and down. He tangled his fingers in my hair and urged me ever forward, so that I could take every inch of him into my throat. I obliged and sucked him hungrily, even as I contracted the muscles in my vaginal wall around Lucas, who was digging his fingers into the soft flesh of my bottom. I moaned around Oliver’s cock before I felt Lucas thrust once more into me, sending the juice of his climax deep into my recesses. I reveled in the sensation of his cock pulsing as he shot his load into me and gasped through my nose when he reached around to rub at my clit. My orgasm built around Lucas’ cock, his fingers working me to completion. And it was the sight and sound of my wracking orgasm that finally finished off Oliver, who came into my mouth with a fierce grunt.

I trembled with the force of it all, my body shivering as both men pulled out of me. I collapsed onto the bed as I swallowed down the remnants of Oliver’s juices, Lucas’ dripping down my thighs. I curled up on my side facing Lucas, who lay beside me and cradled my head on his arm and pressed kisses to my forehead. Oliver joined us then, laying close at my back and resting his hand on my hip. And I had taken them both.

I felt a well of emotion spring up on me in those moments, warm in the afterglow, where we said nothing, simply allowed our heart rates to slow, and our breathing to steady. I felt a few errant tears spill out over the arch of my cheeks, and I was grateful that both of my companions had their eyes closed so that they couldn’t see me. How could I ever choose between these two men? How could I possibly stay in Hollybrook with Lucas, with all of the violence, the uncertainty, the mayhem. But then, how could I run off with Oliver and start a new life? How, when I knew that if I did, the old life would simply follow us wherever we went? How could I live every day with the reminders of how we’d come together, of what I’d had to leave behind to choose that life?

No, I resolved then. No. I couldn’t choose either of them. So I would have neither. It broke my heart, but my gut knew it was right.

I don’t know how long we lay there, all tangled up together. All I knew is that they were both sound asleep when I slipped away. I went into the bathroom and locked the door, indulging in a long, languorous bath. And when I came out again, they had both gone.

* * *

“Mama, when are we going to go home?” Jamie asked when I hoisted him up off the floor and into my arms.

“Tomorrow, baby,” I said, pressing a series of kisses to the top of his head before he began to squirm in my arms, demanding to be put down again. I set him back down on the kitchen floor and turned to watch my mother and she came into the room. She was looking much older than she had on the day I arrived, which I suppose was to be expected. There was something world-weary about her, something resigned; her eyes, once a limpid blue, we're now somehow dull, gray, like the sky hours after a storm.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, pressing her hand to my forehead as though I had a fever. I smiled, recognizing the gesture. I don't think she was testing to see if I was sick so much is she just wanted to touch me, to comfort me.

“Much better,” I said, abandoning all pretense and enfolding her in an embrace.

"What's the plan, then?”

“Plan?” I asked. “I don’t really have one, I guess.”

“But you are leaving.” She began to move around the kitchen, putting things back in their places. She was fidgety; she didn't know what to do with her hands. I watched her as she moved, mesmerized by her easy grace. Even at her age, she was beautiful. I hoped I would age as well as she had. But I could sense her anxiety: without me and Jamie there to keep her company, her only companion—her only family at all—would be Brian. And I knew she liked having us around, because he was always so busy. Club business, after all.

“Yes,” I said. “Unless…you would prefer that I stay?”

“No,” she insisted. “No, I know you have to get away.” She paused in her fidgeting then and leveled me with her eyes, in that way that only mothers can. “You’re leaving them both behind, aren’t you? Lucas and Oliver Flynn.”

I stared at her, wondering how she had seen so keenly into the depths of my psyche, and gave a slow nod of my head. “But how did you know?” I wondered aloud.

“You have a look about you, sweetheart,” she said. “It is determination—you’ve set your mind to something, so you are going to stick with it. But there is an undertone of melancholy there as well.” She smiled a small sort of smile and patted my hand where it lay on the countertop. “You’re doing the right thing.”

“Am I?” I dropped down onto a chair at the kitchen table. “I’m not so sure.”

“You are,” she said. “You are.” She slid into a chair across from me, and her face took on a somewhat dreamy look. “I thought about it myself,” she said after a while, “leaving Hollybrook, I mean.”

“You did?” This surprised me: she had always been the ideal Old Lady, always supporting my father in whatever fool endeavor he had undertaken. She seemed to enjoy the life, even if she wasn’t particularly well-suited to it.

“Of course I did,” she went on. “My parents didn’t exactly approve of your father. They wanted an entirely different life for me. And for you and your brother. So, when I was pregnant with you, I left your father.”

“You didn’t!”

She smiled. “Only for a few days. I went to stay with my family for about a week or so and considered all my options. It was violent, even back then—though not nearly so much as it is now. And I didn’t want you to be a part of it, either of you. Brian took to it all at a young age, your father teaching him how to work on his Harley, and all of that. But you…I knew you could have more. Be more.” She regarded me coolly, and I could tell she was trying to be careful with her words. “That’s why I never wanted you to marry Lucas Whalen.”

“You never told me that.” I said. “I thought you loved Lucas.”

“I do. He’s a sweetheart, and he always treated you well. But that wasn’t the point.”

“You should have said something.”

“Please. You were a teenager when you feel in love with him. If I had forbidden you to marry Lucas Whalen, that would have sent you running right straight into his arms.” I heaved a sigh and nodded: she was right, of course.

“What made you go back to Dad?” I asked. “Back when you were pregnant. What was it?”

She shook her head slowly, chagrined, but smiling. “Empty promises. Your father swore to me up and down that we would leave this town together one day. It was all he wanted, he said. After he’d gotten the club set up the way he wanted it to be, he and I both would leave.” She sighed. “I was addicted to that fool man. And I’ve no idea what I’ll do without him.”

And my mother said nothing more about it. She went about putting away the dishes from the morning’s breakfast, picking up after my brother, and gathering Jamie's toys to put them back in his small backpack. I think it calms her to keep busy in these times of loneliness and sadness, and I couldn’t help but wonder how she would fare once we’d gone.

“Where’s Brian?” I asked.

“Out back,” she said. “Have you started packing yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Best get to it. There’s an errand I will need you to run for me on your way out of town.”

I climbed the stairs of my mother’s house, examining all of the framed photographs that she kept on the walls that lined stairway. Brian and I had grown up on these walls: at the bottom of the stairs were baby pictures where we were tiny little creatures cradled in my mother's arms. Then, halfway up the staircase we were schoolchildren, all big teeth and backpacks. Then, closer to the top of the stairs, we were high school graduates in caps and gowns. If the staircase is to be believed, our stories had and there. When Lucas and I split up, all of the wedding photographs had been taken down. Except for one: me, in a simple white gown holding a bouquet of Queen Anne's lace, sitting on the swing that hung from the tree in the backyard and smiling, big and broad, directly into the camera. I was no more than a child in that picture, the same way I was no more than a child in my high school graduation photo. But how grown-up I had felt. How was it, when I was that young, I thought I knew anything at all?

I paused at the door to my childhood bedroom where Jamie had been staying, allowing my gaze to drink in the familiar surroundings. I didn't know when I would ever see that room again, and I had grown up in it. Part of me wanted to let my son grow up in it, too. But now finally I knew better.

I made my way to the guest room and saw the remnants of our lovemaking scattered all over the room. Lucas had left his flannel shirt, so I folded it, and it was the first thing I packed into my suitcase. Oliver had left a T-shirt behind, probably on purpose. So, I took that too. That way, I would have a little piece of them both, something to keep in the bottom drawer, something to touch, something to revisit.

I completed the rest of my packing with smooth celerity, not really pausing to think about the journey ahead. I had nearly completed the task, when there was a knock at the door. “Harper Grace, you decent?” I heard through the door, and I smiled as I crossed the room to let Brian in.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I echoed.

“Taking off, then?”

“Pretty soon, yeah.” He gave a slow not of his head as he made his way deeper into the room. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and didn't look me in the eye. He seemed abashed, embarrassed by what I’m sure he thought was his unmanly display of emotion. I inclined my head and forced him to meet my gaze, our eyes mirror images of each other. “What’s the matter?” I asked at length.

“I just came here to say that I'm really sorry.” It all came spilling out, then. All of it, as though once he had opened the well, he couldn’t stop again until the full truth of it had come out. “I should've been here. I can't believe I wasn't here from the very beginning. I hate myself for it. Mom hates me for it, I know she must. Do you hate me for it? I wouldn't blame you if you did. I'm so sorry, Harper Grace, I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive me.”

“Forgiven, dear one,” I said, and tugged him into my arms. “Forgiven.”

He held me for a long stretch of silence, and when I pulled away, I peered up into a face that looked so much like my father's it almost took my breath away. He quirked his head to one side, and he grinned down at me. “What?”

“Nothing.” I said. “I just hadn’t realized you looked so much like Dad.”

He chuckled wryly. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I get that a lot.” He canted his chin toward the bed where my full suitcase lay open. “You done with that?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I said, and he moved over to the bed and zipped the thing up.

“I’ll take it down to the truck for you,” he said, hoisting it onto his shoulder. He paused at the door and glanced back at me. “Don’t be a stranger, Harper Grace,” he said.

* * *

After stripping the sheets off the bed, collecting the towels and wash cloths, and bringing them all down into the laundry room, the only thing that was left to do was write two letters: one to Oliver, new lover, new friend; and one to Lucas, husband, father of my son, and the love of my life. Oliver had saved me, there is no denying that. And I did love him in my way. But perhaps not in the way he had hoped for. As much as it pained me to say goodbye to him, I knew it was ultimately the best thing for him. I wrote:

Dear Oliver, There are several things for which I must beg your forgiveness, not the least of which is slipping away without saying goodbye to you in person. Please forgive me for being careless with your heart. I had never intended to do you harm, and I had never intended to develop such strong feelings for you in return. It's just bad timing, baby. You are a kind, strong, gorgeous man, and you deserve someone who will love you with the same fierceness and loyalty that you show them. I am asking you to forgive me because, despite your attractive offer, I'm afraid I must decline. I can't have this life following me and my son around for the rest of our days. I don't know that I would ever be able to shake the realities of our origin story, and that's not something either of us want hanging over our heads.

Please know that I wanted to choose you. Or, more accurately, I wanted to want to choose you. I'm not choosing Lucas either. Instead, I'm choosing my son. I'm choosing to ensure that his life looks nothing like the one we're leaving behind. You are a good and decent man, so I am certain you can understand this.

You saved my life, Oliver, in more ways than one. And for that, I will be forever grateful. You will always have a friend in me, as I hope to always have a friend in you. I'll forever treasure the time we spent together, and I am sad to say that it's over. I don't really know how to end this type of letters; in fact, I’ve never written this type of letters before. So, I suppose I'll just say: Thank you, friend. And goodbye.

Love, Harper Grace Harrington.

One letter down, and one to go. I'd certainly saved the more difficult for last. I sat at my mother's kitchen table and peered out the window. From my seat, I could see the tree through the kitchen window. It was the very tree that the swing used to hang from, where they had taken the photograph of me in the wedding dress. I had grown up in this town, and Lucas had grown up with me. But we had also grown apart, though our end was due to no lack of love. So, what was there to say? Something. I had to say something.

Dear Lucas, I love you. I love you I love you I love you. Please, if you are ever ready to leave this life, to leave this town, come find us. We're waiting.

Harper I had no idea if I would never see Lucas again, though I hoped for my son's sake that I would. Lucas knew well enough to stay away the first time, I knew that he would stay away this time too. But, oh, I didn't want him to stay away.

I tucked the notes into envelopes, addressed them appropriately, and stuck them in my purse. Whether I was fully prepared or not, it was time to leave. Time to leave Hollybrook, my family, and the dangerous life to which they had become accustomed.

I headed back downstairs and found my mother waiting in the foyer with Jamie in her arms. I gazed at my son, the reason for all of the day’s decisions, and approached them, scooping him up into my arms. He nuzzled himself against my neck, clinging to me, and clearly saddened by the prospect of leaving his grandmother.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, rocking Jamie gently to and fro.

“Thank you,” she replied, rubbing his back. “I’m glad you came.”

“Of course I came,” I said, and she leaned forward to press a kiss to my cheek. She followed us out to the driveway and helped me get Jamie settled in the car, playing happily with two of his race cars.

“Ok,” I said, preparing myself to bid my mother farewell. But she held up a hand.

“Just a second,” she said, and darted back into the house. I watched her disappear inside and reappear a few moments later, carrying a plain, brown cardboard box in her hand, no bigger than a shoebox. She cradled it gently and pressed it carefully into my hands. “I need you to do me this favor,” she said, not taking her eyes off the box. “These are your father’s ashes, Harper Grace. I need you to take them out of Hollybrook and scatter them.”

I furrowed my brow, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat. “Where do you want me to take them, exactly?”

“It doesn’t matter where,” she said. “Anywhere. Just make sure it’s out of Hollybrook. The bastard will keep his promise to me yet.” She flashed a smile and I mirrored it before wrapping my arms around her neck and hugging her close.

“Goodbye, Ma,” I said, and kissed her cheek. I climbed into the truck and set my father’s ashes carefully on dashboard before backing out down the drive. My mother stood at the front door and waved and waved until I couldn’t see her anymore.

At the end of the block, I saw a man standing astride his motorcycle. I smiled, I couldn’t help it, I was glad to see that Lucky had come to see me off. “Daddy!” Jamie shouted, and I pulled the car to a stop and snatched the letters from my purse. I climbed out of the truck and moved around to get Jamie out, too, and he ran to his father as soon as I put him on the ground.

“Hey buddy,” Lucas said, hoisting his son into the air and hugging him close. “I just wanted to say goodbye to you and your Mother before you headed out of town.”

“When do we get to visit you again?” Jamie asked, and I could see him growing solemn by the prospect of being separated from his father yet again.

“Soon, bud,” he said. “Real soon.” Jamie clung to him, not letting him go even when he moved to put him back down. I rubbed Jamie’s back and Lucas curled his arm around my waist, hugging me close.

“I love you, Harper,” he murmured into my hair, and I thought I might burst into tears. I hugged him tight and let him go.

“No tearful goodbyes,” I said. “I won’t ever leave if we have some sort of scene.”

He chuckled and kissed his son’s forehead before heading over to the truck and putting him back in his seat. Once he’d closed the door, Jamie could be seen waving to his father as he walked back over to me and hugged me tight. “No tearful goodbyes, then.”

“I wrote letters,” I said, wiggling out of his embrace.

“Ok…” Lucas said, staring down at my hands as I pressed the letters into his.

“One is for you. The other, for Oliver. See that he gets it, will you?”

He pursed his lips, displeased, but ultimately gave a nod of his head. “Yes, I’ll make sure he gets it.” He tucked the letters into the internal pocket of his vest and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I actually have one for you, too,” he said, and held it out to me.

I took it and began unfolding it, but he placed his hand over mine to stop me. “Wait until you’re out of town to read it,” he said. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine, and I kissed him with all the passion I’d held back while I’d been home. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he slid his around my waist, and we clung desperately to one another as we lost ourselves in the kiss.

But it had to end, and it did end, and he turned around and went over to his bike. He climbed atop it, and revved the engine to life, and he didn’t look back at me as he set off on his way.

* * *

Hollybrook wasn’t exactly a huge town, and driving to the city limits took us under forty-five minutes, and that was with hitting a bit of traffic near the post office. Jamie was humming happily where he sat when I spied the sign: Now Leaving Hollybrook. I pulled over onto the shoulder, and stopped the truck, climbing out but leaving Jamie where he sat. I took my father’s ashes, cradling the box carefully in my hands, and walked the several years to where the sign stuck in the mud.

I stood there for a long stretch of silence, feeling as though I should have had something to say. I opened the box and peered inside: ash, fine and grey, was all that was left of this once human life. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I said, but I wasn’t entirely sure why. Sorry that he died, sorry that I hadn’t been able to see him once more before he did, sorry that his lifestyle choices had gotten him into the mess in the first place. Whatever it was, it felt real, and I felt it down to my core.

I began to shake the box and watched the wind pick up the ashes, sending them east, and further out of town. The final specs of dust that remained of Old Pete Harrington floated on the breeze, swirling about the sign that proclaimed he had finally kept the promise he’d made to my mother: he had, once and for all, left Hollybrook.

I set the box down by the sign so that it leaned against the post and shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans, staying with my father until he had dissipated completely. I thought, as I breathed in deep, that some of the particles that had once been him were drifting into my lungs, and I breathed him out again. Because nothing new was created, and nothing old was ever really destroyed. We were just transmuted, and now he was part of the air.

I felt around in my pockets and fingered the note that Lucas had handed to me. I figured it was safe to read now, seeing as I was officially out of town. I pulled it out—it was a scrap of ruled paper that had been torn at both ends, and I wondered if it had, at one point, been longer. Maybe he’d thought better of a first draft and had done an edit. Regardless, this was what the note said, in Lucas’ broad, distinct hand:

I promise, Harper: I will join you one day. I love you I love you I love you.