and the shock and the nausea. But he hadn’t expected this.
“Harper?”
The night folded in on itself and, as if the last several nightmarish hours had never happened, he imagined for a moment that he was on a different roof, alone, and Harper was still waiting for him.
He had been so certain of his decision, so eager to find her, hold her, start all over again with a perfect kiss that would heal all their wounds. And then-circumstances had gotten in the way.
Apparently she wasn’t waiting for him anymore. Apparently, she’d given up.
Before he could move, Harper had swung herself half over the wall. He opened his mouth to scream, but only a hoarse moan dribbled out, like he was in a dream. And it felt like a dream, everything moving so slowly, yet inexorably, toward a point he could see so vividly, it felt like it had already happened, and there was nothing he could do.
“No,” he begged, but only in a whisper.
And then he saw a hand clasping Harper’s, and a blond head emerging over the wall. From this distance he couldn’t see her face, but he could picture the limpid blue eyes, and he could imagine the tears. Harper clutched her hand, pulled her over the wall, and back to safety. They stood there frozen for a moment, silhouetted against the neon skyline, holding hands like two paper dolls, in peril of blowing away. And then their hands dropped. Beth took a step forward, then another, and collapsed to the ground, shaking, her sobs echoing across the night.
Adam gave himself a moment to let the relief sink in, a moment of joy. And then he began to run.
It had all happened too fast, over before Reed even understood what was at stake, and what he’d almost lost. He’d seen her hair, her pale skin almost gleaming, and just like that, she’d been back on solid ground. And she needed him.
She’d taken Kaia away from him. She’d taken everything away, not just Kaia, but herself. She had been too good for him, too much for him, but she had loved him, and it had made the world glow- and it had all been a lie.
And yet.
She was still here. He had almost lost her, as he’d lost Kaia. But she was still here. Alive. Needing him. Maybe she wasn’t the person he’d thought she was. But maybe-and he hated himself for thinking it, because it was a betrayal, it was treason-maybe it didn’t matter.
She was still Beth, and she was still alive.
And then it was.
By the time he took a step forward, Adam was already halfway across the roof. By the time he took another, Adam had scooped her up in his arms. Adam had pressed her head against his shoulder. Adam had saved the day.
Reed knew she could see him, and he waited for her to push Adam aside. To walk across the roof and apologize one more time, to give him a chance to forgive-and maybe this time he could. But she held Adam tight, and buried her face in his shoulder.
He didn’t know which it was.
He didn’t know where he was going.
He didn’t care.
She had stupidly thought he was coming for her.
Harper had stood against the wall, eyes shut, breaths coming in deep, erratic gasps as the tension leaked out of her. Her hand had tightened, as if she still held Beth, knowing what would happen if she let go, and how easy it would be. Knowing she never would. She had, after a moment, taken in the crowd hovering fearfully by the stairwell, and tried to collect her energy to decide what to tell them.
It was Beth’s story-Beth’s show-but Harper knew she would have to direct it herself. She would dole out the details. She would handle the spin. She would make sure no one ever knew the truth. Because she could-because she was still standing, and Beth was crumpled on the ground, waiting for rescue.
Harper had done enough.
And then she saw Adam, and knew he had finally come for her. It was the wrong roof, the wrong time, but he was here, and she was ready. She’d meant what she’d told Beth, about forgiveness, about moving forward-now that he was here, she was ready to start again.
He had run toward her, and it seemed to take forever, his movements in slow motion, like the hero’s run through a meadow in a cheesy movie, except that it didn’t seem cheesy to Harper, it just seemed romantic. Perfect.
And then she realized she was in the wrong movie. She wasn’t the heroine, and this wasn’t her happy ending.
She was a cameo role, a plot device.
He swept Beth into his arms and she hung limp against him, her body curled up in his embrace.
Harper remembered telling Beth to get a spine, and realized it would be a useless purchase: She already had everything she needed to hold herself up. Adam hugged her, and rubbed her back, and from where she was standing, Harper could see her trembling, could hear her sobs.
Harper, on the other hand, held herself perfectly still. She forced herself to breathe evenly. She forced her eyes not to tear-she’d had plenty of practice.
And by the time Adam thought to look over at her, Beth’s slim body draped across his chest, her hair spilling down his arm, Harper knew she had attained just the right look. The look that said, with ferocious determination,
It all fell away as soon as she met his eyes. They looked haunted. She felt the tears spring into her own, and she was glad for the wall behind her, holding her upright. He gave her a half smile, one she recognized from years of friendship, the one he’d pulled out when he broke her Barbie doll or mashed a snowball into her face and given her a bloody nose. It said,
He opened his mouth, as if to speak. But they had known each other for so long, they didn’t need words.
She could, if she allowed herself, read the truth in his face. Whatever it was.
Or maybe:
She could know everything, if she wanted to. Just from watching his face, looking in his eyes. But whatever he had to say to her, it wouldn’t change the fact that his arms were still wrapped around Beth. That Harper stood off to the side, watching, alone.
She might need to wait a lifetime, or maybe just a day.
But she was Harper Grace, and she was tired of waiting. He’d made his choice. Now it was her turn.
And she turned away.
