Chapter 40: Sweet and Sour Moment
Harper’s POV
For the first time in months, I woke up feeling refresed s
I blinked slowly at the unfamiliar white ceiling, my brain taking a few seconds to remember where I was. Justin’s apartment. A smile found my lips before I could stop it.
Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warming the hardwood floor with streaks of gold. Somewhere outside, the city was already awake, but up here everything felt quiet. Peaceful. I stretched beneath the comforter and let out a long, satisfied sigh.
"Wow."
The mattress practically hugged me. Rich people really did sleep differently. I laughed quietly to myself. Maybe money couldn’t buy happiness, but it could definitely buy a mattress capable of making you forget every problem you had carried into bed.
My gaze drifted around the room. Unlike every stereotypical rich guy’s apartment I had ever imagined, Justin’s bedroom wasn’t flashy. It was lived in. His hockey equipment sat neatly in one corner and a shelf that held his neatly arranged trophies. Beside them sat framed pictures of his grandparents, his teammates, and one faded photograph of him as a little boy standing beside a woman whose smile looked almost identical to his.
His mother.
The picture made my heart squeeze. He still kept her close.
My eyes dropped to myself. At some point during the night had changed into one of Justin’s oversized hockey jerseys. It absolutely drowned me. The sleeves swallowed my hands and the hem brushed the middle of my thighs. I lifted the collar to my nose before I could stop myself.
Fresh laundry. Cedarwood. And something that simply smelled like Justin.
Heat rushed into my cheeks. "I am officially becoming one of those girls," I muttered under my breath, laughing and shaking my head.
Then my smile softened as last night replayed itself in fragments. The drive home. The quiet conversation. The laughter. The kisses. The way everything between us had finally stopped pretending.
And then Justin had stopped. He could have kept going. I had wanted him to. He knew that very well. But instead he just rested his forehead against mine and smiled.
"Let’s take our time," he had said quietly. "I don’t want you waking up one day wishing we had waited. I want you to fall so deeply in love with me that when we finally take that step, there won’t be a single ounce of doubt in your heart. Let’s not go faster than our shadow."
Who still said things like that? Certainly not Ethan. With Ethan, every argument somehow became my fault. Every apology came with conditions. Every kindness had strings attached.
Justin made me feel safe. There was no pressure. No expectations. Just patience. Just care.
A lump formed in my throat. Yesterday had been the day we admitted this wasn’t fake anymore. It was terrifying. It was exciting. It was real. I wasn’t sure what scared me more, the possibility that this could become everything I’d ever wanted, or the possibility that I could lose it.
I pushed the thought away. Not today. Today was going to be productive.
I climbed out of bed, padded into the bathroom to freshen up, then returned with my laptop tucked under one arm and my notebook in the other. Film first. Everything else second. That had become my survival strategy.
I flipped to a clean page and clicked my pen.
Today’s To-Do List
Organize documentary footageCreate folders for interviews, practices and B-rollUpload backupsShare access with Professor SilasConfirm Mom’s follow-up appointment for this eveningCharge camera batteriesEmpty memory cardsMessage Olivia and Mia about Monday’s filming schedule
Satisfied, I underlined the last item and opened my laptop. Folders slowly appeared across my screen. Practice Day One. Locker Room Interviews. Coach Reynolds. Justin Hayes. Team Training. Watching everything come together filled me with quiet pride. A few weeks ago this had been nothing more than a graduation requirement. Now it felt like my first real documentary.
I uploaded the latest footage to the shared drive before typing a short email.
Good morning, Professor Silas. I’ve uploaded the latest footage and organized the existing clips into folders. Most of the interviews have been completed, and I’ll continue adding material as filming progresses. Thank you, Harper Brooks.
I pressed send. One task down. I picked up my phone and called the hospital. After confirming Mom’s follow-up appointment for that day, I scribbled a checkmark beside it. Another task done. Maybe today wouldn’t be so overwhelming after all.
Three gentle knocks interrupted my thoughts. "Harper?"
My smile appeared instantly. "Come in," I called.
The bedroom door opened just enough for Justin to poke his head inside. His dark hair was still damp from his shower, grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, and he wore nothing more than a fitted black T-shirt. He looked unfairly good for someone who’d probably been awake less than an hour.
His eyes immediately landed on the jersey I was wearing. A slow grin spread across his face. "So," he said, folding his arms. "I was wondering where my jersey disappeared to."
I looked down dramatically. "I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about."
"No?"
"Nope."
"It just walked into the bedroom by itself?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I think it felt abandoned," I said seriously.
"It felt abandoned?"
"Mhm."
"So you rescued it," Justin said.
"I’m basically a humanitarian," I replied.
He laughed, shaking his head. "I’ll allow it."
"How generous of you," I said.
His eyes lingered on me for another second before he cleared his throat. My phone vibrated beside me.
Unknown Number.
My smile faded. A strange heaviness settled in my stomach. I unlocked the screen anyway.
The first message made my blood run cold.
I know exactly what’s going on with you.
Another vibration. You don’t have to answer me. I’ll find you eventually. You’re my daughter.
Another. What lies has your mother been feeding you? I’ve been trying to contact you, and now you think you’re too grown to answer me?
My fingers tightened around the phone. The next message appeared. I heard you’re dating that little rich hockey boy. So you’ve joined the rich people now? That’s why you think you can ignore your own father?
Another. Tell your sick mother to stop hiding behind you. And those good-for-nothing siblings of yours better remember who their father is.
The words blurred together. My chest tightened. I was twelve years old again, standing in the hallway with Emma clinging to my hand, trying to convince Noah to stop crying before—
Buzz. One final message. Run all you want. It won’t matter. I’ll find you.
The room suddenly felt colder. The laughter we had shared only moments ago disappeared beneath a wave of dread. I stared at the dark screen in my trembling hands. I didn’t know how to deal with him. I didn’t know what he wanted. But one thing became painfully clear. He knew exactly where to hurt me. And if he came anywhere near Emma and Noah, I would never forgive myself.
A floorboard creaked beside me. "What is it?" Justin asked softly, his voice full of concern.
I slowly turned to face him, every bit of warmth from the morning gone from my face.
"My father," I said, my voice cracking. I swallowed hard before trying again. "My father sent another message."
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