CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The last forty-eight hours have been an absolute daze. Harlow is gone. I keep turning around and expecting to see her glued to her video game or dancing as she preps a meal in the kitchen or scanning some textbook for clues about how to help my speech-anxiety screw-ups. But I find her gone every time, and the realization that she left flattens me all over again. The bed feels fucking empty. I’ve taken to sleeping on one of the sofas downstairs because I can’t be in the space where I once made love to Harlow without needing her again.
I’ve called. I’ve apologized. I’ve explained. But my wife isn’t blaming me. She’s blaming herself. How do I fix that?
Maxon came by my place yesterday to have a drink and a chat. He doesn’t know what happened or where Harlow’s head is, but he knows she’s torn up. Griff called this morning to gently troll for information. I didn’t tell either of them much. This is something my wife and I have to work out together.
With every hour that drags by, I wonder if that’s possible.
“I don’t want to pry,” Griff said in all sincerity when he rang. “But I’ve never heard my sister cry herself to sleep. She won’t say what happened, just that you two didn’t fight and it’s not your fault.”
My options to help Harlow process are limited. I refuse to do something lame, like send her flowers. She might appreciate them for two seconds, but they won’t heal what hurts her. I’m not entirely sure what will, except maybe time, but that’s unacceptable. I don’t want to spend another moment without her. Maxon and Griff both seem to have overcome somewhat rocky upbringings with those selfish pieces of shit who raised them. Maybe…Harlow needs to talk to people who share her common experience, who have walked through the fire and come out whole in spite of it.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” I finally said to him.
“Shoot.”
“Did your parents do something terrible to you growing up?”
The silence on the other end of the line speaks far louder than if Griff had shouted. I hear him swallow, struggle to answer. “Harlow has things to work past, too?”
Boy, does she ever. “Yeah. What about Maxon?”
“He hasn’t said a lot, but based on what I know and what I’ve observed, it’s a fair guess.”
But as close as the brothers were, neither knew the trials the other had endured? Maxon and Griff are in a better place now, sure. They’ve embraced love and moved on with their lives. I think Harlow could tip either way…but she’ll err on the side of caution—and loneliness—unless someone gives her a shove in the other direction.
“I’m going to ask you for something I have no right to, but if I don’t, I doubt I’ll ever get my wife back.”
Griff lets out a rough sigh over the line. “You want us to tell her our stories and persuade her to tell us what she endured in the hopes that it will help her.”
I can’t call Harlow’s brother slow. “If she can see that you two have been able to move past whatever happened and that you aren’t letting that stand in the way of your happiness, maybe she could heal. She doesn’t feel whole or ready or sure of herself.”
“Maxon has been saying for a while that he’s sure something happened her first year of college.”
“He’s right.” I can’t say more than that without betraying her confidence. Harlow needs to tell her story herself. But will she?
“Fuck.” I hear a loud crash that sounds very much like Griff slammed a door or punched a wall. “I should never have left her with those two vipers. I should never have believed that they saw her as the pretty princess of the family whom they’d never sully or touch. Maxon will blame himself, too.”
“There was probably nothing you could have done then. But you can absolutely help her now. Please… This is really my last hope. If Harlow won’t forgive herself and let this go, I’m going to wind up divorced at the end of a year and spend the rest of my life fucking miserable and alone. I know none of that is your problem—”
“It’s Harlow’s. She needs you.” Griff pauses. “I’ve always wondered why Harlow wasn’t the ‘love’ type. As a kid, she was into princesses and weddings and all that fairy-tale stuff. And always babies. I thought she’d marry young and happily, have a huge family and… Goddamn it. After high school, she seemed to stop dating. Simon was a surprise. I couldn’t imagine why she was eager to marry someone she didn’t love.” He sighs. “Her running out on the wedding was epic. I wish you could have seen it.”
Me, too.
“But?”
“I’ve never seen her as happy as when I’ve seen her with you, and the woman staying in my guest bedroom right now is so fragile I barely recognize her.”
That hits me like a blow to the gut, so hard I can’t breathe. “You gotta help me, man.”
“I’ll do what I can. She’s planning to fly back to San Diego on Sunday. She was offered a job before she came here. She’s talked about taking it.”
Oh, god. If she leaves for California, getting her to come back to Maui—to me—will be between difficult and impossible.
“Anything. Please.”
“I’ll call Maxon now. We’ll have a heart-to-heart intervention and see if we can’t help you both. I spent three long, miserable years without Britta because I couldn’t get over my shit. I want more than that for my sister. If two people ever belonged together, it’s you.”
We rang off after Griff promised to call me tomorrow. The next twenty-four hours are going to be torture. I haven’t shaved in two days. I can’t even remember the last time I ate. I’ve done nothing except for lift weights until exhaustion set in, catnap, and think of ways to win my wife back.
The sun has come and gone by the time I look up again. Hours have passed, and I don’t even know what I’ve done with them except for think of Harlow and wish again that anxiety hadn’t seized me at the worst possible time. Calling Cliff to curse him out should have made me feel better. Or at least like I had accomplished something. The only satisfaction I got was in knowing I did the right thing in telling my agent that if he can’t respect my wife and treat her with the deference he’s shown me, then he needs to get the hell out of my life and career. He called me later to tell me that he’d left Harlow a voice mail explaining and apologizing. Not that it made a difference. Why would it when she’s not upset with me, merely convinced that believing the worst for even a moment means she’s not ready to love me. I’m not expecting a perfect wife, just Harlow.
God, I could think in circles for hours.
A knock at my front door pulls me out of my reverie. I glance at my phone. Who the hell could be stopping by at nine o’clock at night? Since the list of approved visitors is small, it’s one of a handful of people. I’d love to see my wife…but I’m not holding my breath.
With a groan, I lurch off the sofa and tug open the door. Trace fills the doorway with a stack of mail in hand and a solemn expression full of sympathy. “Hey, bro. I came to cheer you up. I got off the plane about two hours ago. Makuahine told me that you and Harlow have…separated. I can’t even imagine why. You love her and she loves you.”
“It’s complicated.”
He strolls in and sets the mail down, shaking his head. “If it’s this Mercedes Fleet situation, couldn’t Harlow have waited until the test results came back?”
Test results. It’s Friday. I should have them already.
“It’s not that simple,” I answer as I grab my phone and open my e-mail. The paternity problem isn’t the reason my wife left me…but it didn’t help. “In fact, it’s a huge complication because Harlow is pregnant. We’d planned to wait a few weeks before we told the family. The wedding was enough, but now…I guess I might as well let the cat out of the bag. So not only have I lost my wife but I’m losing my son or daughter. I didn’t think that would hit me so hard but it’s got my fucking chest in a grinder.”
“You’re not giving up, right? Fight for her, man.”
How do I get her to fight herself on my behalf?
A glance at my screen reveals an email from the independent lab we hired to process the blood results. With a shaky breath, I open and scan the response. Then I frown. None of what they’re saying makes sense.
“What’s wrong?” my brother asks, easing me into a chair. “You turned a shade of pale I’ve never seen on you.”
“The test results are inconclusive? What the hell? I never touched that woman. I never even met her. The test results should be fucking zero and I don’t understand why they’re not.”
“Yeah. Didn’t the lab tell you it would either be ninety-nine-point-nine percent yes or zero percent no, nothing in between?”
I nod. “Wait. The lab technician wrote a note at the bottom. Maybe this will explain.” But it doesn’t. “Okay, they’re saying the DNA structure rules me out as the father. Oh, thank god.” I breathe a huge sigh of relief. I can’t wait to shout these results to the world. And to my wife. No, they might not change her mind, but at least they’ll prove I’m no liar. They’ll prove that I’m not like her father or Simon. “But the results are inconclusive because there are some striking DNA similarities.”
As soon as the words come out, something clicks in my head. I stare at my brother. We look a lot alike, enough that Trace is often mistaken for me. Is it possible that Mercedes Fleet believes Trace was me that night? The reason that others at the party thought they saw the two of us hit the bedroom together? And the explanation for the lab finding DNA similarities?
“Fuck, did you sleep with this woman at the Super Bowl after party?”
Trace frowns as he staggers back to the sofa, suddenly turning his own shade of pale. “I-I don’t…know. I remember this one blonde. As soon as I walked in with you, she was all over me. Who was I to say no? But after we hooked up, we drank. A lot. Then one of her friends dragged her out. And that’s really the last lucid thing I remember. There’s this fuzzy picture of a brunette all flushed and panting in my head. I don’t even have a face. I thought it was a snippet of a dream after I passed out, but… Holy shit.”
“Do you have a tattoo of a compass on your hip?”
Suddenly, he grimaces. “Yeah. I saw your ink during that shoulder surgery you had a few years back. You don’t remember telling me that you’d had it done to remind you of the way home?” When I shake my head, he goes on. “You were just coming out of anesthesia. I liked the look and the idea of it, so you let me snap a pic and I got the same ink a couple of weeks later. After that, you were busy rehabbing and living in Texas. I guess I just didn’t remember to tell you or…” He rakes a hand through his dark hair. “Was that sex dream real? Oh, my god. Did I get that woman pregnant?”
I’m thinking it’s a distinct possibility. “I suggest you contact her and the lab and find out for sure. I’ll be reaching out through lawyers to indicate that since the child isn’t mine, I expect her and her demands to disappear. What you do from there is up to you.”
“But if that’s my child…” He swallows. “He or she is family. And my responsibility.”
“Yep.” Not much more I can say, and I’m happy my younger brother came to the right conclusion.
“Holy shit.”
“You already said that,” I point out.
“It bears repeating.”
I can’t argue with that. “Want a beer?”
He might need one after realizing he probably fathered a child on a woman he can’t even recall.
“No. The last thing I need is not to have my wits about me. That may have already gotten me in trouble. I need to figure out exactly what I’m going to say, what I’m going to do if the test turns out positive. And I need a stone-cold sober head to do it.”
Another good call. “I’ll help you however I can.”
He turns to me, looking anxious but resigned. “Thanks. I’m only sorry I didn’t put everything together sooner and save you any headache with Harlow.”
“It’s cool.” I clap him on the shoulder. “And I’m not giving up on Harlow.”
I’ll make these results public so the scandal will die down and Mr. Chickman’s board of directors will climb off his back. But mentally, I’ve already moved on. I’m thinking of ways to help Harlow see that I’ll love her even if she’s imperfect. That I’ll always value her above all else.