CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After a damn busy day, I’m feeling worn out but surprisingly accomplished. This morning, we stopped by my mother’s place to tell her we’re getting married. She beamed and hugged us both, oohing and aahing over the engagement ring. Then she nearly choked when we told her we plan to tie the knot in two weeks. Thankfully, she recently helped my sister organize her wedding and volunteered to do the same with Harlow. They’re planning to get together tomorrow to launch into the details.
Both my mom and my fiancée—it’s oddly thrilling to call her that—were ear-to-ear smiles. It did my heart good to see them together, looking excited as they discussed the ceremony that will begin the rest of my life with Harlow.
Then I called Trace and left a message for him. He’s been scuba diving for the last six days with his buddies in some far-flung place in the South Pacific and probably won’t have cell service until Wednesday, when he gets home. But he knows to call me once he reaches civilization again.
Then I dropped Harlow off at a bridal shop so she could scout out the wedding dresses. She refuses to wear the monstrosity her mother picked for her wedding to Simon, which is fine by me. While I waited, I walked the beach, cap pulled low. An hour later, she left the store grumbling that she didn’t have six months to order a dress and nothing off the rack works for a short girl. She wants everything to be perfect on her wedding day. I’m taking that as a good sign. She didn’t plan much of the aborted ceremony, but she wants to be in charge of this one. If our marriage was merely an exchange of a temporary wife for a baby, she wouldn’t care half so much. I promise her my mom will have some ideas about the dress situation, and if worse comes to worst, my Aunt Lahela is one hell of a seamstress.
Once we arrived home, we intended to hit the gym downstairs and work out, but as soon as she appears in a small pair of black spandex shorts and some bra thing that’s stretchy and tight across her breasts while leaving her midriff bare…iron isn’t what I want to pump. We end up naked, entwined, shouting out our pleasure on the rubber floor.
Will today be the day Harlow conceives? That possibility excites the hell out of me.
“We should do that again. I want you to be convinced I’m giving you my full”—I slide out and thrust back in—“effort.”
She pants out something between a moan and a laugh at my teasing. “I almost believe you. But maybe we should do it one more time so you can really persuade me…oh. Yeah. Just like that.”
I thrust deep once more and Harlow’s sentence melts into a moan. As we rock and grind, she clings to me, yet it feels as if she has fewer walls between us. Sex is one place we’ve always been in sync, and today we’re even more together than yesterday.
Afterward, we realize we’re running way behind if we’re going to host her family for dessert at eight. But a quick shower becomes a quickie in the shower instead. I’m dressed and hauling ass downstairs as Harlow fiddles with a round brush and a blow dryer. The doorbell rings.
I open it to find Maxon and Keeley wearing big smiles and carrying a bottle of sparkling white grape juice and a carrot-pineapple bread with icing. Britta and Griff are right behind them with a passionfruit tea she recently discovered and chocolate Chantilly cake. After hugs all around, we set up in the family room. With everything they brought and the banana bread pudding Harlow made early this morning, I’m likely to end the evening in a sugar coma. I’m okay with that.
Before we cut into anything, Harlow runs back upstairs and returns clutching two large bags, then hands one to each of her sisters-in-law.
“What’s this?” Keeley asks with delight.
“Just a little something to say congratulations.” Harlow smiles.
She’s fond of her sisters-in-law, and I see the gracious woman I’ve come to know, not the sad one who’s envious and torn and defeated. Harlow is kind and thinks of others. Sure, she’s human. I understood her hurt last night. I’m glad to see her on an even keel today. I’m even more relieved she hasn’t changed her mind about the wedding or the baby. I hope some of that—whether that’s her resolution or just me—is making her happy.
“You didn’t have to get us—” Britta gasps. “Wait! Are you… Are you wearing an engagement ring on your finger?”
Harlow glances my way, and I grin at the crowd. “As a matter of fact, she is. I asked and she said yes.”
Both Keeley and Britta jump to their feet, gifts forgotten as they share the joy of Harlow’s good news with hugs. Maxon and Griff both shake my hand.
“You sure you want to do this?” Maxon teases. “My sister isn’t easy to handle.”
“She’s not. But she keeps life interesting.”
Griff shakes his head. “Said no man who wanted to stay sane ever.”
I laugh and they welcome me into the family with a hearty backslap before turning to embrace Harlow.
“Congrats, little sister,” Griff says with all sincerity.
“Thanks. I’ll consider myself smarter than you since it didn’t take me years to figure out that I should marry him.”
“Yes, but I didn’t almost walk down the aisle with the wrong person, sister dear. That was one hell of a wedding…”
“Yeah,” Maxon agrees. “I love YouTube. I can see Simon’s oh-shit face over and over. The moment he realizes he’s completely screwed and publicly humiliated is particularly sweet.”
“You never liked him.” Harlow rolls her eyes.
“Nope,” her older brother confirms. “Wanted to punch his boring, average face when we met because he wasn’t there for you.”
Griff nods in agreement. “Douche extraordinaire.”
“Not to mention Dad’s lap dog.” Maxon grimaces. “You didn’t need that.”
I’m guessing they don’t feel that way about me or they would be sporting more scowls than smiles.
“I’ll do my best to make your sister happy,” I promise as I slide my arm around her and pull her close.
“But you could help,” Harlow insists, then slants a glance at me. “Noah and I haven’t had time to talk about anything except a wedding date but…Maxon, I hope you and Keeley would let us have the ceremony at your place, on the beach where you and Griff both tied the knot. Is that okay?”
She seems to be asking me as much as she’s asking her brother and his wife. They’re enthusiastic, and I’m good with whatever she wants and whatever makes her happy.
“Absolutely,” Keeley answers for them. “We’d love to host your wedding there. Maybe we’ll make getting married on our lawn a new Reed family tradition.”
Harlow laughs, then turns to me. “What do you say?”
“Sure, baby. I don’t care so much where we get married as long as we do.”
“Then it’s settled. Thanks.” She curls up against my side, flings her arms around me, and turns her face up for a kiss.
I can’t remember another time she’s invited my affection. She’s never shy about initiating sex, and I’m down with that. But I’m always the one to give her a hug or a kiss that has nothing to do with getting busy. Sure, this might be for show, but her expression glows sincere.
I kiss her with a lingering brush. “You’re welcome.”
Before I can kiss her again, the other women hustle her to one side of the room and launch into wedding plans. Keeley and Britta both volunteer to help. Her brothers suggest the officiant they used. Texts start flying. Next thing I know, we have a florist to meet on Tuesday afternoon and a photographer who does stunning work booked. Thankfully, he had a cancellation and could slot us in. As we’re discussing Britta’s mother doing the catering with the help of a rented staff she’s used for other events at Maxon and Keeley’s resort, the doorbell rings.
Evan.
Celebrations have been dominating the conversation, but the sudden silence reminds us all why we’re gathered.
Harlow stands and lets out a nervous breath. “I’ll answer the door.”
“I’ll get it,” I insist. “My face is the only one familiar to him.”
Everyone nods collectively, acknowledging my point, so I head to the entryway and yank open the door to find Evan standing at the threshold. “Hey. Come in.”
He gives me a curt nod, looking nervous, dressed in a sharp gray suit and perfectly polished wingtips. “Thank you for inviting me. Quite a place you have here.”
I shrug. “Pro football paid well.”
He doesn’t say anything more, so I pull the door open wider. He turns and his stare falls on the gathering. Everyone is standing. Maxon and Griff come forward, hands outstretched, and introduce themselves.
“Happy to meet you in person,” Evan murmurs.
Harlow hovers nervously behind them. “Hi. I guess…I’m your sister.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Harlow. I wish it was under less awkward circumstances.”
She nods. “It’s pretty weird to wake up one day and find out I have an adult sibling I never knew about.”
He sends her a faintly apologetic smile. “I grew up knowing about you, but my mother’s journals never mentioned Maxon or Griff. I don’t know if she was in the dark or simply didn’t have anything to say about them…”
“Well, we all have some catching up to do,” Harlow says. “Come in. Sit. Do you want coffee, tea, or sparkling juice? How about dessert?”
“Coffee, please. Black. Nothing sweet, thank you.” He takes in the gift bags and the cake. “Are you celebrating an occasion?”
Maxon and Griff exchange a glance before the younger brother nods proudly. “Our wives both recently learned they’re expecting. This is Britta.” After they shake hands, he turns to bring the redhead closer. “And this is Maxon’s wife, Keeley.”
“She’s our resident songbird,” Harlow puts in.
“Or karaoke addict. I’ll own up to either one,” she says with a self-deprecating grin.
Evan gives the ladies a stiff nod. “Congratulations.”
“We’re also celebrating the fact that Harlow and I got engaged last night.”
“That’s good news, Mr. Weston, Harlow.”
“Noah,” I correct. “No formality here.”
“Noah, then. I can see why you’re celebrating,” he intones. “I hope you’ll be happy together.”
The words come out, but he looks bleak as hell.
“We’d love to have you come to our wedding,” Harlow ventures. “If you’re free.”
I’m proud of her for opening up and including Evan, giving the brother she doesn’t know a chance.
“Absolutely,” I second and take her hand in mine. “We’d love to have you. We’re doing this quickly, on June tenth.”
“I’m available. I’ll be there. Thank you.” He relaxes in his seat, looking pleasantly surprised.
“And feel free to bring a date,” Harlow adds. “If there’s someone special, we’d love to meet her.”
He sits up straight, his spine becoming a steel rod as his face closes up. “My wife and our unborn child died a month ago in a car accident.”
The air leaves my lungs the same way it leaves the entire room. No one says a word, and I’m sure they’re all as speechless as I am.
“Oh, god. I’m so sorry.” Harlow finally breaks the silence as she races to Evan’s side and enfolds him in a hug.
Her compassion warms me almost as much as her kind heart.
Evan’s arms circle around her stiffly, as if he isn’t used to comfort. As if he’s allowing her embrace not because he wants it but because he doesn’t want to risk hurting her feelings. He looks at me as if to ask if the hug meets with my approval. I nod, and something about the entire exchange pangs me in the chest. Jesus, what has this man been through? His dead eyes say that, in the blink of an eyes, his life has become pure hell.
Keeley and Britta are right behind Harlow, sighing and offering their condolences.
Maxon frowns. “I’m so sorry.”
“We had no idea.” I see the sheen of tears in Keeley’s eyes. “I can’t imagine—”
“You don’t want to,” Evan cuts in. “I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve left Seattle suddenly and decided to put down roots in Hawaii. The truth is, my late wife encouraged me to meet you, Harlow, since we started dating at fifteen. I put it off. I didn’t want to be the illegitimate kid who destroyed your fairy-tale family.”
Maxon and Griff both scoff.
Harlow shakes her head. “Oh, no issue with that. Barclay Reed is a terrible human being and a worse father. You were better off, trust me.”
He pauses, considering. “And I didn’t want you to pity me for being the poor, orphaned bastard.”
This man doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him, ever—even in loss. He still seems uncomfortable with the ladies hovering near his personal space and offering their sympathy. I wonder how he’s been coping with his grief over the last month. Does he have an outlet?
“We feel sorry for what you’ve gone through, but pity is in short supply in this family,” Harlow says matter-of-factly. “We’ve all been through shit.”
“Some that would make your blood curdle,” Griff cut in.
Evan nods in acknowledgement. “I saw the YouTube video of your wedding, Harlow. I’m sorry your former fiancé lacked morals and integrity. You seem too nice for him.”
“She is,” Keeley assures.
“I’m better off without the ex,” Harlow assures with a toss of her hand. “And much happier with the new model. My—our—father chose the last one, but I picked Noah.”
Her possessive words warm me, and I press a kiss to her temple.
Britta lays a hand on Evan’s arm. He freezes up, then visibly forces himself to relax.
“How can we help you?” Griff’s soft-spoken wife asks. “Is there anything we can do to make your move or your first days on the island better?”
“Do you have a place to stay?” I ask.
“Thank you. I’m fine,” he tells us. “My assistant, Nia, is coordinating the details of having my things shipped over. For now, I’m in a hotel. I’ll find a place eventually.”
“What are you looking for?” Maxon asks. “Griff and I are Realtors, so if you want to buy, we’re happy to help.”
The other guys fall into a conversation about areas around the island and debate the pros and cons of condo versus house, while the women start their own conversation about weddings and babies, punctuated by Keeley and Britta opening their gifts from Harlow—pretty pink boxes with a decorative water bottle, an anti-nausea wristband, energizing bath bombs, and a journal to capture the journey of their pregnancy.
After hugs among the ladies and some very practical talk about island housing, Evan stands. “Thank you for including me in the evening…and making me feel welcome.”
The Reed siblings all get to their feet. Maxon sticks out his hand. “You’re not alone. Come visit any of us at any time.”
Keeley nods and gives him a business card with the details about their bed-and-breakfast. “If you need an ear or a song or a homemade cookie, stop by. There’s always someone there.”
“Britta and I would love to have you for dinner some night so you can meet your nephew. Jamie is nearly three.”
“And he’s all boy!” Britta teases. “Really, please come over.”
“We’re also looking forward to having you at our wedding,” Harlow adds. “I’ll text you the details. We’re getting married too quickly for invitations, so that will be the ‘formal’ invite.”
Evan takes a deep breath, looking overwhelmed but more at peace. “Thank you. Becca was right. I should have gone out of my way to meet you all sooner. I appreciate all your kindness and hospitality. I know it’s odd to suddenly incorporate me into your family…but I’d like that very much.”
With those words and a reserved nod, he departs, leaving us all in somber silence.
After the family heads home, Harlow is unusually quiet. She doesn’t argue or twist away when I enfold her into my arms and pull her to bed with me. Though there’s no one else in the house—or within a mile radius—she whispers to me. How sad she feels for Evan, how angry she is for thinking of herself while her brothers and their wives shared their baby news. Then she confesses how directionless she was feeling until she met me. From her, that’s high praise, almost as if she’s admitting that she needs me. I listen, murmuring my sympathy for all her half brother has lost and assuring her that she’s being too hard on herself. Her feelings are real, and it’s better to admit them and deal than to shove them down as if they never existed. Makuahine taught me that—or tried. The knowledge usually serves me well.
I fall asleep cocooned in deep contentment. I’m getting through the concrete around Harlow’s heart…I think.
Either sleep did her a world of good or she’s putting on a hell of a front this morning, because she’s so chipper it almost makes my teeth hurt.
“Here’s your green tea, sleeping beauty.” She sets a mug on my nightstand, looking too beautiful for a woman who’s probably been awake less than fifteen minutes. Her inky hair tousles around her slender frame, wrapped in a silky pink robe that ends at mid-thigh and reminds me why I think she has some of the most gorgeous legs I’ve ever felt wrapped around me.
I grumble, glancing dubiously at the mug. “There’s not enough caffeine in that to wake up a gnat.”
“I expected you to be grouchy. The first few days will be rough. I have all kinds of ways to help you cope. I’ve been doing a lot of research and I’ve learned so many awesome tricks. We’ll get through this. Up! Time to get started.”
With a groan, I close my eyes. “Aren’t you getting together with my mother to talk about your wedding dress?”
“Not until two this afternoon. It’s only eight now. So we have hours to figure out what relaxes you.”
Oh, goodie.
“Sex?” I suggest.
“We’ll get there. But I’d like to give some of these other methods a spin, see what works for you when you’re alone, because I won’t be in the broadcasting booth with you. And if I was, the NFL would get NC-17 fast.”
She has a point.
With a sigh, I stumble to my feet. “I’m not fond of you right now.”
Harlow laughs. “I’m sure you’ll get over it. And if not…” She shrugs. “Well, you won’t be the first person to dislike me. Is this the first time you’re realizing I’m a morning person?”
I knew, but this seems like cruel and unusual punishment when I can’t have coffee. “Ugh. Can you tone your smile down just a bit? It’s blinding me.”
My teasing makes her smile brighter. “Nope. Sexy ass up! Let’s go. Hey, at least I’m not talking about PT. Yet.”
“I’d prefer that.” Because with Harlow’s unpredictability, I never know what she’ll do next.
“Ha! I’ll remind you of that later. Drink your tea, toss on some comfy clothes, and get moving.”
Grumbling, I put on a pair of gym shorts and a wife-beater. She’s already opened the doors in the bedroom to the Pacific. It’s going to be another beautiful day in paradise.
“You know, I’d be more relaxed after another hour or two of sleep.”
She shakes her head. “First, you don’t have any time to waste. Doesn’t the network want an answer?”
They do, and she knows it. “Secondly?”
“If we’re going to have a baby, buster, he or she won’t give a shit when you want some z’s. If we get pregnant quickly enough, you’ll be able to help me through the first few weeks at least. Two a.m. feedings, colic, days and nights reversed… All the fun stuff.”
Harlow sounds as if she’s really looking forward to motherhood, even the not-so-fun parts. In truth, I’m looking forward to our kid, too.
“All right.” I reach for the steaming mug that looks like moldy water or strained vomit. Green liquid just isn’t appealing and the smell isn’t fantastic. “Why green tea? Isn’t black stronger?”
“Because it contains L-Theanine, which helps soothe the rough edges of anger or anxiety. It has a little bit of caffeine, but not what you’re accustomed to, so we’ll be supplementing with extra water to flush your system out and get you over the caffeine withdrawal faster.”
I’m not looking forward to the headaches. Despite feeling grouchy, I know Harlow is going to a lot of trouble to help me. “Okay, I’ll choke it down. Then what?”
“Choke? I wouldn’t make you do that. I poured in some local honey, as well. Helps with any allergies you might have. Plus, it contains a compound that helps reduce inflammation in the brain, which may reduce depression or anxiety. And if you’re feeling like you want to up your glam factor, it’s also a natural skin moisturizer when applied topically. We can do masks later,” she says with a wink.
“Pass.” I give her a hard shake of my head that makes her laugh as I start sipping the tea. Surprisingly, it isn’t terrible. “So if we’re not having sex—and I protest that, by the way—what’s next?”
“A healthy breakfast, including fresh mangos. They contain linalool, which helps reduce stress levels.”
I love mangos, so I’m digging that. “Sounds good.”
“Then we’re going to try a few new things. But you have to hurry. We have less than thirty minutes before the first therapist arrives.”
“First therapist?” What the hell does she have planned?
“You’ll see. Hustle!”
With that, she’s gone, her light footsteps resounding down the stairs before I hear her rattling around the kitchen.
Quickly, I brush my teeth and splash some cold water on my face. While the tea doesn’t taste terrible, it’s not jolting me awake like a good cup of steaming java. It’s going to be a long day.
With a sigh, I head downstairs to find Harlow setting down a plate of scrambled eggs and sprouted-bread toast, along with a bowl of fresh sliced mango. She makes one for herself and we dig in, discussing wedding details. If she can find a dress, then we’ve got the major bases covered. We’ll text invitations to a select few. I really don’t want this to turn into a media circus, so the fewer people we advise, the less likely our nuptials will be crashed by the press.
I have to ask the question that’s been lingering in the back of my head since she agreed to marry me. “What about your parents? Are we inviting them? I know your relationship isn’t close…”
“I can’t think of a reason I should. I know that probably sounds terrible to you, but if you met them, you’d get it.”
“Shouldn’t I do that before we tie the knot?”
“I’d rather spare you.”
There must be one hell of a story here. I’d think she was exaggerating except that Maxon and Griff sounded equally anti-parent.
“I appreciate that, but I didn’t ask you to. I’d like to get to know them.” And draw my own conclusions.
I may never understand this woman unless I meet them. Other than our wedding, I don’t know if I’ll have an opportunity. As far as I know, they haven’t reached out to Harlow since I met her, so unless it’s an “occasion,” I doubt they’ll bother. It completely boggles my mind. I can barely go a day without talking to my mother. Harlow has gone weeks.
She drags in a breath and picks at her eggs. “They’ll both try to take advantage of your money and celebrity. They’ll figure out in two-point-two seconds what’s in it for them and work like hell to exploit you.”
It’s such a harsh charge to level against the people who raised her. Harlow turned out all right. So did Maxon and Griff. I’m confused.
I set down my fork and snag her stare. “What happened? What did they do to you?”
“Besides being utterly self-centered? The list is long and ridiculous.” She tosses her hands in the air. “It’s ancient history. It’s just…I know who they are. I’d never want them to look at you and see the means to climb a social ladder or make more money. Don’t give them the chance.”
I sigh, both touched and pissed off. On the one hand, Harlow is protecting me from people she thinks would try to use or harm me. It’s sweet but unnecessary. I learned how to shed sharks and hangers-on years ago. Instead of worrying about the boo-boos I’d never let those people inflict on me—or her, ever again—I wish she would open up. I’m more convinced than ever that something terrible, something that altered her life and her psyche, happened at the hands of these people. Same with her older brothers.
I need to know what.
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I still think we should invite them. They are your parents.”
“My mother will try to take over everything.”
“We’ll tell her it’s already planned. Then there’s nothing for her to get her fingers in.”
Harlow hesitates. “Maxon and Griff don’t want to see them any more than I do. And what about Evan? What an awkward way to meet the birth father who never wanted him. And his wife, who despises the guy for nothing more than being born.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s the sort of occasion that supports family unity and they’ll come together when they meet.”
She snorts, then covers her mouth apologetically. “Sorry. It’s just… Really, you don’t know them.”
“I want to.”
Her face closes up. “Why? If we’re only going to get divorced—”
“What if we don’t? What if we stay married, have children, and live happily ever after?”
She backs away from me. “I’m not the girl for that shtick. If you’re peddling fairy tales, you should find Cinderella.”
But I want Harlow.
I also want to understand what the hell made her need to protect herself. I’m more convinced than ever that her parents are the answer, and her brothers may be right when they say something happened during her first year in college. I’m going to dig until I get information, because her spirit is too bright and her heart too big to live behind barricades for the rest of her life. Unfortunately, I have to do it slowly, subtly, or she’ll force more distance between us.
Why couldn’t I have fallen for a simple girl?
Because a woman like that doesn’t do it for me. Maybe that makes me an idiot or a glutton for punishment, but I love Harlow as she is—complexities and all.
“We’ll talk about this later. Where are we taking this therapy next?” I slant my gaze out the window, pretty sure she’ll pounce on the subject change. “The great outdoors look pretty gorgeous today.”
“Maybe later. Finish up. Emil will be here soon.”
“Who?”
“Your yoga instructor. Keeley swears by him, says she’s taken a few of his classes. He doesn’t usually work on a Sunday, but I told him that you required privacy and would pay well.” She smiles. “Just an FYI, he’s gay.”
I shrug. “I don’t care.”
“Keeley seems to think you’ll be his type.”
“I’m taken,” I point out.
Harlow breaks into a laugh as there’s a knock on the door. “That must be him.”
I wolf down the rest of my breakfast and turn to find a man in gauzy white capri pants, a black tank that shows off his ripped arms and shoulders, and a flashy smile. “Well, hello there…”
It’s a long freaking hour after that. We clear off some space on the shady back patio and get down to posing. The only thing yoga reminds me is that I’m not a human pretzel. Holding my body in unnatural positions while trying to breathe isn’t calming. Half the time, I’m not sure whether I should fend off Emil’s flirting or beg him for mercy.
To his credit, I’m sweating at the end of the hour. He leaves me a paper with some stretches he wants me to work on until he sees me again on Tuesday—oh, joy—then with a wink and a flirtatious grin, he’s gone.
“I don’t like yoga,” I say as soon as the door shuts behind him.
Harlow, who was way better at imitating Gumby than me, tsks. “You have to give it a try.”
“I did.”
“A real try. A couple of weeks at least.”
She’s attempting to help me. I keep that in mind. “Fine.”
“Good. Now let’s try some other hacks for relaxation I found. I was looking for strategies you can employ when you’re in the booth and feel yourself getting wound up.” She dashes across the room and opens the drawer, yanking out a box. “These are yours.”
After a little wrestling, I open the package with a frown. “Squeeze balls.”
“With helpful sayings.” She pulls them from their slats, where they were nestled in cardboard. “See?”
The blue one says YES! I CAN DO THIS. BE QUIET. BE CALM. BE KIND is painted across the green one. The yellow one reads FOCUS. LISTEN. BREATHE.
“They’ll fit in your suitcase when you travel. You should be able to slip one in a suit pocket without it being too conspicuous. It’s perfect.”
I’m not sure how much good squeezing a round bit of foam will actually do me, but she’s doing her best. For her sake, I owe her the same.
I palm the blue one, giving it a firm mashing with my fingers. Actually…it’s kind of tactilely interesting. “Sure.”
“Oh, I forgot something else.” Harlow dashes upstairs and returns moments later with a shallow rectangular box. “You should use this every day.”
When I open the lid, I see a brown leather journal. It’s well made and masculine but… “You want me to write down my thoughts and feelings?”
She nods. “I know what you’re going to say: Why am I doing this? My brothers would laugh and complain this much reflection isn’t alpha male enough for them, too. But hear me out. Since this is a new phenomenon for you, I think it behooves us to keep track of your mood, surroundings, and conditions when you start to have a situation that makes you feel panicked and start to shut down. If we’re keeping track of everything, it’s possible we’ll find patterns and can help you avoid places or people that trigger you.”
It sounds kind of horrible to spend time every day in self-reflection, but I guess not doing it is how I managed to waste months vacillating between denial and relative agony before I finally decided to do something. And it’s taken extra time to pin down what bothers me and when it bothers me…and maybe she has a good point about being precise and helping myself avoid shitty situations.
“All right. I will see if I can find my deep-seated emotions or whatever will help me and put them down on paper.”
“Thanks. If you try writing every morning, even just for five minutes, you’ll feel better that you’ve purged anything that may be bothering you. If you still have residual tension after that and yoga, then you can squeeze your balls.” She winks. “The foam ones. But hey, if you’d rather squeeze the ones between your legs…”
“Nope, I’m good.”
She laughs. “I also have some aromatherapy candles on their way. Citrus scents should help calm you by increasing the amount of norepinephrine in your system. They’re small, so you’ll be able to take them with you to games if you need one. And if your peer in the broadcasting booth doesn’t mind.”
I can only imagine how many sportscasters and play-by-play guys will flat out laugh at my fruity candles. But you know… Fuck them if they would rather give me crap than help me succeed.
“Thanks, Harlow. Really. I’m not sure how much of this I’ll like or will stick, but you’re making me step outside my comfort zone to see what might make my life more livable. I appreciate that.”
Her smile is slow and looks relieved. “You’re welcome. I really do want to help.”
“I know. I appreciate your effort.” I take her hand. “I wish you’d let me help you, too.”
Her mouth twists. “What do you mean?”
“Get you through whatever has convinced you that love isn’t possible for you. That there’s nothing more than sex and common goals between us.”
She looks away. “We have other things to do today. I have this crossword app you can download, which should help divert your thoughts when you feel them seizing up. I also hear that getting a pet—”
“Harlow, listen.” I take her shoulders in hand. “Nothing is more important to me than helping you.”
“I’m fine. Besides, you don’t owe me anything else. You’re already paying me.”
“I’m not trying to exchange favors here. I’m trying to open up your world so you can see what you and I have together is special.”
Her eyes slide shut. “Don’t go falling for me, Noah.”
“It’s too late.” I swallow and go for broke. “I love you.”