Robin Wasserman - Gluttony

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, I don’t care .

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, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I wish it had happened another way .

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.

She needs me now, but I need you. Just wait.

Or maybe:

I choose her. Again.

Harper, he mouthed silently. Please .

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.

Home.

It was a six-hour drive, without traffic. Time he needed, to think. To figure things out. But he was having some trouble with that.

The thinking.

It was all muddled in his brain, the last twenty-four hours, the fear and the relief and the regret all bleeding together into a muddy, impenetrable sludge. Adam clenched the wheel tightly. He’d driven Kane’s car plenty of times before, but never without Kane in the passenger’s seat, hounding him to speed up, warning him of the penalties of living life in the slow lane-and the even graver penalties of denting Kane’s Camaro.

But Kane was riding home in Miranda’s car, with Harper. Where Adam was no longer welcome.

It was easy to zone out, to listen to the gravel under the wheels and the wind against the dash. It was easy to pretend that by the time he got home, everything that had happened would be forgotten. Life would return to normal.

But he knew it was a lie. Harper wouldn’t forgive him, not this time-at least, not unless he was willing to meet her demands. And he couldn’t. He had responsibilities now, and he couldn’t walk away, even if it meant losing-

No. He wouldn’t think about that. He couldn’t afford to. Not when Beth sat beside him, her eyes closed, her face still stained with tears. What he wanted, what he’d lost, it wasn’t important now. Beth was the one in trouble-and someone had to make sure that, whatever happened, she never ended up on that roof again. She was weak, in need. He was strong, and he could be there for her.

He would .

He was glad she’d finally fallen asleep in the passenger’s seat, glad she felt comfortable enough-safe enough-to close her eyes and escape from everything, at least for a few hours. If only he could do the same.

Love.

Was it possible? I’m in love, Miranda thought, pretending she was saying it casually, the way you’d say, I have a toothache or I’m hungry . Like it was something that happened to you all the time. Like it wasn’t something you’d been dreaming of for years, all the while forcing yourself to stop, knowing that you had no chance of ever getting the thing you most desperately wanted.

I got it, though . She turned toward Kane, who took his eyes off the road just long enough to give her a warm smile. I got him.

She knew she needed to slow down. She wasn’t in love-or, at least, he wasn’t in love, not yet, and until both people felt the same way, it didn’t count. She knew that better than anyone, since she was the one who’d been longing, for all these years, watching him from a distance, waiting for him to notice.

She still didn’t understand why he suddenly had.

She should be cautious. She understood that. He hadn’t made her any promises, hadn’t talked about the future. Yes, he had implied that there was now something where there had been nothing, but they were on vacation. It was Vegas, where anything goes. What would he want from her when they got back home? What if he didn’t want anything?

But her doubts couldn’t make much of a dent in her happiness. Not even Harper, moody and silent in the backseat, could do that. Miranda had already forgiven her best friend-in the mood she was in, she would have forgiven anyone anything-but much as she wanted to, she couldn’t force herself to wallow in Harper’s misery. She didn’t have room for it in her brain.

Her body glowed with the memory of Kane’s touch, and she touched him now, just because she could. His hand rested on the gearshift, and, still a little terrified, she wrapped hers around it. He smiled at her again.

She was allowed to touch him now, whenever she wanted. She was allowed to kiss him. Maybe she was even allowed to fall in love with him.

Miranda wasn’t stupid. She knew she was getting ahead of herself, that things were too new, too uncertain, that if she let herself go too far too fast, she could end up getting hurt.

But with their hands pressed together, none of that seemed to matter. When Kane smiled at her-with that look in his eye, the one she’d always been waiting for, the one that said I want you-she couldn’t help it.

She felt like she would never hurt again.

Maybe.