Getaway Car [HS]

Chapter Thirty

The sun has set by the time Harley gets back to his apartment building.

Part of her had been hoping Alanis would invite her in and help her chip away at another night she otherwise would spend alone in his bedroom, but she can't blame her for it. If anyone interrupted her and Harry on the race track, she probably would have ripped one of her shoes off and flung it at their head to shoo them away. The thought of it alone brings a dry chuckle out of her as she waits for the elevator to reach the top floor of the building.

Despite her not doing anything today other than baking cookies and watching television, there's a fog of exhaustion looming over her head and weighing her down. Her head is tilted back to rest against the wall of the elevator, and she shuts her eyes for a moment of peace and quiet, but all she sees when she does so is him. Somewhere underneath the frustration, she worries for his well-being. Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, she wishes he could find a way to tell her he's okay.

The elevator doors ding and open up to the single hallway leading to his front door.

At this point, she doesn't know what to expect from him. The way he acts around her has changed, that's for sure, but he's still prone to icing her out at a moment's notice. What they shared together on the race track was one of the happiest times of her life, and, yet, he managed to drop the ball. If he had to leave, why didn't he just talk to her about it? Why did he have to abandon her and leave no explanation, or at least a text message letting her know he isn't in danger?

The apartment looks the same as had when she left it.

Dishes from her baking marathon have piled up to a tower in the kitchen sink, the mere sight of them making her groan to herself as she realizes that she has to get those finished before retiring to bed for the night. Other than those, the place is spotless for the most part. She tried to be a good house guest in the time he spent away despite her annoyance with him.

A glance at the clock hung on the wall of the living room shows it's half past nine, so she takes that as her cue to get everything set up for bed before she works on doing the dishes. On her way past the couch, though, something catches her eye. Since the first time she visited his apartment, the neatly kept bookshelf sitting against the wall across from the door is out of order. Not by much. There's a single book sitting on top of the shelf, face down and flipped open two-thirds of the way through.

"What the..." she mutters and walks off in the direction of it, her face scrunched up in confusion.

It's a battered paperback on the verge of ripping in half. When she finally arrives at the bookshelf and reaches to take it from its spot, she handles it as carefully as she can out of fear of breaking it. Every other book on the shelf is in pristine condition. They remain untouched, ordered in the Dewey Decimal system—which has her muttering a soft, "Nerd," under her breath at him—and covered in dust on their top sides. The only one of his books that doesn't have dust coating it on top is this one.

The illustration on the cover displays a butterfly breaking free of a set of chains and flying upward toward the burning sun. She's heard of it but never took the time to check it out of the library or go buy it for herself. She hasn't even seen the film adaptation of it.

"Y'changed your hair."

Hearing a man's voice speak from behind makes her shriek in fear and spin around with her back pressed to the bookshelf, the paperback raised as a weapon to whoever came to harm or rob her. But, it isn't Tate, Leo, or any one of the sort who she'd expect to break in and threaten her for information or the sick thrill of it. Standing with his arms crossed over his chest and leaning against the back of the couch, Harry stares at her with tired eyes.