Getaway Car [HS]

Chapter Forty-Seven

With her behind the wheel, they reached his building in record time to beat the authorities they already expected to be on their scent after thirty minutes passed from the start of the shootout at Leo's house. If Ryan were as smart as Garrett made him out to be, he would've been in constant communication with his brother, and the second that line of communication was broken, he'd come to find out what went south. At least, that's what Harry would've done, so he decided to act accordingly as though that was Ryan's plan.

Harley walks ahead of him the whole way up to the penthouse apartment, ignoring the stare that burns into the back of her head as she walks through the open door to their home for the final time. Garrett is long gone by now, not fleeing the country or state, but rather enjoying his last day alive by getting good and shit-faced at an old tavern in the Quarter before Ryan catches up to him. They would be ordered to go after her and Harry first, though, so they're certain to make the process of packing up whatever things they can carry with them into their new lives quick.

She stuffs a few comfortable pairs of sweatpants, t-shirts, underwear, and a hoodie into one of the spare backpacks she found at the bottom of the closet. Seeing that she needs to pack other things such as a Ziploc filled with stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills, her fake passport, and a few folded-up photographs she cannot bear to leave behind, she cannot take up too much space inside with an excess amount of clothes. Then, there's the factor of needing it to be lightweight enough for her to run with it on her back without it limiting her speed too much. With all of that taken into consideration, most of the belongings she moved into this apartment are left behind to collect dust until the landlord recognizes their absence when the next rent isn't paid.

Harry does the same with his clothes, taking them from the closet as he sneaks glances over his shoulder at her and prays she'll break the vow of silence she's been fulfilling since he forced her into the car. It's not as if he can blame her, though, can he? When he found out his mother was murdered today, he lost all sense of where and who he was until the murderous rage was settled by finally killing the man responsible. And she may not be prone to bloodshed the way he is, but, for her family, she could be pushed to extremes she never thought possible.

He asks, unable to help himself, "How long have y'known?"

"Doesn't matter. Shut up and keep packing your shit," she says.

Although it stings to hear her speak to him like that, he can't bring himself to say anything back yet. Isn't this what he deserves? She was right in saying what she had back at Leo's place. He did steal her life and kill her family. He may not have physically committed the act of murdering her mother and Peter, but his actions led to their deaths, so there isn't anyone else to blame but him in the end.

But, when she swings the backpack onto one shoulder and walks out of the bedroom, he cannot help but follow her. He isn't sure if he could ever stop following her, even when she begs him to stay away, to never see her or their child after today, there's a small part of him that questions whether or not he'll allow himself to comply. To go from how close they were this morning to where they are now—worlds apart—in less than two hours is too swift of a change for him to fully accept.

As she reaches the front door, the sound of him speaking stops her rushed footsteps.

"That's my kid too," he says with a break cracking through his typically unwavering voice. "They'll ask about me, y'know? I know what it's like growing up without a dad, Harley. Trust me, they'll never stop asking."

The tension is palpable in the air between them, so thick it could be sliced with one of the butter knives stowed away in the kitchen, and when she turns around to look at him, he knows that he has lost her.

"Trust you?" There's no laugh, no scoffing, and no sarcasm to create a comfortable buffer between her and the void of depression that carves through her heart. There's only a detached numbness that he has never seen her have before, and she says, "You think I don't want to trust you? It's not like it's a choice I'm making. You lost my trust the second Leo told me what you did. You lied to me the whole time, and now you expect me to give you a place in my life like you didn't do everything you could to ruin it? You are exactly the kind of person you claimed to be constantly protecting me from. And, by the way, you have no right to preach about missing fathers after what you did to mine."

He says softly, nodding to himself, "I know, I know that—"

"If you know it, then why won't you just let me go?" Her voice raises to a shout as she chokes on her sobs in between every word, "Do you know how hard it is for me to know what you did and still be in love with you? I hate myself for it! It confuses the living shit out of me, and all you're doing is making that worse, so stop!" The tone of her voice turns soft when she next speaks. "If you have ever cared about me, even a little, then let me go."

As soon as the words leave her, she takes note of her breathing becoming deeper and more even, less panicked and quick, as though she needed to rid herself of those thoughts before they infected her broken mind. They are left with nothing to do except stare at one another and wonder how the beautiful thing that blossomed between them turned rotten. She finds herself simultaneously longing to exist in the ignorance of yesterday and being glad to know the truth about him, caught between loving and hating. But, truth be told, it makes sense. The strange connection between them began with love and hate, so why wouldn't it end with it?

Harry's head drops to face the floor as he nods, trying to force himself past every stage of grief straight through to acceptance for the sake of giving her what she wants. No, what she deserves. After everything he has done, she deserves to be heard by someone for once in her life—him most of all. But, it's excruciating. He almost wishes he could go back and never get inside her car for the sake of avoiding the unfamiliar feeling that washes over him at this moment. Before her, he mastered the art of not feeling, but, now, he feels everything, and it hurts. It hurts so badly.

Before anything else can be said, the distant sound of sirens directs their attention from each other to the far-off source of them, and he pulls his pistol from its holster without a second of hesitation or thought given to the action. With the keys to the Jaguar sitting in his pocket, there's no need to wait around to be killed like sitting ducks.

"Elevator," he says in a curt command, placing that mask back over his face to keep himself from giving away how deeply this has wounded him. He knows that if she sees, she might feel guilty for something that isn't her fault. "Now. We have to be quick."

She doesn't make the mistake of lingering behind for the sake of continuing their interrupted conversation. Despite her wish to never see him again after they leave the city tonight, when Harry says to go, she listens.