Reckless {HS}

eight

Harry's Pov

"You're walking a fine line, mate."

Louis leans back in his chair, feet propped up on the table, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. Normally, he's all jokes, never taking anything too seriously, but today, there's an edge in his voice that I can't ignore.

"You think I don't know that?" I mutter, pacing the room. My nerves are already frayed from the past few days—watching Delilah, leaving her those cryptic notes, getting too close.

"You don't act like you know," Niall adds, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. "You're risking everything for this girl. What happens when your dad finds out?"

Liam's been quiet so far, just sitting across from Louis, his brow furrowed like he's trying to find the right words. He's always the reasonable one, the voice of calm in the chaos. "Look, Harry, we're not saying you don't know what you're doing. But she knows you were at the robbery. She might not know your name, but she knows enough."

I clench my jaw, staring out the window. "I can handle it."

Louis lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "No, you can't. You're already too deep. If she pieces it all together, she could blow this whole thing wide open. And what's worse? Your dad's gonna get wind of it."

The mention of my father makes my stomach churn. He'd never understand—never let me off the hook for what I've done. Delilah wasn't supposed to be anything more than a forgotten face from that day at the bank. She was just another witness who wasn't supposed to remember. But she does. And worse, I can't seem to stay away from her.

"I'm not backing off," I snap, turning to face them. "She doesn't know who I am. Not yet."

Louis sighs, swinging his feet off the table and sitting up straight. "Not yet. But she's not stupid, Harry. She'll figure it out. What's your plan then? Go up to her and say, Hey, remember me? The guy with the gun from the bank?"

I glare at him, but he's right, and we both know it. Delilah's close to putting it all together. I've left too many breadcrumbs. And if she figures it out... then what?

"I'll take care of it," I say, softer this time. "She's not gonna go to the cops."

Niall scoffs, pushing off the wall and starting to pace. "You don't know that, Harry. She could panic. And you? You've been leaving her notes, for Christ's sake. You're playing with fire."

"No, I'm not," I snap back, my voice rising. "I know what I'm doing."

But even as the words leave my mouth, I don't believe them. I'm losing control of the situation. Every time I see her, I get pulled in deeper, and I'm not sure I want to stop. It's not just about keeping her quiet anymore. There's something else—something dangerous—about how I feel when I'm around her.

"I get it, mate," Liam finally speaks up again, his voice calm but firm. "But you're not thinking straight. She's already seen you before, and now you're pushing your luck. You can't get attached. You know the rules."

Louis laughs, shaking his head. "Mate, this is beyond attached. You're obsessed. And if your dad finds out, it won't just be you in trouble. She'll be next."

That sends a cold shiver down my spine. I know they're right. My father's rules have always been clear—don't leave any loose ends. And if he knew I was playing this game with Delilah, he wouldn't just stop with me. He'd make sure she was out of the picture for good.

"I'm not walking away from this," I say, my voice low.

"Then you're an idiot," Louis mutters, standing up and heading for the kitchen. "You've got a death wish."

Niall paces in the corner, shaking his head. "We've all been there, Harry. We've all been in too deep at some point. But this one's different. If she figures out who you are, your dad will take care of her. And you know what that means."

Liam stands up too, his face serious. "At the very least, stop leaving her clues. You're giving her everything she needs to figure it out. If you keep this up, she'll know who you are, and you won't be able to fix it."

I stay silent. They're right, but I can't stop. It's too late to walk away now. The problem is, I don't even know if I want to.

Every time I see her, every time I catch her trying to put the pieces together, my pulse races. I want her to know. I want her to remember everything about that day. I want her to see me for who I really am, not just some faceless stranger from the shadows. And that's dangerous.

She's getting closer. And I'm getting closer to the point of no return.