Reckless {HS}

twelve

Harry's Pov

"You had one job, Harry. One simple task."

His voice was ice. My father sat behind his massive oak desk, the kind that seemed too large for anyone else, but somehow it fit him perfectly. His eyes were sharp, unforgiving, and the way he leaned forward, steepling his fingers, told me I was about to get torn apart.

"And you couldn't even manage that."

I clenched my jaw, staring at the floor to keep from losing it. I could feel the heat rising in my chest, the frustration building. The boys were sitting around the room, avoiding eye contact, clearly not wanting to be caught in the crossfire. I could feel their eyes flicking toward me every few seconds, but they were staying quiet. Smart. Because I was on the verge of snapping.

"You've been pulling jobs like this for years," my father continued, his voice somehow getting colder. "Since you were a kid, and now you can't even pull off a simple heist at a ball?"

"I got distracted," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. But the second I said it, I knew it was the wrong thing to say.

"Distracted?" My father's voice rose, and he stood up, his palms slamming down onto the desk with a sharp bang. "Distracted isn't an excuse, Harry! You don't get to be distracted! This isn't some petty job anymore—this is the real deal! And you—" he pointed a finger at me—"are supposed to be the best at this."

"I know!" I shouted back, the anger I'd been holding in boiling over. I could feel the heat flush my face as I glared at him. "I fucking know, alright? You think I don't know I screwed up?"

"Clearly, you don't!" His eyes were blazing now, his entire body tensing as he leaned forward over the desk. "Because if you did, you wouldn't be standing there trying to excuse it with this 'distraction' bullshit. I don't want excuses—I want results."

I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears, the blood rushing to my head. I had never wanted to hit something so badly in my life, and if he wasn't my father, I might have done it. The boys shifted uncomfortably around the room, clearly trying to shrink into the background, but I could feel Louis' eyes on me, like he was waiting for the explosion.

I didn't disappoint him.

"I told you—I got distracted! It won't happen again!" I shouted, stepping toward my father, my fists clenching at my sides. "But you have no fucking idea what went down tonight, alright? You have no idea what it was like being there!"

"Then tell me, Harry," my father growled, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you just couldn't handle the pressure. Maybe I've been wrong about you this whole time."

Something snapped inside me. I could feel it—like a wire that had been pulled too tight and finally gave way. I slammed my fist down onto his desk, the sound reverberating through the room, making the boys jump.

"I've been doing everything for you!" I roared. "Every fucking job, every heist, every scheme—you think I don't feel the weight of that? You think I don't know what's on the line every single time? Don't you dare stand there and act like I haven't given you everything!"

My father didn't flinch. He stood there, cold and unyielding, his eyes fixed on mine, but I could see the crack in his composure. The slightest twitch of his mouth, the flare of his nostrils. He was pissed, but so was I.

"You've always been the strongest," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "The one I could rely on. But if you can't handle this anymore, then maybe it's time you're done."

I stepped closer, my fists still clenched. "You don't get to decide that."

His eyes darkened. "Oh, I do decide that. I'm the one who put this together, Harry. I'm the one who raised you into this life, and if you're too distracted to get the job done, then maybe I've been wrong to rely on you."

I felt the rage clawing up my throat, hot and bitter. "I wasn't too distracted to get the job done. Something happened tonight—something you don't understand. But I'm not explaining myself to you." My voice was shaking now, and I hated it. I hated how much power he had over me, how much I still cared what he thought.

"Then explain it to me now," he said coldly. "What happened that was so important you couldn't finish the job?"

I hesitated. I wasn't about to tell him about Delilah, about the way she had knocked me off my game the second I saw her. I wasn't going to give him any more ammunition against me. But I couldn't stop the words that came next.

"I'll get it done," I said through gritted teeth. "But you need to back the hell off."

The silence in the room was deafening. I could feel everyone's eyes on me—Niall, Liam, Louis—but I didn't care. I wasn't backing down.

My father's face was unreadable. He stood there, staring at me, and for a moment, I thought he might throw me out. I wouldn't have cared if he did. But instead, he just leaned back in his chair, his expression cold and emotionless.

"Fine," he said finally. "Get out of my sight."

I turned on my heel without another word, storming out of the room before I lost it again. I could feel the boys following behind me, but I didn't stop. I didn't even glance at them as I made my way down the hall, my mind spinning.

"Harry," Louis called out, jogging to catch up to me. "Mate, what the hell happened in there?"

"Not now," I growled, barely sparing him a glance.

But he wasn't giving up that easily. "Look, you're not the only one who's got something riding on this. You mess up, we all pay for it. So if something's going on, you need to tell us."

"I said, not now," I snapped, shoving open the door and walking out into the cool night air. I needed space. I needed to think. And most of all, I needed to figure out what the hell I was going to do about Delilah.

Because no matter how much I tried to focus, no matter how much I wanted to shut her out, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

And that was going to get me killed.