Unlikely (H.S.)

thirty-eight

~Harper~

I hear Harry's footsteps slowly retreating, and I feel a tightness settle in my chest, a tension that doesn't seem to loosen. The door clicks softly behind him, and I'm left in the silence of the hotel room, surrounded by nothing but the hollow echoes of my thoughts. I'd asked him to leave, to give me space, but it didn't feel like the right thing to do. I should've told him the truth about everything. But I couldn't. Not yet. I needed time to process, to breathe, to not feel like I was suffocating from the weight of it all.

The minutes stretch on like hours. I sit, knees pulled to my chest, staring at the empty space where Harry once stood. His absence feels like a physical ache, but the sting in my heart is nothing compared to the deep, gut-wrenching guilt that gnaws at me for pushing him away. For not trusting him enough to let him in.

But then I hear it. The soft knock at the door. I freeze, heart racing. For a split second, I wonder if it's just my mind playing tricks on me, but then the knock comes again—gentle, persistent.

"Harper," Harry's voice comes through the door, and I can hear the pleading tone in it. "Please. Can we talk? I just... I need to explain."

I don't answer right away. I'm still too raw, too shaken by the whirlwind of emotions. But the knock comes again, and his voice follows, softer, almost desperate. "Just a few minutes. I'll give you space after. But I need you to hear me."

I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands trembling as I clutch at my shirt. The panic still lingers, that familiar knot in my chest that never fully unravels. But I can't let him go without talking. Not without explaining. I swallow hard, pushing the door open just enough for him to see me, but not enough for him to step inside.

His eyes are filled with guilt, and I can see the hurt in them, the way he's torn between wanting to make things right and knowing he's made a mistake. I make my way to the bed to sit, crossing my legs underneath myself.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, taking a hesitant step toward me. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I shouldn't have kicked you out."

I feel a tightness in my throat as I take a breath, trying to steady myself. "Harry... I didn't sell the video. I swear, I didn't."

His brow furrows in confusion. "Baby, I kno–"

"It wasn't me," I continue, cutting him off, my voice cracking under the weight of the words. "I never... I would never. It was Tripp. He sold the video to TMZ. He's the one who did it. He hacked into my iCloud and everything, he saw so much stuff."

Harry's eyes widen in shock, and he steps forward, his expression turning serious. "Harper, that can't be right, Jeff said it was a guy named Richard Beckett–" He cuts himself off, hesitation crossing his face.

"Yeah, that's his full name, Tripp is a nickname that everyone calls him," I explain, my breathing becoming more laboured as I confess all to Harry.

Harry takes another step forward, his eyes softening as he takes in the hurt in mine. He moves to sit on the bed beside me, resting his hand on my knee. "Harper... I'm so sorry. I should've trusted you. I should've listened. I am so sorry for the shitty things I said to you, too. My anger got the best of me, and I'm so fucking embarassed, Harp. You have to believe me."

"Wait–" I start, then I feel like I'm suffocating.

Sitting next to Harry, I feel like my entire world is crumbling beneath me, the ground cracking and shifting, threatening to swallow me whole. The air between us feels thick, charged with everything unsaid, and I'm suffocating under the weight of it all. He's watching me, waiting, his gaze steady but piercing, and I don't know how to start.