A Dangerous Game

Chapter 8

 "Louis, let me come too."

He looks uncomfortable that I'm arguing with his plan, but there's also a determined set to his shoulders. It's infuriating how stubborn he can be.

"Sorry Harry, that's just really not a good idea-"

"Oh, so it's a good idea to leave me here instead? I'm tired of always being left behind," I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. I know it's probably childish, but I can't help it. It's one thing having to stare at a wall for hours and worry, but now it's far more personal. I just can't do that again. Not when it's about my dad.

Dad. The word still feels weird to think, which is stupid. I've always dreamed of finding him one day. I'd imagined it thousands of times, but never had I expected it to be like this. I mean, he might have been trying to kill me. At least he must have been involved in some way, after all, why else would Charlotte try to contact him?

That's another thing that hurts. Why does Charlotte even know where he is? I suppose it's possible that she just learned about it recently, but it seems far more likely that she's known this entire time. And if she has, why would she keep it from me? She knows how much finding him would mean to me, so why would she push me away from that path? Does she know something about my father that I don't?

"Harry, I would want you to come if you could, but the truth is you just...can't. Everyone knows your face now that the police have posted your pictures, and the absolute worst place to show up is a technology company. They have to have a billion cameras and even more security, you would never make it past the door."

I wrinkle my nose and glare at his logic, trying to find someone to direct my frustration at. But Louis really doesn't deserve it with everything that he's done for me and I sigh, rubbing my hands over my tired face.

"I know, dammit. I just hate that you're right."

He crosses the room, pulling me against him. I rest my cheek on his head, forcing myself to relax. "Don't worry, that rarely ever happens."

I smirk, his soft hair rubbing against my face. I pull away to look at him.

"Oh suuure."

"Hey, I never said I don't keep going with my point if I'm wrong. Usually if you push it enough people accept that you're right even if you're not." He winks at me and I laugh, my mood already improved. Suddenly I don't want him to leave, even though I'm desperate for answers. I can't stand the thought of being alone now that he's in my arms. I hadn't even realized how dependent I had become on him, and it scares me.

Louis seems to notice my melancholy, meeting my gaze with those beautiful blue eyes. I could gaze into them for hours and never get tired of it. Still, it's worth it when he closes them to brush his nose against mine softly, his hot breath teasing on my skin.

"I promise I'll come back with some answers," he whispers before kissing my lips gently and pressing his forehead against mine. I suddenly move my mouth to his neck, biting his skin hard enough to leave a mark. When I pull away he looks surprised, but I smile with satisfaction at the dark hint of lust in his eyes.

"Go away, Honry, I'll see you in a bit," I joke, pushing him away. He swallows, looking between me in the door, before chewing his lip.

"That was mean," he states. "Now I don't want to go."

"And I do," I reply with a smug look. "Guess we're even then."

He rolls his eyes but smiles, squeezing my hand before finally walking out the door. My smirk fades as soon as it closes and I fall back onto the sofa, slamming my eyes shut. Without looking I slowly drag out the old photograph I always keep with me from my pocket, fingering its frayed ends to find which side faces up. Then I run my hand across where I know my father's face is, a blurry memory resurfacing. It's one of the few I have of him, and it plays like a soundless black and white movie in my head. I'm walking down the street, trying to skip ahead and follow the pebble I'm kicking across the sidewalk, a strong hand wrapped around mine. I kick the stone into the road and am about to go running after it when my father sweeps me up in his arms. I giggle as his scruffy chin scratches my skin, and I feel a laugh form in his broad chest before it echoes down the street. I don't hear it, but a few passersby stop and smile at the two of us.