Harper chose a basement kitchen as her makeshift hospital.

There was no particular reason for this, other than the fact that the kitchen was quiet. Bronze pans and baskets of herbs dangled from the ceiling, scenting the air with fresh basil. Harper stood at the sink, rinsing two clean rags that she'd located under the sink. Lawson watched her with steady eyes.

"Have you patched up people before?"

He was sitting at the table. Well, bleeding all over the table, Harper thought, although he didn't seem to notice. Maybe he was in shock.

Harper wrung out the cloth. "You're my first."

"I'm honoured."

She moved closer. "Hold still."

Harper dabbed the bloodied corner of his mouth. Lawson's jaw tensed, but he didn't flinch. Standing this close to him, she could smell the damp rain and the iron-scent of blood clinging to his clothes.

"I'm sorry," Lawson murmured.

She paused. "For which part?"

"All of it." His mouth moved under her hands. "The secrecy, the mixed signals, the lies about Paige... I should have been honest with you from the beginning. I should have told you everything in that airing cupboard."

"I'm sorry, too," Harper said. "I never should have lied to Jake that day in the park, and I definitely shouldn't have asked you to keep everything from Griffin." She pulled back. "It wasn't fair to you."

"He hates me," Lawson said.

He was looking up at her for once, his long legs dangling off the stool; Harper could see every line on his forehead. Every fleck of amber in his eyes.

She searched his gaze. "You don't really believe that."

"No," Lawson said. "I suppose I don't."

Harper crossed to the freezer. She dumped the rags in the sink, pulling out a bag of frozen peas. Lawson shrugged off his suit jacket — bloodied and slick with wet grass — and rolled up his sleeves. She tossed him the bag, and Lawson caught it easily, the veins in his arms flexing as he raised it to his cheek.

Their earlier conversation seemed to hang in the space between them, a curious, shifting spectre.

It frightens me. What I am to you. What you are to me.

And what's that?

Something irreplaceable.

Harper braced herself. "What you were saying earlier — when we were dancing—"

"Forget about it," Lawson said.

She took a step closer. "What if I don't want to?"

"Harper..."

"Don't do this," she whispered. "Don't shut me out."

Lawson's grip on the frozen peas tightened. "There's no future for us. Even if Griffin wasn't involved, you're going back to America next week."

"So?" Harper asked. "Plenty of people make long distance work."

"And then what?" Lawson's voice was sharp glass. "Look at me, Harper. Really look at me. Can you honestly say that I'm the fairytale prince you've always wanted?"

Harper looked at him — this boy that was scarred, bleeding, so angry with the world that he wanted to crumple it up and kick it around like a newspaper — and quietly admitted it to herself. No. This was not what she'd wanted.

And yet.

"You're scared." Her hands were trembling. "That's all this is. You're scared to admit that you want something. You're scared to actually go after it, because that means you open yourself up to being hurt."

Lawson's eyes were dark. "You're one to talk."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why are you going to university?" Lawson demanded. "Why aren't you doing a photography course? I've never heard you talk about books. Not like you talk about photography."

Harper clenched her hands. "Photography's not a viable career. The chances of success—"

"So take that chance," Lawson cut in. "Take a goddamn risk." He lowered the bag. "You live in a fantasy world where things have to be perfect and planned out all the time, but that's not life, Harper. That's purgatory."

"You don't get it."

"No, I don't get it." Lawson's voice was laced with frustration. "Not everyone is lucky enough to be talented at the thing they love, and you're just throwing it away." He shook his head. "You can't keep waiting for life to happen to you, Harper. You have to go out there and make life happen."

Harper crossed her arms. "Are you done now?"

Hot blood pumped through her. A part of Harper was aware that Lawson was saying these things now just to hurt her — just to get a rise — but it was also working. He knew exactly what buttons to push.

"For now," Lawson said.

"Don't take this out on me," Harper said. "It's not fair."

He shrugged. "It's the truth."

"And what about you?" Her voice was fraying, a thread on the verge of snapping. "Are you going to spend your whole life running away from things?"

"You don't understand," Lawson said. "What happened with Paige—"

"I do understand," Harper cut in. "Something awful happened to you. Something that nobody should have to go through. And I'm sorry about your sister; I know how much you loved her. But you know what?" Her throat felt tight. "That's no excuse to stop feeling things altogether."

Lawson's eyes narrowed. "That's easy for you to say—"

"I'm not trying to—"

"—like it's some switch I can flip—"

"If you'd just try—"

"What's the point?" Lawson burst out. "You love someone — really love someone — and then they get taken from you. Or they leave you. Or they fuck it up somehow." Grief was etched in every line of his face. "If you love something, it's just one more thing that can be taken from you. Nothing lasts forever, Harper. Nothing. Not even us."

His face was white against the dried blood. He looked like a ghost himself, Harper thought, a shadow that haunted this kitchen. Something wet hit her cheeks, and it took her a moment to realize that she was crying. Lawson looked like she'd hit him.

"Harper..."

"What are you saying?" she asked.

A cold breeze drifted through the open window. She crossed her arms, shivering in her flimsy golden dress. Lawson's face was a study in candlelight: all ridges and hollows. He looked like a photograph ripped from the pages of some old newspaper, Harper thought: A Shadow After Midnight, artist unknown.

"Just say it," she whispered. "Please."

He looked away. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Crushing pain filled her. Her heart was a knot of tangled rope, yanking tighter and tighter, and for a horrible moment, Harper felt like she couldn't breathe. He hadn't said the words, but she could feel them. It was written all over his face.

Lawson took a step closer. "Harper—"

"It's okay," she said. "I get it."

"Please let me explain."

"There's no need." The cold stone dug into her back. "You don't owe me an explanation. We were never anything, right?"

Lawson flinched. Or maybe he didn't, Harper thought; it was barely perceptible, so small that she could have made it up. He crossed to the window. She could see the tension in his shoulders, a constant, shifting skyline.

"Well, thank-you," Lawson said. "For being so... understanding."

He said the last word as if he'd bitten into something sour. Harper dug her nails into her arm. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and she felt oddly as if they were two actors in a play, swapping lines in a script. This wasn't Lawson. This wasn't them.

But then again, Harper thought dully, there was no them. There never had been. Maybe that was the whole point.

"I should go," Harper said.

He didn't turn.

Right.

Harper made for the door, hesitating on the threshold. "Lawson, I..." Her voice wavered, and she took a deep breath. "I really do like you. But I meant what I've said from the beginning: I'm looking for the real thing. I don't want to waste my time on someone that isn't ready to be loved."

Lawson jerked around. "Harper..."

"You need to figure your shit out," she continued. "Not for me. For you."

He shook his head. "In a few years—"

"In a few years," Harper said, "I'm not going to be here. I've spent my whole life waiting for things, Lawson. True love. Romance. Forever." She held his gaze. "You were right about one thing; I'm not going to wait any longer."

She turned, pushing out of the room.

A/N: Hello lovely readers,

Is this my most angst-filled book? Maybe  ;)

Question of the Day: in honour of "Drive to Survive" Season 4 being released, who's your favourite F1 driver? I'm a Verstappen fan, although I love Lando too! (and if you don't watch F1, what's your favourite sport?)

Affectionately,

J.K.