Harper's silence tore into me.

I knew our relationship had shifted, not from how tenderly we had sex, the way I stared into her eyes like a lovesick sap, held her against me, and whispered soft, unfamiliar words yet they flowed out naturally. The shift wasn't when I angrily blurted out that I loved her and not even the way her hand clung onto her elbows while she walked away from her mom.

Before she walked away from me.

No, it shifted sometime overnight. I woke up the morning we met with her mom and Harper was different, quiet, introverted, and emotionally unhinged. Her bloodshot eyes were dull and lifeless and even though I pinned her down to the coffee house seat, she fought back against every selfish, hurtful word that her toxic mother verbally slapped her with.

She also trembled the entire time, like a leaf before it snapped off a branch.

I knew the exact moment my own restraint snapped, when I threw some money onto the table for our full drink cups. Personally, Harper took her mother's 'news,' if that's what it even counted as, better than I would've.

While we sat there and her mother had the audacity that she flashed Harper's brother like some olive branch, I'd shuffled through every anger coping mechanism my years of therapy had equipped me with. The only redirection that worked was I kept my eye on Harper the entire time. Like a beacon, her presence reminded me that she was all that mattered so I stuffed my personal opinions down deep.

Cold fingers gripped around my wrist when I grabbed Harper's forgotten backpack and heaved it up onto my shoulder. "Please Jake." Her mom stood up and begged quietly, "I'm not asking for myself."

"Not my decision." My only answer was I shook my head and stepped around her.

Her hands tugged gently on Harper's bag. "Please, Jake. She needs to -"

"You really don't know her that well." I tossed the bag over my shoulder and gently shrugged her hands off. "So I don't think you're in a place to judge what she needs."

"But you do, don't you?" Before I exited after Harper, her mom placed one hand on her backpack and cooed from behind me, "I never would've imagined... You two were both adorable kids, and you'll make a beautiful family someday. I can't believe how happy I am for you and my daughter to be together."

My lips pressed tightly together at three words that screamed for release.

Fuck off, bitch.

While violence against women was a hard fuck-no for me, Harper's mom edged me closest to reconsidering that I pushed her hands off me. She obviously had no respect for boundaries. Within six sentences, she flipped a switch inside Harper that turned her off.

Outside the coffee house, I actually hadn't minded that Harper lashed out her displaced anger at me. If that gave her a relief from the emotions that I was sure her mom had burdened her with, then I would've happily stepped in as her punching bag. Fuck, she could have fucked me until my dick went numb if she wanted.

But instead, she wanted... nothing. And, like an idiot, I confessed I loved her.

Fuck, I can't do anything right for her.

I'd picked the worst moment for that admission but she looked so broken, so beaten down, I wanted her to know that she had me with her. She had me more than being in my bed, by her side. Selfishly, I hoped that I was also somewhere inside that broken heart.

While I was concerned for her emotional health, I didn't care if she was crying, angry, even distraught. Fuck, I was glad she'd shown that side of her because it meant she trusted me, at least a little. And I sure as hell didn't care about the shit her mom had said because it sure didn't define who Harper was as a person.

The internal switch my words ignited in her pointed out that I'd made my biggest mistake yet with Harper.

That was the worst thing I could've told her.

Like a stalker, I followed behind her until she reached her dorm building. Step for step, I trailed behind her and a sense of helplessness grew in me the longer we walked. She stayed completely silent, with her arms hugged around her stomach and chin dipped downward. The building wasn't very far, about twenty minutes, but every silent second felt like hours. I was positive that she felt my eyes on her but she just bunched up her shoulders and took long, sluggish steps until Rieber Hall's entrance doors shut behind her.

My chest pinched in sympathy for her and I dragged my hands through my hair.

For the first time, I couldn't fuck it out of her. Not without trying, my mind flashed through the way Harper had dragged me through my bedroom and tore half my clothes off before I'd gotten the bedroom door shut. Round for round as she cried, sobbed actually, until she collapsed under the weight of her own emotions wasn't an option this time.

The past twenty-four hours would've been tough on anyone and now, with her having a brother she didn't know about...

That's a mindfuck in itself.

Fuck, I guess if she says she needs time and space then I'll give it to her.

I went against my own words and found myself back at her locked dorm room, just one flower bouquet short of completely pathetic. Muffled dismissals was all she offered and I took what felt like a walk, then a drive of shame home.

My mind blurred over for most of the days that followed, which included film study for our game against UCLA. At 6-3 and third in the PAC-12 South Division, the Bruins were a respectable enough team but we were just better in all dimensions of the team. With our 9-1 record, we'd already secured our position at the top of the PAC-12 South and primed ourselves for the playoff round.

Hightower's UW Huskies sat atop the North Division, at 9-0 with their last two games at home. Impressively, he'd already set personal best records in touchdowns and yards, better than mine I was sore to admit, and still had two more regular season games left.

Definitely putting himself into the best draft position possible.

Coach Campbell glanced at me from where he stood at the front of the film room. "I might bring up Colby for the second half, depending on how you play out the first half."

"Fine." My shoulders shrugged at the mention of my backup Marco Colbert, although I gritted my teeth tighter at the idea that my ass sat on the bench for half a game. "As long as I can start the game where we beat UCLA at home."

Truthfully, I had an ulterior motive. Earl Roberts was scheduled to toss the game coin. And I hoped he was escorted down to the field by his favorite, sarcastic blonde.

If she attends. I hope she does.

The thought Harper wasn't there dampened my mood the longer it lingered in the back of my mind. We'd had a bye week between the BYU and UCLA games, which had given me extra time that I finished all my semester's term papers, got bombarded with UCLA-related rivalry shit, and obsessively thought about Harper.

Fuck, I'd even cleaned my room with how stir-crazy I'd felt. And I held a house meeting, where I brought up changing the locks. The guys had no problem, just requested we do that after the season ended.

The only, only reason I hadn't contacted Harper were a few quick texts from Ellie that Mom told her Harper's dad had visited down here. The information appeased me with a short-term amount of relief. If anyone smoothed over the bombshell her mom had dropped on him having an affair, then it was Harper's diplomatic, level-headed dad.

Doesn't seem like the type to cheat but... who knows.

"Of course you're starting, Jake." Coach's short, cropped, gray-haired head tipped back and he laughed quietly. His laughs dissolved into irritation as he added, "I got your memes."

While we focused one game and opponent at a time, Coach Campbell asked the team for links to any of the memes and online slander for next week's prep against our last opponent, the in-town rivals the UCLA Bruins. Even as a California native, I was amazed at the extent of the rivalry. As usual, I'd gotten the largest amount of hate but if it amped up the guys' motivation then I was fine supplying it.

Most of it pales in comparison to the Viagra ads Harper graced me with.

At the somber reminder, I checked my phone for the fiftieth time today. A loud sigh escaped me when I saw my message from eight days ago was still on Unread. My hand raked through my hair before I switched my phone off and lifted my attention to the film screen.

Hope she's okay.

Before I went to bed that night, I broke my week-long silence with Harper and sent just one message.

me: I won't chase after you, firecracker. But I will wait for you. ❤️

I shut off my phone as quickly as my thumb flinched, so I didn't see the unread status.

The week that led up to our cross-town rivalry game, for owning the Liberty Bell trophy for the next year and, more importantly, bragging rights was crammed full of football-related events. Given I'd heard nothing from Harper, it was a welcomed distraction.

More friendly football games were held than I counted, from the ROTC's "Blood Bowl" to one played by representatives from the Daily Bruin and Daily Trojans, the local student newspapers. Fuck, even both teams' equipment managers and trainers and the school's marching bands played football against each other.

Griff and I horribly swung our way through an alumni golf challenge while Evan mopped the Wilshire Country Club's course with us, one damn near PGA swing and putt at a time. Not that I was much better, but Griff lost more balls than he hit, and decided Evan was better off walking back to the clubhouse after the eighteenth hole.

USC and UCLA students also competed in a 5K race, blood drive challenge, and other sports teams like hockey, wrestling, and volleyball played against each other. The Trojan Knights guarded Tommy the Trojan twenty-four seven, along with a sign that roasted, "Don't Bruin Your Life."

In the most heart-warming part of the entire week, Coach Campbell arranged for twelve of us to visit one of the pediatric wings in Children's Hospital at Los Angeles County-USC Medical Center. We weren't allowed on the isolation wards, but a few of the recovering rooms or kids who had just started their chemo treatments were open for visitors. We all stretched hospital safety covering gowns over our large bodies, strapped booties and masks on, and sanitized every item that wasn't attached.

My heart equally warmed and pinched in pain at the kids we met, signed USC merch for, took pictures with, absorbed a surprisingly large amount of their game-related advice, and tossed some stuffed footballs with them.

All of us overstayed our two-hour visitation window, not that any of the hospital staff complained. They took as many pictures with us as the kids. We happily obliged because putting any of us around kids turned us into big softies.

The simplest exchanges and sobering challenges the innocent kids faced certainly sobered my restless mind into perspective.

I need to come back here more after the season's over.

One boy stood out to me among all of my visits, not because of the pale skin that covered his face and head but the brightest, light-blue eyes that pierced into me. They dropped slightly, to the stuffed football I clenched tightly under my forearm when I stood in his doorway.

"You're Jake Harrison," he called out in an excited voice and sat upright in his bed.

His reaction looked like an invitation but my feet stayed still. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah." His bald head nodded quickly and his eyes sparkled. "Wait until my dad finds out you're here. He's getting a soda."

"Is he a Trojans fan?" I stepped forwards and hoped he wasn't a UCLA one.

Or maybe he'll just smack talk me or put a 'kick me' sign on my back.

I'd let him do it if it made the kid smile.

"Big one." The boy's face fell as his eyes dropped and corners of his mouth turned down. "We... were supposed to go to my first game this season, the one against the Huskies. But instead I'm stuck in this joint because my..."

My chin tipped slightly sideways. "Your what?"

His shoulders drooped and his hands fidgeted. "My bell ceremony was canceled, it's... Nah, it's stupid."

"Doesn't sound like it," I offered gently. "What's a bell ceremony?"

"When the remission kids leave for home recovery, they ring a bell outside the nurse's desk." He dipped his chin down and traced his fingers over the white blanket tucked over his lower body. "Everyone who's sick can hear it."

And grow some hope.

Just the concept of recovered kids passing support to the other patients tightly squeezed my heart. Cancer was a cruelty no one deserved but especially not kids, getting knocked down and attacked from within their own bodies before they'd had a chance to live.

Fuck, I'm twenty-two and even haven't lived enough yet.

"I'm glad I visited then." I chuckled and stood at the side of his bed. My eyes shifted to a television mounted on the opposite wall from his headboard and the monitors that surrounded it. "Will you watch the UCLA game this Saturday?"

"Of course." He nodded, then looked down at his lap again. "It's not the same on TV though."

"It's not," I admitted quietly and made a mental note that I sent two jerseys over here.

Or, even better, I should bring them myself.

Unless his favorite player is Griff. Or Evan. Or -

"Who's your favorite player?" I flipped the football gently up to him, which he caught mid-air with a tight grasp.

"You?" He pitched it back, a zing straight into my chest with a slight wobble in his spiral.

A small chuckle left me as I pitched it back. "Are you saying that because I'm right here?"

"No." He laughed quietly, which switched into a cough. "What happened in the U-Dub game? You're better than Hightower."

I bit back a laugh because that's what I called him too, but Hightower sounded strange in his higher pitch, youthful voice.

"Just wasn't my game, but I won't let it knock me back," I promised as he threw the ball to me. "We'll see them in the playoffs, promise."

His eyes closed for a few moments, then they filled with regret as they slowly opened. "Sorry, I get tired sometimes."

"And now it looks like you need some rest, buddy," a male voice called out behind me.

I turned around to a tall man with a slight stomach bulge, gray streaks in his goatee, and thinned brown hair. His tired eyes reflected the face he held two cans of soda, one in each hand. "Didn't know you were getting visitors today. You're..."

His brown eyes narrowed as he looked at me, then shot wide open as his mouth dropped open. "Jacob Harrison?"

"Pleasure to meet you..." I paused and extended one hand. "And it's Jake."

"Rhett Davies," he gripped my hand tightly then looked at his son in bed. "Wyatt's dad. Thanks for visiting and appreciate your time but he needs some rest."

"Of course." One of my hands lifted in Wyatt's direction. "Good to meet you."

On my way out, a guy dressed in a white USC polo shirt and khakis stopped me. He and the camera he'd brought with him, had also joined us on the van trip over here. "Okay to take a USC Outreach picture, Jake?"

"Ask them." I pointed at where Wyatt's dad now sat in bed next to his son. "Mister Davies, is it okay to get a picture for the school?"

He looked down at his son, who shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah," Wyatt said in a flat, uninterested voice.

"Can you send them and me a copy?" I asked the photographer, who nodded.

I walked around to the other side of his bed with careful steps so I didn't brush up against any of the wires and tubes that ran between the machines, Wyatt's bed, even Wyatt himself.

With a slight lean over, I whispered into his ear, loud enough that his dad also heard me but muffled behind my mask. "How about I make you a deal?"

His head lifted back and he smiled up at me. "What kind of deal?"

"You have your bell ceremony, and I'll make sure you're at the best seats in the Coliseum next season." I lifted my eyes to his dad's, which now shone with tears and he swallowed. "Whatever game you or your Dad want."

Wyatt's eyes widened, then shifted to his dad, who smiled and nodded tightly to me. While I'm sure Mr. Davies appreciated the offer, the apprehension that filled his tired eyes was enough that I knew Wyatt's full recovery was anything but guaranteed.

Still, if I could've offered any glimmer of hope or even a distraction, then my visit was totally worth it.

Brave little kid.

While I checked my phone incessantly for a message or missed call from Harper, I turned a blind eye and deaf ears towards more UCLA-inspired online hate flung on every one of my social media accounts than I counted. My mood soured the more time passed and I still hadn't heard from her.

Per our usual Sunday evenings, I called Ellie.

"Un-freaking believable," I practically heard her head shaking back and forth. "It's been two weeks, but I still can't believe her mom showed up. After ten years? That's just... beyond awful. I'm so sorry for her."

"Yeah, it's bad," I admitted quietly and sank my shoulders down into my bed. "I haven't heard from her since. Fuck, Ellie I'm going crazy worrying about her."

"I know you probably want to but don't go over there," Ellie warned me with a sigh that buzzed static in my ear. "She'll push you away unless she's ready."

What if she's ready though? Fuck, I don't even know what I'm asking here.

I laid back with a groan and mentally braced myself for Ellie's usual 'you single-brain idiot' ball busting but she stayed silent. Twenty breaths passed before she finally spoke and, once she did, she only offered the last words I wanted to hear.

"I'm sorry, Jake." Static buzzed in my ear from her loud sigh. "I really am."

My sister was an over-apologizer. Ellie's apologies ranged from uncontrollable shit, like, "I'm sorry the sun isn't shining bright enough," to non-apologies, "I'm sorry my boyfriend's team beat yours... again," to an actually genuine, heartfelt, "I'm sorry."

This Ellie apology version, which I knew from her quiet but steady voice, was the worst. She actually meant, "I'm sorry it didn't work out how you wanted it to," where "it" had a universal meaning.

The problem was, I wasn't ready for "it's" application here. I didn't want this it ended. I wanted it fixed, better than it was before.

Silence from Harper wasn't new but this felt like a silent, backhanded, brush off. My eyes closed tightly and I muttered quietly, "I can't fuck up this time, Ellie."

"Hang in there," she offered quietly but I still caught the strain in her voice. "I still haven't heard from her either, if that helps. Ugh, I feel so helpless, being far away."

"Thanks." In some small way, the fact I wasn't the only one Harper silenced actually appeased my bruised ego... a little bit.

"Maybe just... I don't know, focus on football," she offered lamely. "Since that's more than distracting right now. There's only so many ways to describe how impressed I am with Logan's undefeated season before his head gets too big for this apartment - hey!"

Ellie's giggles, followed by me groaning at a very unwanted mental image of those two, pretty much ended our call. My eyelids drooped heavily, I dropped my phone on my chest, and whooshed out a loud sigh.

I still went to bed and tossed all night... and the following two nights. After just one night where Harper had stayed, my bed had never felt emptier.

As a last resort, I even called her dad late Friday morning before the UCLA game. The worst part was I googled his office location first, then got patched through by his front desk assistant as a work-related call.

"Jacob Harrison?" The doubt in his voice was both expected and deserved. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Ordinarily, 'yes' would've been my honest answer but since Mr. Reynolds was a juvenile defense lawyer, that question was loaded heavier than my blue -

Nope, not going there.

"I'm calling about Harper." After his understandable initial silence, I rubbed my free hand over my forehead and jumped right into, "She's fine but she isn't fine. I'm worried about her, Mister Reynolds. She's ghosted me before and I think she's more torn up about her mom than she'll ever admit. I don't..."

In a cool, steady voice, he asked like he sought my confirmation, "So... her not contacting you is unusual?"

Oh, fuck. Not the way I thought this conversation ever headed.

Harper's Dad hadn't questioned the fact I'd mentioned her mom, so I assumed that he knew that I was present. However, I doubted, or at least hoped, that he wasn't aware of the full extent of my and Harper's relationship.

If there is still one.

In a far off, imaginary world, I would've expressed how I really felt about Harper to her Dad under other circumstances. Both my ego and chest would've puffed up as I spewed out bullshit that embarrassed her the more I spoke but secretly hoped her Dad approved.

As a person, I'd known Mr. Reynolds about as well as anyone knew a high school friend's dad who was never around. But he'd dug into deep trenches of legal shit for my family once and saved my USC-bound ass. His quiet but steady determination revealed more about him as a person than casual, 'You're going where and doing what with my daughter?' fly-by incriminations.

"Yes, I've been seeing her," I admitted quietly. "Or, I was. I haven't seen her since she talked to her mom. She wants nothing to do with anyone who..."

A thick lump choked my words in my throat, but I pushed through it and croaked out, "...Cares about her."

I wasn't wrong, Mom and Ellie both cared about Harper and had also gotten the silent treatment. My pathetic, open-ended 'I'll wait for you' message wasn't the subject for the conversation though, Harper's well-being was.

"Me neither," he confessed quietly and sighed. "Our family and emotions generally don't work well together and I'm as much to blame as Vanessa. I explained the truth of the situation between her mother and I when we visited."

Curiosity burned in my mind because Harper's mom had thrown out some pretty shitty but vague accusations. Although Mr. Reynolds owed me no explanation, he cleared his throat. "Even though I didn't cheat on her mother and Vanessa's child isn't mine, it's still a lot for one person to absorb."

After a slight pause, a creaking sound like shifted leather suggested he leaned back in his office seat. "Harper... seemed like she took the truth as well as could be expected but after Grace and I left last week, she's not answering me either... deservedly."

While selfishly I was glad I wasn't the only one Harper ghosted right now, the news only increased my concern for her. I'd punch my fists into my own walls if I spent most days holed up in my bedroom. Nearly every surface haunted me of her, down to the faint vanilla smell that lingered in one of my pillowcases, so I was thankful football had kept me busy and out of the house.

Not that I've been pleasant to live with.

By the fact the number of concerned looks I'd gotten increased as I stomped angrily around the house, I knew I looked like an angry ogre without a reflection check. Guys jumped out of my way in the locker room before and after practices, abandoned weights machines, and even students on the sidewalks moved aside as I marched to class with my head down and fists tight.

Truthfully, I wasn't angry as much as I was... helpless. And it made me restless, irritable, okay, and a little angry.

"I know her well enough to know an in-person visit will only push her away further but..." Mr. Reynolds' voice softened into the same uncertainty that knotted inside my chest and threatened to rip me open. "If you see her, then please take care of her."

"I..." I swallowed thickly under all the words I wanted to say, the assurances I wanted to offer, but they all evaporated under the harsh reality that came along with any relationship with Harper.

I want to.

But, like everything with her stubborn ass, she has to want it herself.

"I'll try," I mumbled because at this moment, that was all I had to offer. Even though I felt like trying was enough, I had no idea how to get through to her. Brute force worked last time but Harper wasn't dealing with a shitload of emotional baggage.

How do you reach someone who wants to be alone?

After we exchanged goodbyes, I dropped my phone on my bed and dragged both hands down my face. My forehead throbbed painfully so I massaged it gently with the rough pads of my fingers.

I was in love with Harper again, or more accurately I hadn't ever stopped, and had no idea if I could even tell her. Two weeks ago, she screamed at me when I blurted it out, pushed me away, and demanded personal space. Since then, she was nonexistent and emotionally colder than an arctic tundra.

If I closed my eyes, in another life I wouldn't have been an ass to her, she wouldn't have been emotionally disconnected, and we'd be dating now, maybe more. The thought scared me less than I would've assumed, just clenched my teeth together tighter.

With a grunt, I grabbed a towel and stepped under a hot shower that I hoped washed off the sluggish helplessness that weighed down my limbs.

It didn't.