behind the camera - fake dating sports romance (wlw)

Chapter Forty-One

HARPER

It's almost midnight when I finally accept she's not coming home.

The hallway is quiet—too quiet.
No key in the door. No low hum of her voice through the crack. The lights are still off out there, her shoes still missing from their spot beside the mat. I keep looking, like they'll magically reappear if I check one more time. I've been listening for the elevator for hours—every little groan in the pipes, every shuffle from the neighbors makes my heart stop, just for a second. It's like I'm twelve again, stomach tight, waiting for someone to come home and catch me awake when I should've been asleep. Only this time, I'm not scared I'll get in trouble. I'm scared I'll have to fall asleep without knowing if she's okay.

I'm off work for a few more days—apparently Millie talked to Lucas, and Lucas talked to my boss, and somehow, without me even asking, they made it happen. A few more days of breathing room. A few more days before I have to pretend to be a functioning human being again. A few more days to figure out how to hold myself together long enough to make it through a shift.

So I've been here. Just... here. Alone.

After Millie left this morning, Audrey came by. Not to babysit—she said that part out loud, like she knew I'd be sensitive about it—but because she hadn't seen me since Florida. Since the hospital. Since everything. And she was Audrey, so she brought snacks and stupid memes and something with bubbles in it and wouldn't let me sit in silence for more than thirty seconds at a time. We talked, we laughed, we cried a little. It felt almost normal for a few hours, until she had to leave. Harriet needed her. Life doesn't stop for anyone.

Now it's just me and this couch again.

I'm curled up in one of Millie's hoodies, drowning in the sleeves, a blanket thrown over my legs. The TV's still on—some awful reality show about couples screaming at each other on an island—but the volume's low and the plot's meaningless. I've been staring at the screen for hours, not seeing any of it. Just noise to drown out the thoughts.

I haven't eaten since Audrey left. Haven't moved since the sun went down. My body's a husk—numb and jittery at the same time. My chest has been a knot since Millie walked out the door, and it's only gotten tighter with every hour that ticks past.

I know where she is. I'm not stupid.

She's at the rink. Probably her mom's. Getting back on the ice, trying to remind her body how it feels to be an athlete again after ten missed games. Ten. She missed ten games. For me.

For me.

For my wreck of a life. For something that wasn't even real when it started. A fake dating scheme. A favor. A transaction. And somehow, it became something else, and now the world thinks she faked it all for publicity, that she lied, manipulated, used me. They're calling her selfish, unprofessional, dramatic, entitled.

And she's the one taking the hits for it. Not me.
She's the one losing ice time, losing press, losing everything she's worked her whole life for. And what do I have to offer her in return?

Nothing.

I can't give her back her games. I can't give her back her season. I can't fix the stories or clear her name or make people see what I see when I look at her.

When I look at her, I see a girl with fire behind her eyes and oceans in her soul. Someone who burns bright, but still finds a way to be soft. Who holds me together without even trying, who shows up, again and again, even when I don't know how to ask. Someone who makes me feel seen. Safe. Known.

Someone who didn't run.

And all I can give her is me.
And some nights—like tonight—I'm not sure if that's worth anything at all.