Trapped with Mr. Walker

I ROLL OVER AND lift my phone, squinting as the screen lights up. 1 AM. What’s she doing up at 1 AM? She better not be up with Bruce, giving him some ritualistic middle of the night watering under the moonlight. I would not put it past her.

I shift onto my back and listen as the odd squeak and snuffle drifts into my room. It sounds like she’s in the living room.

It sounds like she’s crying.

Maybe she is and wants to be alone. I know I like to be by myself sometimes. But my legs are already swinging out of bed before I have time to contemplate my actions.

I stifle my yawn, dragging a hand back through my hair as I head down the hallway and into the living area. She’s curled up on the sofa underneath a giant blanket, the light from her phone reflecting off her face as she wipes her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She sucks in a breath as her shoulders shake, and for one god-awful moment, my heart plummets to my feet. But then she breaks into a grin and the cross between a squeak and snuffle exits her parted lips.

“Harls?”

She startles, her eyes popping as she drops her phone in surprise. “Reed. Don’t creep up on me like that. I could have taken you out thinking you were an intruder.”

I look at her pink fluffy slippers sticking out from beneath the blanket.

“What would you do? Suffocate me with fluff? Tie me up with miniature glittery ropes?”

“Jerk,” she mutters, but her eyes soften as she looks at me.

“What are you doing up so late?” I swipe her phone up and drop down onto the sofa next to her, lifting her feet and laying them across my legs. The screen is full of my face, contorted in a weird mask of disbelief and pain as Freddy the goat butts me square in the groin. “That little fucker could have cost me the future Reed juniors.”

Harley snorts, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it must have hurt, but it’s made me laugh. And I needed that.”

I hand her phone back to her. “Something on your mind?”

She chews her bottom lip, sniffing. “You could say that. Today was, well, yesterday now, I guess… It was a date that is hard for me, for… certain reasons.” She drops her eyes from mine, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “The party was so fun. And I thought I was okay. I thought I had gotten through it unscathed. But then I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep again.” She lets out a deep sigh. Her chest deflates, so she looks even tinier and more delicate than usual. “I guess it was just waiting to surprise me instead.”

“You know…” I run a hand over the blanket, stroking her calf beneath. “There’s a date that sneaks up on me sometimes, too.”

“There is?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat as I push the images that the memory brings back down deep into the darkest depths of my soul where I’ve learned to keep them most of the time. “It’s been a long time, and I don’t think of it often. But sometimes I do, and… well, let’s just say I hate those days.”

“I get it,” Harley says softly.

The blanket is smooth underneath my palm, and the rhythmic up and down strokes I’m making on Harley’s leg are helping to control the burning in my chest and throat that always come when I think about that night.

“But it led me to where I am today, and I think at least something good came from it. Politics is a more stable profession than music.”

“You wanted to work in music? What, like a producer or a manager?” Harley looks at me with interest.

I barely talk about it anymore. That’s an old life. A Reed in a parallel universe is living that version of my life.

“No. A musician.” I drop my chin and watch my hand trace over the blanket.

“The guitar in your room?”

“Been snooping, have you? Did you sniff my underwear too?” I laugh and look back up as she recoils and sticks her tongue out at me.

“I didn’t even go inside. I just saw it when I moved in. Your door was open.”

“Hey. It’s fine. You can go wherever you want. This is your home, too.”

She nods, rolling her perfect pink lips together.

“Honestly, it’s fine.”

Her shoulders finally relax, and she lets out a slow breath as I convince her I’m not pissed. I really couldn’t give a shit if she went in my room or not. There’s nothing in there I wouldn’t happily show her myself. “Yeah, the guitar,” I continue. “I wanted to be a singer. Used to write my own songs, joined a band in college. You know, typical stuff when you’re young and gullible enough to think you’ll be the next big thing.”

She grins at me. “I can imagine you doing that. Loving life on your tour bus with hordes of fans chanting your name and breaking into your hotel room so they can lie naked on your bed awaiting your return.”

She laughs as I chuckle and shake my head.

“Would you have been one?”

“A fan? Oh, absolutely.” She lays a hand over her heart. “Front row, throwing my panties up on stage for you.”

“Right, that’s it.” I pretend I’m about to stand up. “I’m changing careers. I can still be a rockstar.”

“Idiot!” she snorts, pushing me back into the sofa with her feet.

I continue stroking her legs as her smile wanes and she grows quiet.

“Someone close to me was hurt,” she whispers, her eyes shining in the dim light. “And I was helpless to stop it.”

“I’m sorry, that’s tough.” I lean my head back against the sofa, keeping my eyes on hers.

“It was. It is. Something was broken, lost,” she croaks. “Is that similar to you?”

I chew my cheek as I look into her open, trusting gaze. “In a way, yes.”

She searches my eyes. “And you still hurt when you think about it now?”

I tip my head and smile sadly. How can I answer that? I say things are better left in the past. And for the most part, it’s true, and I live by my own advice. But then there are those odd cracks. Those tiny slithers where the darkness seeps back in and licks at my soul, burning it, brandishing it, and turning it black, dark, and ugly.

“Oh my God, Reed.” Harley bolts forward and wraps her arms around my neck. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. I knew you were hurting. I saw it in your eyes at the dinner after we saw Bea, and I… I just knew something had happened. But I didn’t know just how deep it ran.”

“It’s okay, Harls.” I wrap my palms around her ribs and ease her back so I can look at her. “It was a long time ago, and like I said, I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.”

She tilts her head, her eyes following the direction of her fingers as she weaves them through my hair. I breathe deeply, watching her expression become calm as she threads her fingertips through the strands at the back of my head, and then traces them tenderly down my neck. I swallow at how good it feels.

“Aren’t you cold?” She takes her hands away and sinks back into the sofa next to me.

“Nope.”

She assesses my bare chest and low-slung pajama pants with a frown and then re-arranges the blanket so it covers the two of us. I’m probably going to overheat now, but I don’t say anything. She seems to need the distraction of doing something.

“Will you sit with me for a bit? If you don’t mind, that is?” she asks, looking at me with such sweet innocent hope in her baby blue eyes that only a bastard could refuse her.

“Absolutely. I can survive without my beauty sleep.”

She clocks my smirk and rolls her eyes. “Of course you can. I’m sure you’ll even get some voters purely crossing that box in the hope you’ll bring out a charity calendar or something, and they’ll see you shirtless. And you know I’m not joking.”

I laugh. I do get hit on a lot when I’m out campaigning. I even used to call some of the numbers I was given. But now? The idea of having sex for the night with a woman whose name means nothing to me seems pointless. I used to call them because I wanted to feel something—I wanted to feel in control. And sometimes I did, for a few hours. But as soon as my dick was soft again, I felt nothing. Numb. Which, in itself, is preferable to feeling helpless—my one setting since the event that led my family to pack up and leave New York and move to California. I was old enough to stay behind. But my parents thought it would be good for all of us to have a fresh start together, and in many ways, they were right.

But now I’m back in the city that started it all, and I’m intent on being the one in control this time.

“Why don’t we put a movie on?”

“Really?” Harley’s eyes light up. Her tears have stopped.

“Yeah. What do you want to watch?”

She grins and reaches for the remote, putting on some movie with a load of talking animals, and the tears are back in her eyes again as she creases up with laughter next to me. I relax back into the cushions with a smile. She looks at me in delight, probably thinking I love the fact that a racoon is now wearing a sweater.

But I’m not smiling at the movie. I’m smiling at how happy it makes her.

Seeing her upset is like a sucker punch to my gut, or having a hot poker being rammed down my dick.

Harley being upset makes me want to mute every sound in the world. Rip the vibrations and sound waves from the air. Because I don’t think I want to hear any sound.

Not unless one of them is her laugh.