Chapter 6

6

JACKSON

F inally, something worthwhile to spend my time on. Harper. I knock on his door, shifting from foot to foot as I patiently wait for him to answer. A few long moments pass before the familiar sound of Honey’s nails clacking against the wood flooring reaches my ears. When the door opens, she’s not yet wearing her vest. My eyes almost bug out of their sockets and my fingers twitch at my side.

“Is she off the clock?” I ask quietly, barely concealing my excitement.

Harper sighs heavily as if my eagerness is vile. “She’s off the clock.”

I slowly drop to my knees and rub my hands over Honey’s sweet face. Her tail thumps hard against the wood as I excitedly pet her all over. God, she’s the cutest thing. Dotting kisses all over her face, I hug her tight against me.

“Jesus, get a room, you two.”

“Hush,” I tell Harper without looking away from Honey. “We’re having a moment.”

Honey happily pushes against me until I fall over onto the porch floor. She wiggles on top of me, all joy and happy licks across my face. I fucking love dogs. But I especially love this one since she so keenly keeps Harper safe. Why does it matter so much to me? I have no idea, but it still matters more than I can say.

“Alright, girl. Harper’s getting jealous.”

Harper scoffs loudly as he heads back inside with a small huff. Honey whines as he leaves, but she dutifully follows him back inside. I watch, heart painfully tender, as Harper lovingly pats her head as if to clearly say it’s okay, I know I’m the most important man in your life . Harper’s dressed in dark jeans and another soft-as-sin-looking cable-knit sweater, but this time the sweater is a dark navy blue. He looks good enough to eat. His hair is down, loose and soft around his shoulders. Jesus.

“Where are we going?” Harper asks. He folds into the sofa to tug on a pair of maroon Converse.

“It’s a surprise.”

Harper raises one eyebrow at me. “I don’t like surprises.”

“Do you trust me?”

Harper pauses in putting on his shoe, carefully tilting his head as if to dissect me. “Surprisingly, I do.”

“I know you won’t tell me the medical condition, but I assume there are certain things you can’t do. Can you give me a list?”

A scowl appears quickly on Harper’s face. “The list is long.”

“Do you have a list of things you can’t do but wish you could? If it was safe?”

Harper finishes putting on his shoes, tugs a leg up and rests his chin thoughtfully on his knee. The pose is so soft, so sweet, that my already enamored heart falls just a little more for the sarcastic punk. After a few thoughtful moments, Harper lifts his gaze back to mine.

“I’ve always wanted to go clubbing, ride a motorcycle, camp by myself in the middle of the woods, and well… there’s something else too but I’m not telling you that one.” He ticks off each wish on his thin fingers. Everything seems easy to make safe for him. I can’t force him to tell me what his condition is, but I can make his life joyful, and fun, until he feels safe confiding in me.

“You want to go camping?” Really, it’s the only wish that stands out to me because it seems so unlike him.

Harper turns to the side to help Honey put her service vest on, revealing the long line of his elegant throat. His skin is so creamy-pale, absolutely not a single blemish. I wonder what his skin tastes like, how it would feel under my palms, reddening after I’ve pinched him, or spanked him. Would he like that? Jesus, Jackson, get yourself together, man.

“It’s less about the camping, and more about being alone where I’m not nearby for medical help. It would be nice to just once in my life… just once…” Harper trails off and distractedly pats Honey on the head once the vest is secured. “It’s just a silly wish.”

I hate that he even for a moment thinks his wishes might be silly. Nothing he ever asks for is silly. With a clearly annoyed sigh, he unfurls from the sofa and strides toward me. My eyes get caught on the sway of his hips for a second, before trailing back up to his forest-green gaze.

“Shall we go?” Harper asks curiously, head tilted to the side.

“Yes,” I reply, voice just barely not cracking.

Once we’re all safely loaded into the car, I point us in the direction of the city. If Harper is curious, he doesn’t ask any questions, which seems at odds with what I know about him so far.

“Do you have a certain kind of music you prefer?” I scroll through the satellite radio stations, trying to land on something worth listening to.

“I like anything but country.”

“Curious considering where you were raised.”

Harper laughs bitterly. “That’s probably why I hate it. I can only hear about someone thinking a tractor is sexy so many times before I want to throw myself off a cliff.”

“Wait, that song is catchy,” I point out.

Harper rolls his eyes so hard that I’m afraid they’ll get stuck that way. “You can’t be serious. Oh wait, I love this song!”

Quickly taking my hand off the radio, I almost laugh when I realize it landed on a romance ballad station. Harper softly hums along to the Celine Dion song, eyes trained on the scenery outside his window. He has no idea the power he has over me already. I stay quiet through the drive into the city just to listen to him. When he loves a particular song, he turns the dial up a little louder, but I can still hear his soft hums perfectly matching the melody.

When I park in front of the large event mall, Harper leans forward with a curious frown. “You brought me into touristville?”

“I sure did.”

“Why?”

I don’t answer him. Harper and Honey quietly follow me into the mall-like structure. Thankfully it’s early enough that it’s not busy yet, which is exactly why I chose to bring Harper at this time of day. I hold the door open for them both, then take Harper’s hand in mine to guide us toward the rage room. Andy had told me about it when I’d asked her about fun things to do around town. If she’d known it was for me and Harper, she hadn’t let on, but she’d been all too happy to help me out.

Surprisingly, Harper doesn’t tug his hand from mine. He grips my hand tightly, clearly unsure about his surroundings. People pass by us, and I note a few looking quizzically at Honey, but I do my best to shelter them from stares. I want Harper to feel safe and have fun, but I don’t want him to feel on display, which is exactly why I called ahead.

The sign is flipped to “closed” on the rage room door, but I knock on the door anyway.

Harper tugs on my hand. “It says closed, Jackson.”

I wink. “Closed for us.”

“What…” But Harper trails off when the door opens.

A sweet young woman grins at us. “Jackson and Harper?”

“That’s us!” I enthusiastically shake her hand and follow her inside. The place has black-painted walls and dark wood accents. It’s one of those places where people can rent a room to absolutely destroy everything inside. The cost to rent the entire place out for an hour had been nominal, at least in my eyes. Anything to make Harper feel safe.

“Welcome to The Rage Room. I’ve got you set up in the first room for an hour. As requested, the entire facility is yours for that time.” She slides a tablet across the counter to us. Her eyes flick from Harper to Honey, clearly curious. “I just need you both to sign waivers.”

I’d mentioned my friend had a medical condition that required a service dog. They’d assured me that Honey could safely come with us, she’d just have to sit outside while Harper goes apeshit in the room.

Harper scrolls through the waiver, reading diligently, a little furrow between his brows. He pauses on a particular section, taps it to blow it up, then slides it back to the store manager.

“Is it fine that I use the room despite having this listed condition?”

She looks down, smiles, then glances back up at Harper. “Absolutely, as long as you sign the waiver. We just ask if you start to feel unwell, that you cease raging.”

Harper pulls the tablet back towards himself with an understanding nod. He signs his waiver, I sign mine, then we hand the tablets back to her. She leads us back to the first room. Just beside the rage room sits a little cubby with white hazmat-looking suits, goggles, and boots for us to put on.

“You can destroy absolutely anything inside the room. There’s a countdown clock inside that’ll reflect how much time you have left.” She grins at us both, then points at a chair that faces the mirrored windows facing inside. “I put that chair there so your dog can view you. Will that work?”

Harper tries to smile, but it looks pained. “Perfect. Thank you so much.”

She leaves us alone, so I turn around to give Harper privacy. Once we’ve tugged on everything, we make our way into the room. Harper is so fucking cute in the suit, he’s so much smaller than me. I could easily toss him over my shoulder.

Hair up in a messy bun, goggles firmly on, he grabs a baseball bat from the weapon area. I watch entranced with my heart beating out of my chest as he slowly peruses the room, inspecting what he wants to destroy first. Settling on an old television, he lifts the bat and swings like he’s been batting his entire life. The television screen shatters at his feet, and his laughter immediately follows the piercing noise of breaking glass.

He turns his head over his shoulder, grinning wickedly at me. A piece of hair falls from his bun, hanging loosely around his face. Jesus, I need to tuck it away, touch his creamy skin, tug on the loose hair.

“Are you going to join me or what, big guy?”

I’m going to marry him. He’s mine. But of course, I don’t say that. That would be ridiculous. Instead, I join him in breaking as many items as violently as we can. Mirrors shatter, plates break, anything we can reach gets destroyed. I’ve never had so much fun losing my shit with anyone.

By the time the hour’s over, it hasn’t felt like any time has passed at all. Harper’s face is covered in a sheen of sweat, cheeks ruddy from exertion. For a split second, I worry that maybe this was a bad idea, especially after the last time he got overheated. But the look in his eyes reassures me that I did something right, something good, by bringing him here. Harper needed this just as much as I needed to spend time with him.

“Alright?” I ask, wiping sweat from my face.

Harper wiggles out of the gear, face flushed and happy. “Perfect.”

He leaves his hair up though, messy, effortless, and the look is really growing on me. Definitely prefer it down, but something about his hair up, showing off his neck, really does it for me. I want to fuck Harper, but I also kind of want to keep him. A new feeling for me, but it oddly doesn’t scare me.

The grin on my face feels blinding when Harper lets me take his hand again on our way out of the rage room.

“So, final verdict?”

Harper makes a thoughtful face. Tapping his chin with his forefinger, he finally nods. “I definitely had no idea I had so much rage inside me.”

“Daddy Jackson knew.”

Harper swallows loudly and looks away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Always,” Harper replies quickly.

His hand is still snugly tucked in mine. Every now and then he sweeps his thumb across my knuckles, in an action I’m not sure he’s even aware of. I try so hard to stay chill, to not let it mean more than it should, but it’s just another reminder that I’m slowly getting this exquisite creature to trust me.

Since we’re in the city, I steer us by this barbecue place Colby once mentioned to me. Harper seems to know it and gets overjoyed. He enthusiastically consumes more ribs than I thought possible. Honey watches on, still working, but I can see the twitch of her lips as Harper licks his fingers.

“That’s torture,” I tell him around a mouthful of sliced barbeque turkey.

“What?” Harper mumbles, thumb in his mouth.

I point towards a raptly staring Honey. “That dog would kill for a rib.”

Harper looks towards her, his face instantly dropping. “I didn’t bring her any treats. I’m sorry, Honey.”

“Can she have a pup cup from the coffee shop?”

Harper’s grin is blinding. My heart promptly skips ten beats just at the force of his grin. “She loves those!”

“We’ll get her one on the way home.”

Happy with the turn of events, Harper pushes the plate away, and leans his chin on his hand to finish watching me eat. My stomach does this strange dip and dive at the feeling of his gaze on me. His eyes are so vividly green, like the color of grass after it’s rained. The kind of eyes I could get lost in, if he’d let me.

“Thank you for today. It was fun… I don’t get out much.”

“Why?”

“Why don’t I get out much?” Harper clarifies.

Pushing my own plate away, I cross my arms over my chest. My foot knocks into his under the table, but I don’t pull it away. Instead, I settle my foot against his, and bite back a grin when he doesn’t pull his own foot away. Small wins.

“Yeah, you’re young, have a good job, you’re cute as hell… why would someone like you hide away in your dark house?”

Harper’s eye twitches at my words. He reaches up one elegant hand to rub at the corner of his eye, clearly irritated by my question. But I’m not going to let him think there’s nothing desirable about him. I don’t care whatever the fuck medical condition he has, the man is funny, pushes all the right buttons for me, and he’s absolutely adorable. Who wouldn’t want him?

“I like to be alone,” Harper finally says, tone devoid of all earlier joy.

Fuck. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Harper grunts and restlessly drums his fingers on the table. He stays silent as I settle up the bill, not even trying to argue me out of paying for our shared meal. I try to not let that go to my head either. But I’ve always liked taking care of people. I like taking care of Harper, as much as he’s currently letting me.

I count it as a win when he lets me hold his hand again.

My attitude is instantly shattered when he quietly announces, “Please take me home.”

“But cupcakes!” I try to convince him.

Harper shakes his head subtly. “I need to go home.”

He’s silent the entire drive back, no longer humming to the music. His fingers smooth across his jeans repeatedly, almost as if in an attempt to soothe himself. A couple of minutes from his house Honey whines from the back seat and leans forward over the console to insistently press her wet nose to Harper’s arm.

“Can you hurry, please?” Harper asks, voice low, slightly worried.

I step on the gas, uncaring about the gravel bouncing up and hitting my car. The car slides a little when I park in front of the house but it doesn’t matter. Hopping out of the car, I race around the front to open the door for Harper. He climbs out, as elegant as usual, but Honey hops out and plasters herself to his side. His finger fumbles on the lock of the front door for a long moment, before a quiet beep sounds and he eagerly pushes inside.

“Harper,” I say softly.

He pauses with his back to me, his fingers restlessly tapping against his thigh. “Jackson. I’m going to go into my bedroom with Honey and have a seizure. You can sit in the living room and wait. If Honey frantically comes to get you, then please call 911. She knows what to do. I will see you in a little bit.” He takes a deep, painfully shaky breath and whispers, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

With that final word, he flees down the hallway with Honey hot on his heels. A door closes softly, and then I’m left alone. Seizures. Fuck. I rub my forehead and pace the length of his living room. This is all my fault. I pushed him too hard. I shouldn’t have forced him into the rage room. God. He was hesitant and a little worried, but I talked him into it.

The silence emanating from the other end of the house is terrifyingly loud. Ten minutes pass by as I pace, wearing down the carpet in front of Harper’s television. But then, moments later, Honey’s nails clip against the wood as she approaches me with her wide brown eyes. She doesn’t seem panicked at all, but it’s clear she wants my attention. As I approach the bedroom, the odd feeling that I don’t belong, that I shouldn’t be invading Harper’s space overwhelms me.

Curled up on the bed is a painfully weeping Harper. My heart breaks into a million pieces just at the sight of him. Honey jumps onto the bed, protectively lying down in front of Harper. Slowly, Harper curls his fingers into her soft blonde fur. Harper’s knuckles go white as he clutches hard at her, a ragged sob breaking free.

“Harper,” I murmur helplessly.

I half expect him to push me away or send me packing. But what I don’t expect is him to hold his other arm out, tiredly wiggling his fingers in a silent plea for me to join him on the bed. I carefully lie down, curling around his back, until he’s a sentence and I’m a parenthesis around him. His sobs shake his lithe body, but I do my best to comfort him. I wrap my arm around him, tugging until his back is flush against my chest.

Tucking my head into his neck, I breathe in the comforting scent of him. Sandalwood and spice. A relieved breath escapes him as his cries slowly ebb. He reaches back to tangle his hand in the front of my shirt, tugging me even closer, until my head rests underneath his trembling chin. Unable to stop myself, I softly kiss the hollow of his throat, letting my lips linger where his pulse pounds under his warm, pale skin.

Resting my palm over his slim hip, I rub my thumb along the sliver of skin peeking out between his sweatpants and t-shirt. He must’ve changed quickly before or after his seizure.

“Okay?” I whisper against his sweaty neck.

“Sorry,” Harper murmurs tiredly.

“I didn’t ask for an apology, punk. I asked if you’re okay.”

“Just tired,” Harper finally says. His fingers untangle from my shirt, only to grab on to my forearm. I don’t care; I just want him to keep touching me.

“Do you normally need anything afterward? Something to drink? Chocolate? Favorite food I can go buy? Anything, name it, and it’s yours.”

Harper sniffles pitifully. “Just lie with me. I hate being alone.”

His request is so earnest, his voice so sad that my heart crumbles all over again. I tuck my arm underneath him so his head rests on my bicep and tuck my head back into the crook of his neck. We lie there unmoving for so long that the sun stopped peeking through the drawn curtains around the bedroom windows. I picture the stars coming out above Harper’s little bungalow, protectively twinkling and shining over us.

After a while, I realize Harper’s fast asleep. At least I know he had a good lunch. I gingerly ease my arm out from underneath him and climb out of the bed. Honey lifts her head to watch me leave but drops it back down when she notices I’m only heading towards the kitchen. The fridge is still just full of premade meals. I want to make him something homemade, something hearty and nourishing.

I try to turn on the stovetop, but nothing happens. Is it broken? Every lesson my father taught me about home appliances comes rushing back. Finally, frustrated beyond relief, I tug the oven from behind the wall only to find it’s not even plugged in. The confusion disappears when I realize why it’s not plugged in. I push the oven back into place, deciding not to fuck with Harper’s appliances.

Maybe I can convince him to let me stay, let me care for him until he feels better. The lonely bottle of coconut water in the fridge will have to do. Armed with the coconut water and a bowl of dry cinnamon cereal, I head back into the dark bedroom.

Harper slowly rolls onto his back when I gingerly sit down on the bed. Blinking those big, green eyes up at me, he seems momentarily confused about my presence. Crimson blooms on his cheeks in obvious embarrassment. I want to swoop him into my arms and cradle him close, kiss his cheeks, bury my nose in his hair again. But that time has passed, and if I try again, I’m not sure how well it will be received. Standoffish and skittish Harper has returned to the building.

“Don’t you even try to apologize to me,” I order him.

He averts his gaze from mine. “Okay.”

“I’m not going to force you to talk to me now, but we’ll talk at some point. Friends talk, right?”

Harper shrugs. “I guess. I’ve never been one for friends.”

“Andy’s your friend, right?”

Pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead, he sighs loudly. “She’s my second cousin. We’re family.”

“Family can be friends,” I easily point out.

“I guess. Is that for me?” Harper asks, shakily pointing at the coconut water.

I hurriedly remove the lid and hold it out for him. Sitting up, he carefully takes it from me, our fingers brushing as he does. He looks so exhausted; all the color on his face from earlier bled away.

“Can I acknowledge Honey?” My voice is deceptively calm, even to my own ears. But fuck, I want to show Honey how much she means to me. How thankful I am for her.

Harper makes a soft sound of permission and wiggles his fingers toward Honey in what I assume is permission. I lie down across the end of the bed, proceeding to lovingly run my hand up and down Honey’s flank. Her big brown eyes blink at me, seemingly also tired.

“Thank you,” I whisper before kissing her wet nose.

She promptly sneezes in my face, earning a delighted, yet still tired laugh from Harper. Paying Harper no mind, I continue to love Honey, until she dozes off under my gentle ministrations. Her fur is so soft, I could pet her for ages and never get tired of it. I don’t think she would either.

“She really likes you,” Harper remarks, voice tainted by tiredness.

“I like her too. Mostly because she keeps you safe when I’m not here.”

“You don’t have to keep it up, you know.” Harper keeps his gaze firmly on the bedroom wall. I have no idea what he means.

“What are you talking about?”

He sweeps a hand up and down his body. “Now that you know… you can run.”

“What the fuck?” I say out loud, not exactly meaning to. I sit up on the bed, jostling Honey and waking her from her well-deserved nap. “Why would you having seizures make me not want you? Make me not want to be your friend?”

“Most people don’t stick around,” Harper points out, tone carefully neutral.

“I’m not most fucking people. We’re friends. I don’t care…” I trail off and gesture at him. “You could have leprosy and we’d still be friends. Do you understand?”

“You’re a weirdo.”

“I’m rubber and you’re glue,” I say childishly.

Harper laughs, tired, but he laughs all the same. “I didn’t have seizures for a few years. Everything was great.” Harper keeps his gaze averted while he speaks, voice low and tired. His fingers curl into the loose shirt at his abdomen, playing with the material over and over. A nervous habit I’ve noticed. “The manufacturers likely switched an ingredient in my medicine and I started having seizures again. We’ve tried a bunch of different new medicines but… they’re still happening. I’ve had epilepsy since I was a kid.”

“I want to make sure I get the terminology correct… is it a disease? Disorder? Condition?”

Harper looks at me oddly, before releasing a small stilted breath. “It’s a brain disorder. Most people can control it with medicine. I did for years. But it’s taking some figuring out to get my medicine adjusted again. I thought this new medicine was doing great… but then today happened.” He lets out a bitter, angry laugh. “I hate people seeing me after one. I feel so useless.” Harper presses his fingers to his temple hard, and squeezes his eyes shut. “I just for once want to be normal… want to not be this way.”

“Normal is boring,” I point out. “I played NCAA basketball. I had exactly one game in the NBA before I blew my knee out. We all have stories, adjustments we make to our life. But your adjustment is no worse than anyone else's. So you can’t do certain things? I don’t care. I care more that you feel like there’s something wrong with you. You’re funny, beautiful, kind. I watched you with Savannah the other night and that little girl adores you. I don’t think one single person thinks you’re useless.”

Harper’s mouth parts on a silent gasp halfway through my monologue. His eyes glow in the dark, a bright, vivid green. He really is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I’ve never wanted someone so badly.

“You really think I’m beautiful?”

I nod slowly, needing him to truly know. “Stunning.”

“I’m sorry about your knee,” Harper murmurs quietly.

“Eh.” I shrug with a smile, hoping to ease his worries a little further. “Dreams can change.”

“Yeah,” Harper agrees, eyes distant.

“Do you want me to stay the night?” I wish he’d say yes, but I know he won’t.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you for helping. For not leaving.”

Suddenly, I’m less concerned with how he feels, and more concerned with murdering whoever made him feel this way. Who ever left him? Who made him feel like such a damn burden?

“Do you still have my number?” I ask as I unfold from the bed.

Harper flushes bright crimson even in the shadowed bedroom. Interesting. “Yes, it’s in my phone.”

“I told you to text me. I’ll worry if you don’t. Alright?”

Harper nods instead of answering verbally. Impulsively, I lean over and press a dry kiss to his forehead. He leans into my touch with a dreamy sigh that goes straight to my rapidly falling heart. I press my cheek against the top of his head for just a moment, before leaving the room and Harper behind. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to tear myself away from him. Locking the front door behind me, I head home in the late glow of dusk.

When I get home there’s a text from a number I don’t know.

Unknown

Thank you. BTW, your swing kind of sucks. You should work on it. Also, Honey says goodnight.

Attached is a photo of Honey curled tightly against Harper’s side. A small, shy smile tilts Harper’s lip up, and he’s wearing a baggy hoodie. I’ve never wanted someone so much in my life. I instantly save the photo to my camera roll, even going as far as marking it as a favorite. Harper’s such a little shit. He’s perfect.