Chapter 172: Breathing Space

Justin’s POV

I was lying flat against the headboard, my back sinking into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling without actually seeing it.

My mind was a million miles away, trapped in a dark, suffocating room.

Three hours. I had spent three hours drowning in that file, and I had surfaced with nothing but more questions. Every time I thought I had finally wrapped my head around the cruelty of what happened to my mother, another sickening detail dragged me right back under.

And now, there was Diane.

Her name was plastered all over the documents.

The trial was exactly a week away.

I dragged the heels of my palms over my eyes and let out a long, ragged exhale. I had spent this entire summer trying so desperately to move forward. Hockey. Harper. My future. The draft. Development camp. Life had been moving at such a breakneck pace that I hadn’t really had to stop and sit in the silence.

But I couldn’t outrun it anymore. I needed the truth.

The bedroom door clicked open quietly.

"Babe?"

I dropped my hands and looked toward the doorway. Harper stood there, watching me with careful, assessing eyes.

"Yeah," I said, a little too quickly. "Yeah, I’m fine."

I tried to force a reassuring smile. It must have looked as broken as I felt, because her expression instantly melted into soft concern.

She stepped into the room and clicked the door shut behind her. "I heard your call."

I raised an eyebrow, my muscles tensing slightly.

She offered a small, apologetic smile. "I just came down the hall to check on you, and I heard you talking on the phone. I’m sorry, Justin. I really wasn’t trying to eavesdrop."

"It’s fine," I murmured, rubbing the lingering exhaustion from my jaw. "It’s fine, babe."

I shifted my weight and patted the empty mattress beside me. "Come here."

Harper didn’t hesitate. She climbed onto the bed and crawled into my space, shifting until she was lying half across my body, her head resting right over my heart. I wrapped my arms securely around her, burying my face in her hair.

For a long moment, I just held her. I let her warmth ground me.

And then—because my body had apparently decided to completely betray me at the most wildly inappropriate time—I felt myself getting hard.

I squeezed my eyes shut, mentally groaning.

Seriously? You’re navigating the darkest week of your entire life, and you’re actually thinking about this right now?

I viciously scolded myself, forcing my brain to focus on literally anything else.

Harper shifted gently against my chest, completely oblivious to the internal war I was waging. "I didn’t expect you to take all of this on right after such an intensive week at camp," she said quietly. "You just got back. You should be resting."

"I know."

She tilted her head up to look at me, her eyes full of empathy. "You don’t have to deal with everything all at once."

"I know." I softly brushed my fingers through the ends of her hair. "But it’s fine, baby. I can’t keep pushing it away any further." My voice cracked, coming out much quieter than I intended. "I have to face it. Once and for all."

Harper studied the raw vulnerability in my face for a few seconds. Then, she gave a slow, understanding nod. "Okay."

She didn’t push. She didn’t offer empty platitudes. That was one of the millions of things I loved about her. She knew exactly when to ask the hard questions, and she knew when to simply stay quiet and hold me.

After a minute, she sat up. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

I frowned, the sudden shift pulling me out of my head. "A walk?"

"Yeah." A faint smile touched her lips. "Something to clear your head."

I considered it, realizing how claustrophobic the bedroom suddenly felt. "Yeah. No problem."

She immediately slid off the edge of the bed. "Come on."

A breath of a laugh escaped my chest. "You’re not even giving me time to change my mind."

"Nope."

I shook my head, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "Bossy."

"You like it."

Unfortunately for me, she was entirely right.

A few minutes later, we were stepping outside. The evening air was crisp and cool against my skin, and for the very first time all day, I felt like I could take a full breath without the crushing weight of legal documents sitting on my lungs.

Harper walked closely beside me, occasionally bumping her shoulder playfully against mine.

We didn’t talk much at first. We just walked.

Past the quiet neighborhood houses. Past the small community park. Past people walking their dogs and couples sitting together on benches. Normal things. Small, ordinary moments that quietly reminded me the world hadn’t stopped spinning just because my life felt like it was crashing down.

Eventually, Harper stopped and looked up at me. "Come on."

"Where?"

She pointed farther down the illuminated street. "There."

I followed her finger. A neon sign glowed on the corner, and even from half a block away, I could hear the muffled, chaotic thumping of a bassline.

I looked back down at her. "Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Harper, you brought me to a bar?"

"Technically, I brought you to a karaoke bar."

I stared at her deadpan. "That doesn’t make it any better."

She laughed, a bright, beautiful sound. "Let’s go in."

"Harper..."

"Justin." She grabbed my hand, lacing her fingers firmly through mine. "Come on. Let’s just do something that isn’t utterly depressing for once."

I let out a heavy sigh of defeat. "Fine."

She pulled me eagerly through the doors. The place wasn’t overly packed. A few scattered groups were huddled around high-top tables with drinks, while a terrible rendition of an 80s rock song blasted from the small stage in the corner.

We found a quiet booth near the back and slid in.

Harper ordered a drink for both of us. For a while, we just sat across from each other and talked. Nothing heavy. Nothing about courts, or lawyers, or my mother.

She talked about the documentary. I asked about her editing timeline. She complained about a specific transition scene she was agonizing over cutting. I teased her relentlessly for being a perfectionist. She called me annoying. I told her she loved me anyway. She rolled her eyes, but a blush crept up her neck.

It felt so incredibly good. It felt normal.

Eventually, Harper’s eyes drifted over my shoulder toward the glowing karaoke stage. Then, she slowly turned her gaze back to me.

"Oh." I already knew that dangerous glint in her eye. "No."

She beamed. "I haven’t even said anything yet!"

"You don’t have to."

"Let’s go sing."

I stared at her like she had lost her mind. "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes."

"Harper, my voice is terrible."

"So?"

"So? People have ears."

She burst into genuine, unrestrained laughter. "Come on!"

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

She stood up from the booth. I instantly knew I had lost the war.

She marched over to the karaoke machine, her eyes scanning the glowing screen. I watched her from the safety of the table, entirely convinced she was just bluffing. There was absolutely no way my shy Harper was going to get up there.

Then she punched in a selection and jogged back over to the table. "Your turn."

I glanced at the stage. "Oh, hell no."

She laughed, tugging on my arm. "Go."

"My voice is actually bad, Harper."

"You can’t sing?"

"No."

"Perfect."

"How is that perfect?" I asked in disbelief.

"Because nobody in this room is expecting you to win a Grammy, Justin."

I shook my head, a reluctant smile finally breaking through. "You are completely ridiculous."

She stood in front of me and held out her hand, palm up. "Come on."

I sighed, giving in, and took her hand. She pulled me out of the booth and dragged me straight up onto the small stage. The neon lights hit my face, and I braced myself for the absolute humiliation about to unfold.

Harper grabbed the microphone off the stand.

The backing track kicked in.

And then, she lifted the mic to her lips and began to sing.

I completely froze.

What the hell?

I just stood there, staring at her in absolute shock. She was good. Not just "karaoke good." Not just decent. She was incredible.

My eyebrows shot straight up into my hairline. Where did the quiet, shy Harper go?

She caught me staring at her with my jaw practically on the floor, and a triumphant, glowing smile broke across her face as she hit the next note effortlessly.

And somehow, standing under those cheap neon lights, listening to her voice fill the room... for the very first time today, I completely forgot about the trial.

The documents, the lawyers, the grief—everything else just faded to black.

I just stood there, completely mesmerized, watching my girl sing like she had been hiding an entire secret life from me this whole time.

And all I could think was: Where the hell did she learn to do that?