I’ve never seen him so angry. Even when I pushed his buttons early on, he never got mad, not like this. I sit in the car, not sure what to do. Do I let him process as he has requested in the past, or do I force him to address the issue?

Something I’ve learned about Harbor is that he says he needs time, but when I’ve asked, he still opens up like it wasn’t time he needed but someone to be there for him.

I take a deep breath and open the car door. The anger I felt that caused him to pull over has subdued compared to before, and by the time I near Harbor, it’s gone altogether. His back is to me, his arms crossed over his chest. I approach, not so quietly, thinking it’s never a good idea to sneak up on someone, especially someone deep in thought as he appears to be.

Stopping to where I’m even with him, and our connection stretches between us, I whisper, “Harbor.” There’s no obligation to respond, just my heart speaking for me.

He looks at me.

I look at him, pleading with my eyes to understand what’s happening. I don’t see love in his eyes. I see defeat. It’s then that I realize how temporary we may be. “Harbor?” I press this time, needing to hear his voice, needing him to hold me and tell me it will be all right. I just don’t think he’s capable of it after what happened on the cliffs.

What did happen back there?

He had turned away briefly, but then he looks over at me. “What were you thinking?” He stalks toward me, but I don’t flinch like I did at one time. Not because he told me not to but because I know he won’t hurt me. “You could have slipped like you fucking did. The rocks could have given way, the wind blowing in the wrong direction, anything. Anything could have sent you over that cliff.”

“But it didn’t.” Then the image of what I saw on the ledge below comes back to me.

“You were lucky this time.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I snap back, “Guess you’re going to have to share the title.”

He spits in annoyance with a half smirk sitting on his face. “You want to know why I’m called lucky?”

My expression sours, and I roll my eyes. When they meet his again, I plant a hand on my hip. “Sure, I’ll bite,” I say, half-sarcastically and partly aggravated. “Why are you the lucky one, Harbor?”

“Because I survived Devil’s Edge when my cousin didn’t.”

The ledge with chipped edges as if there’d been a recent rockfall.

The white paint faded from the sun, but clearly in the shape of a body.

The smirk is knocked right off my face, and my breath punched from my belly.

He sighs, looking down and pinching the bridge of his nose. When he looks back up, he says, “You didn’t do your research.”