𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋! | harry styles

𝐗𝐈𝐈

THE flash of the red and blue police lights still stain the back of my eyelids the next morning. The memory of Nick's bruised face and the sight of his car—abused beyond repair—bang against the inside of my skull, begging to be given attention. But there are so many other things clanging around up there that I don't know where to begin. I don't know how to sort it all out to form a single coherent thought.

"I think it's clean, Scarlet."

Looking up from the front counter I find Lauren standing beside me, the coffee pot in her hand and an amused look on her face. She gestures to the counter. "You've been wiping that for the past ten minutes."

I look down at the bench, and then up at her again. I blink a few times, trying to erase the images from my memory.

"You okay?" Her hand rests gently on my arm and she tilts her head to one side, her eyes full of concern.

Something about a friendly face makes me want to let everything tumble out of my mouth. Instead, I press my lips together, pulling the pieces of myself together tightly and tucking them away somewhere safe.

Nodding, I lift the corners of my mouth up and into something that resembles a smile, hoping to appease Lauren. "Of course"—I toss the cloth into the trash and wipe my hands on the front of my apron—"just daydreaming."

Both of us turn to look as the bell over the front door jingles, and one of the regulars strolls in.

"Hey, Bill!" chimes Lauren, leaving me to gather my thoughts and get myself together.

Harry had been asleep when I got home the night before, the blanket I'd left for him pulled up over his legs, the TV still flickering with an old black and white movie. Like the coward I am I'd ignored the questions screaming to be answered. Instead, I'd curled up in bed and tried to sleep, the whole time thinking about the guy sleeping just feet away from me and wondering if he's capable of the things I think he might be. If, somewhere beneath those green eyes, lurks something a little more dangerous.

I don't know why, but as stupid as it is, the idea of Harry doing something like that has ignited something dark inside of me—something vindictive and possessive, something so close to lust that I almost feel ashamed of it. But then the guilt of thinking that someone like Harry, who has done nothing but help me, would do something so calculated sends another wave of shame over me until I'm nothing but a twisted knot of confusion and guilt. Needless to say, sleep did not come easily.

"Scarlet!" The service bells rings loudly and I jump. Pete is snapping his fingers at me in an attempt to get my attention. "Service up, I said," he says impatiently.

I frown in embarrassment. "Sorry."

The rest of the afternoon is a blur. One minute I'm taking lunch orders, the next I'm punching out and walking to my car. As I reach for the car door my phone starts to ring, and I just know that it's buried somewhere deep in the abyss of my handbag. Cursing, I dump the bag on the ground and crouch down, rifling through the junk as the phone continues to ring.

"Hello?" I almost yell, so sure whoever it is has already hung up.

"Scarlet?"

I stare at a spot on the ground, trying to pin a familiar face to the voice. "Uh huh?"

"It's Jon."

"Oh!" Oh. "Hey, Jon, what's up?"

He sniffs once, a habit he has. "Have you seen Leah?"

Standing, I open the car door and toss my now refilled bag onto the passenger seat. "No. Sorry."

It's totally out of character for Jon to call me, and the strangeness of it makes my mind go blank. Other than Tania calling about work, I really don't socialize with anyone outside of work—especially not Jon.