“You heard her.”
It was a new voice. Fierce, all gravel and dark whispers, it softly threatened pain for anyone who didn’t obey. Together, my attacker and I paused, turning to look at the man who approached. He was wearing a faded leather jacket, the front open to display how his chest strained beneath his tight v-neck.
This stranger was all muscle. All beast. I wasn’t surprised when my attacker released me, hastily backing up in the lot towards the main street. “Fuck off, man,” he said. “I ain’t doin’ shit to her.” That was all the bravery he managed; my savior flexed his hands, and the sour-breathed man sped off into the night.
Hugging myself, I looked the stranger up and down. “Thank you. That was getting out of hand.”
The way he swept his stare over my body, I had to fight back a shiver. I was used to men who didn’t give free handouts—especially when they went out of their way to save your life. What kind of payment was this intimidating man going to ask for?
He stopped in front of me. “That song you were humming earlier, what was it?”
Cold prickles swept up my back. He heard that? Was he just standing in the shadows this whole time? “I wasn’t humming. You must have imagined the sound.”
Tension moved between his eyebrows. “Didn’t know I was blessed with such a beautiful imagination.” My mouth went slack from his surprising compliment. No one but Cena had appreciated my voice in years. I’d stopped singing for the public the day all of my dreams were ripped out by their roots.
I considered him with new eyes. “I’m Harper, do you have a name?”
His grin turned him from gruff ravager to warm ruffian. “That your real name? Lotta girls in that club over there go by something else than what their mamas named them.”
“Guess I respect my mom too much to go by anything else.”
“Risky move for a stripper.”
“Wait, how do you know I’m a stripper and not a waitress or a bartender?” I wasn’t wearing anything that gave me away—my coat and jeans and flats didn’t mark me as a dancer of any kind. My stomach tightened. He must have seen me inside the club tonight.
How did I not notice him? Very few of the male customers were what I’d call attractive; this guy was beyond handsome. Everything about this encounter felt… strange.
He tucked his thumbs in his pockets. “Call me observant.”
“I’d rather call you by your actual name.”
“How about hero? It has a nice ring to it.”
“Listen,” I said, pulling out my car keys. “I’m too tired to play games. This whole Mister Mysterious thing you’re trying isn’t as cute as you think, so if you don’t mind, I need to get home and—”
“It’s Jack.”
I paused, turning to watch him again. His smile went up at the corner. It made him even more attractive, and I didn’t like that one bit. In the flickering parking lot lights, his eyes became more gold than chocolate.
For a second I was drawn into the past. To a time when I was young and free and alive with vibrant music in my heart. To a memory of a performance where a young man kept looking my way with enraptured interest.
It was a weird memory; I shook it off and wet my dry lips. “Do I… know you?”
Jack’s grin shifted into a hard frown. “No one knows me here.” Pushing his muscular shoulders upwards, he turned away, speaking as he moved. “Watch out for crazy stalkers. You never know who’s waiting in the shadows.”
His subtle threat had me crushing my purse strap. I almost told him to come back, but instead, I slid into my car and turned it on. Whoever Jack was, I didn’t know him and never would. I was grateful he’d stepped in to help, but I’d had my share of encounters with eager men; I could have gotten away if things went ugly. I knew how to take care of myself.
Speaking of taking care of things…
I pushed on the gas and hurried out of the parking lot.
*
“Hap,” Cena said, using the nickname she’d had for me since she was only a baby, “Is everything alright?”
“Of course.”
She squinted at me. “You’re lying.”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
“Now you’re gaslighting me!”
I made myself laugh. “Where did you even learn about that word?”
With the brand of pride reserved only for eight year-olds, she grinned at me. “Internet.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. You spend way too much time on there.”
“Now you’re changing the subject!”
Tossing my bag of stripper gear into the top shelf in the hallway closet—the one place I hoped Cena couldn’t reach—I faced her and crouched down to eye level. “Everything is fine, really. But even if it wasn’t, I’d still know how to fix it.”
Her nearly invisible blonde eyebrows inched up. “How’s that?”
Pulling her close, I pointed at the kitchen. “Gigantic bowls of ice cream before bed. Deal?”
“Deal!” she laughed, squirming free and racing towards the fridge.
A few scoops of strawberry in a bowl later, and my sister was scrubbing her eyes as she yawned. I gave her a nudge to get her into the shower. Playing mom wasn’t natural for me. I did my best, though. I helped with homework and I made lunches, always slipping the extra cash Mr. Big handed over for Cena’s school expenses into my secret bank box.
I was an okay cook, but nothing compared to Mom. Cena never really got to know our mother so my mistakes went unnoticed. That, or she was too sweet to point them out.
She came out of the bathroom wrapped in a giant robe, a towel covering most of her head. “How do I look?”
“Gorgeous,” I said, taking the chance to rub the towel over her hair until her blonde strands were wet instead of soaking. “Pajamas and bed, come on.”
Cena rushed to change, diving under her blankets and shooting me a wicked little smile. “Sing me a bedtime song, please?”
She was my light, my soul—I couldn’t deny her any more than I could tell my heart to stop beating. Settling on the edge of the bed, I brushed a curl from her forehead. “Just don’t tell anyone.”
“Never. I promise.”
There are no promises more sacred than those uttered between siblings. “Sweet moon,” I sang. “My moon, yours… hanging over the silent waters…” Singing calmed me to my core. It was a power that required focus, I had to center myself to make it flow. Mostly, I had to grasp for control because if I didn’t, I’d remember all the times Mom had sung with me as we made pancakes.
Crying is a great way to ruin a bedtime routine.
The last note of my song faded into the air. Cena fluttered her eyes, fingers wrapped in the top of her down comforter. “Will you walk me to school tomorrow?”
This was an odd request. Cena—determined to grasp independence—always demanded she walk alone. I hadn’t minded; the school was close by, and the street was busy with people. “Sure, but why?”
“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked in a hushed tone.
“Always.”
She chomped down on her pink bottom lip. “Sometimes, I think there’s someone watching me.”