Page 50 of Even After This
My breath hitches, and I grasp Harlan’s hand. I can feel his gaze turn to me, but I can’t pull my eyes off the video unfolding on the screen. I whisper what everyone in the room already knows. “She’s going to fall.”
Harlan wraps his hand around my waist and pulls me to his side. “She’s going to be okay,” he says into my ear.
My heart can’t hear his words. Because in that moment, all I see is that someone’s child is in danger.
The crowd in the video screams as the girl’s arms windmill and she topples, disappearing from sight. Someone yells that she fell in the river.
Tears sting my nose.
From the top right corner of the camera appears a running hulk of a man. Harlan.
“Help her.” My chest hurts as the strained words release.
Harlan’s arm around me tightens.
On-screen Harlan slides down the grassy hill in time to grab the girl’s arms just before she washes down the river. By this time, the camera operator is rushing to the scene with everyone else. The picture fills with the sounds and movements of mass chaos, Harlan and the girl unseen.
“I got her.” Harlan’s soothing statement breaks through to my brain, and understanding dawns.
I look up at him. “You got her.”
With eyes full of concern, Harlan scans my face. “I got her,” he repeats.
The relief. I didn’t expect the relief.
A child was saved.
Not one of mine.
But someone’s.
A watery smile fills my face, and I throw my arms around Harlan. “You got her.” My shaky voice reverberates in my chest. “You saved someone’s child.” I shift back and place my hands on his cheeks. “Please. I know you hate this social media mess. And I know you don’t want to be called a hero. But you saved someone’s child.Please.Just take that one part in. You saved someone’s child.”
He nods slowly.
When I turn back to the television, I see that the news story paused the novice video to interview the rescued girl.
Shaking off the moment, I wipe under my eyes.
Harlan places a hand on the small of my back as we watch the interview in silence, the clinking glasses, flirtatious laughter, and busy servers bustling around us.
The anchor redirects his report. “The social media storm that has hit since the incident is a category five...”
“That’s my cue.” Harlan puts pressure on my back and urges, “Let’s go.”
“Okay.” I glimpse at the screen one more time, and instead of allowing Harlan to guide me out, I freeze. Gaping.
Glaring in my face is a shirtless, built, defined Harlan in all his glory. With a fierce scowl, all muscles flexed, he carries the girl to the top of the hill.
Oh. My.
He truly is Hercules. All I can think of are things I wouldn’t share with my mother.
“Let’s go,” I whisper, mesmerized and unable to move.
“Are you gawking at me?” his rumbly voice says in my ear.
I jump and lock my eyes with his. “No,” I say, clearly lying. “No. We have to go. You said that. Let’s go.”
