Broken Things

Harry was gone the next day when I awoke. Which, with his absence in the last week, shouldn’t have been surprising but still stung nonetheless. I had the itching feeling he was upset with me, but I didn’t know why. The whole thing put me on edge.

I quickly showered and put on some clothes for lack of anything better to do. I knew I couldn’t spend another day in the house, but Declan had work and I wasn’t sure what Ashley was up to. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, but I gave pause at the two missed calls and a text message that lit up when I checked my phone.

The message was from an unknown number, but the calls were from Harry. Just as I hovered my thumb over the home button, it said I’d recieved a voicemail. Rather than listening to it, I slid my finger over the touch screen and listened to the dial tone.

“Sawyer, hey. Did you get my voicemail?” he asked immediately.

“No, I just thought I’d call you back,” I answered.

“I’m at the studio but I left a few of the songs I’ve been working on at the house. Could you bring them to me?”

I bit my lip, trying to figure out as quickly as possible the logistics of actually calling a cab, finding the studio, and gaining access to it. Just as I prepared to voice this, he spoke again.

“I’ll pay for the taxi and you can just ride back home with me, if you don’t have anything else to do. I just really need those songs.”

His voice sounded hurried, panicked, and I’ve always hated hearing him that way. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, not liking the responsibility I was tasked with but seeing no way out. “Yeah, okay. Just text me the address. Where are songs?”

“A notebook on my bedside table. It’s leather, has a strap around it.”

I muttered for him to hold on a moment as I padded my way out of my room and toward his door. It had always been something I avoided, but I sucked in a deep breath and turned the handle before crossing the threshold. I hadn’t been in here since that first night nearly three weeks prior, a night I cringed to remember. It still looked the same, sparsely decorated with only a heap of dirty clothes on the floor and twisted sheets on the bed to indicate being lived in. And his smell, but I pushed that thought away as I stepped toward the table to find the journal he’s been blathering on about.

“Got it,” I told him.

“Good. I’ll see you in a few then,” he said, relief heavy in his voice.

“Yep,” I confirmed boredly, closing his door behind me when I made it to the hallway. I took in a deep breath. Freedom.

“Sawyer?” he asked, and my shoulders tensed at the edge to his voice. He didn’t even give me a moment to respond to him before he continued slowly, “I know I shouldn’t ask you this, but I really have to ask you this... Please just don’t look at any of it?”

I frowned, considering the weight of the journal I held in my hands. It was well worn with time, lighter in the places where his fingertips had gripped it. “Harry, you’ll be sharing these words with millions of people and you’re afraid of me seeing it?”

“They’re not finished. And honestly I don’t know what I’m doing with these songs, they’re just sort of what I’m working on. They’re really personal,” he explained.

“Okay,” I shrugged. “I promise I won’t look at them.”

“Thanks,” he sighed out. A moment later, I heard a loud crack on the other end of the line followed by laughter. I wondered what had just happened when I heard Harry mutter something about children.

“I’ll call a cab,” I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, do that. See you.”

With that I hung up and shoved my phone into my pocket. Taking the journal with me, I stuffed it into my crossbody before I finished my make-up and waited for the cab to arrive.

The company said it would five minutes, so I took that time to find a banana in the kitchen and snarf it down as quickly as possible. I decided to leave through the garage, opting for a passcode rather than trying to figure out which keys belonged in which holes on his front door. The security at the home was insane.

When I’d managed to enter the right codes in the right spots and the gate parted for me, there was a yellow car idling at the curb. I slid into the back seat and gave the driver directions. The air conditioner was on full blast, the day a rather hot one in L.A.. The flow of cool air sent goosebumps on my legs and I hugged myself tighter, wishing I’d chosen something else to wear besides a romper Gemma had insisted highlighted my curves in all the right places. Mostly, they were just a pain in the ass to go to the bathroom in.

In the downtime, I pulled my phone out and opened it, curious as to the missed text. Pleasantly surprised, I read it over with a slight grin. It was Andrew, inquiring as to my plans for the evening. I considered teasing him about the three day rule for a moment before I decided I wasn’t really in a position to be turning down any attention from an attractive boy. Instead, I typed back a quick response and locked my phone screen, happy to have potential plans with someone who wasn’t a member of One Direction or a member of One Direction’s best friend.

Glancing out the window of the taxi, I realized we must have been getting closer to the studio. I’d never been, and the thought of it freaked me out a bit, to be honest. I wondered what it would look like, what sort of fancy equipment I’d have to be wary of breaking or chords I’d have to not trip over. The entire thing sounded like a deathtrap, combined with the presence of the whole of One Direction.

Nervous for a reason I couldn’t pinpoint, I’d taken to tying and untying the leather strap that bound Harry’s journal together. It was something to keep my fingers busy fidgeting and I liked the way the soft leather felt at my fingertips. Unexpectedly, the cab hit a bump and the journal fell from my hands, the strap unraveled and causing a few stray pages to fall out. Timidly, I reached out for the book and the papers, trying to file them back into where they belonged to my best guess in the hopes Harry wouldn’t notice.

all the rest of my crimes don’t come close to the look on your face when I let you go

I shouldn’t have seen it. I definitely shouldn’t have seen it, but I had and there was nothing in the world I could do to take it back.

With a hitch in my breath, I pulled the paper out, my eyes darting over the messy scrawl that I’d come to associate with Harry. His handwriting hadn’t changed much since our school days together, and his spelling was horrid. It was enough to deter me from really taking in what I was reading, instead I ripped my eyes from the page and put it back to its rightful place. I didn’t think I truly wanted to know what was being written or what it was about. Harry and I were in a complicated situation to begin with, and there was no reason to make anything worse.

The cab rolled to a stop and I quietly thanked the driver as I swiped my card and took a step out into the hot air outside. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I glanced at it long enough to confirm plans with Andrew for the evening before my shaking hands stuffed it into my pocket.

The studio looked more like a private home, the only thing to give it away as anything but was the intercom beside the door and the ridiculous eight-foot fence that surrounded the back perimeter. I texted Harry that I’d arrived and waited for him at the front door, feeling like a child but unable to bring myself to hit that intercom button.

I was surprised when it was a member of his security team that answered the door, opening it and letting me in while he checked both ways for any lingering paparazzi. When he seemed satisfied, he led me down a long hallway, past a reception desk toward a series of rooms I assumed were booths. The last one on the right, he opened for me and gestured for me to walk in.

A ball whizzed by my head just as I stepped into the room, and I heard a chorus of laughter and a, “Shit, sorry” mumbled in a heavy Irish accent. I rolled my eyes, not bothering to glance at Niall as I let the door shut behind me. It was dim in the room and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but once they did, I realized everyone else’s attention was on me. Harry, who was in the booth, was the only one oblivious as he belted out a chorus into a microphone.

“You must be Sawyer,” a voice spoke up, and I glanced in the direction of a boy in the corner who I immediately recognized as Louis Tomlinson. He was the first to recover a my sudden appearance, pushing up and out of his seat to walk over to me.

“I don’t believe we’ve properly met.”

He opened his arms for a hug and after eyeing him warily for a moment, he laughed and engulfed me in his embrace. I tenatively wrapped my arms around his torso and he only laughed harder.

“I don’t bite, love,” he promised. “Wish I could say the same for Harry, but I’m sure you know better than I...”

I rolled my eyes at his insinuation that anything was going on between Harry and I that involved biting of any sort. In the booth over his shoulder, Harry was still singing but glaring at Louis’ form, as if he knew what was coming from his mouth toward me.

“I can take that,” Zayn offered, reaching out from a nearby arm chair and grabbing the notebook that I held in my hands.

“Thanks,” I muttered lamely, unsure of what to do with myself now that I was here.

“Take a seat,” Liam offered, scooting over on one of the couches. I did as I was told, self-consciously tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I moved. Once I was settled, I slumped into my seat and wished to disappear into it. I felt so obscenely out of place, next to these boys in their various states of casual dress as they snarfed down pieces of pizza and chucked crumpled pieces of paper at one another.

“Are you settling in okay?”

The question came from Liam beside me, and though I hadn’t been formally introduced to him, he had this way about him that made me feel immediately comfortable, like I’d known him for years. His big brown eyes waited patiently for my reply, and I felt like I could tell him just about anything and he’d keep it safe. It was a strange feeling to have when just meeting someone, but I untensed slightly as I crossed one leg over the other.

“I’m doing a lot better. I think I might have found a job, so that helps,” I offered, sure that he was just as informed on my life as any of the other boys were. I wondered how often Harry spoke of me, or if it was the other way around with his bandmates inquirng as to the strange girl sleeping in his guest bed.

“That’s great! What job?” he inquired.

“Um, I guess I’ll sort of just be standing beside inflatable bouncy houses?” I said. Liam chuckled. “Nothing’s set in stone, but it pays well and the girl I spoke to seemed really nice, so at least it will give me something to do.”

“Gives you time to work on a tan,” Liam smiled.

“That, too,” I laughed.

“And how are things with you and Harry?”

I glanced over my shoulder at the recording booth. Harry was listening to instructions being given by some of the guys who were at the mixing table, but I thought his eyes flickered to me for a fraction of a second before his full attention was focused again.

“We’re... fine,” I finally answered lamely. “Okay, I guess.”

“Glad to hear it,” Liam said. “He’s been worried about you, but it seems like things are getting better.”

The conversation trailed off there, and I couldn’t say I wasn’t happy for it. When it came to discussing where Harry and I stood, I didn’t think I’d ever feel very comfortable. There was still an ache in my heart when I looked at him, remembering what he’d done to me so long ago, but it seemed to be growing smaller the more time I spent with him. I understood his intentions, but I wasn’t sure if I fully forgave him yet, or if I ever would. There would always be something holding me back when it came to us.

My phone vibrated in my pocket again, and I glanced down expecting to see another text from Andrew. My eyes grew wide as I realized who it was, my mouth drying.

“Sawyer, you all right?” Zayn asked from across the room. I looked over at him and nodded tersely before I stood and excused myself, my thumb hovering over the answer button as I bit my lip and pulled open the door to the hallway. Glancing over my shoulder, Harry’s eyes were trained on me just as the door shut between us. With a deep breath, I lifted the phone to my ear and answered.

“Hey, dad.”

It was silent on the other end of the line for a moment. I chewed at my cheek, wondering what on earth this call could be pertaining to. I hadn’t seen him since mum’s funeral.

“You’re in L.A.?”

The voice was dripping with disapproval and I frowned at the sound. My father and I had never been close, especially after I chose to move to Holmes Chapel instead of staying in Chicago where he was hoping to build a new family, but his condescending ass-holic nature tended to keep me from caring too much. Still, his support would have been nice.

“I think I mentioned that to you,” I answered with an annoyed sigh.

“In passing,” came his response. “I hadn’t heard anything about it since.”

“And how are you hearing of it now?” I snapped. I couldn’t help myself.

“Stephanie.”

Leave it to my bitter younger step-sister to spill the beans. At fifteen, she had to have seen the photos of Harry and I out together and dropped the bomb happily off at her first available opportunity. It was the only explanation for my father’s social call after eight months of radio silence.

“Yes, I’m in L.A.,” I finally managed, addressing his first question.

“I want you to come to Chicago.”

“That’s not happening,” I told him flatly.

“We have things to discuss. Stop being difficult,” he sighed. I imagined him in some window office in a high rise overlooking Lake Michigan, running a hand over his face in exhasperation. Good. I hoped I gave him hell.

“I’m not being difficult, I’m just uninterested.”

“How are you affording to live out there? Are you leeching off Harry?”

I soured immediately at the mention of Harry, the insinuation that I’d come to him for money. I scoffed before I could think better of it, my face flushing in anger.

“I’m not leeching off anyone,” I said through gritted teeth. “You know better than anyone that mom left me well off, and I have a job.”

It was true that most of the money I’d inherited from my mum after her death had to do with the child support my father had been dishing out after he left us to live stateside with his new flame and her daughter. It was a sore spot I wasn’t afraid to rub raw, especially with the distance between us.

“You don’t know how to manage that money,” he answered easily.

“That’s not your concern.”

“You’re my daughter. Of course it’s my concern.”

“Well it only took you nineteen years to own up to that one,” I crossed my arms over my chest.

Annoyed, I turned away from the hallway to face the wall behind me where the door to the booth was, surprisingly, cracked open. I started slightly, taking a step back when my eyes fell upon Harry hesitating in the doorframe. He looked guilty at having eavesdropped and took a step backward to close the door. After having glimpsed his lyrics just that morning, I felt forgiving and offered a hand to him.

He raised a brow, eyeing my hand in obvious surprise. A moment later, his palm slid into mine and as he swallowed down whatever shock he had at my offering and stepped out into the hall beside me. With him standing beside me, I dropped his hand in favor of running my fingers through my hair.

“... So they’ll just have to work around that if it’s a problem.”

In my moment with Harry, I’d completely neglected to pay attention to whatever my father was saying on the line. Furrowing my brows, I avoided my gaze from Harry’s prodding green irises and instead focused on the floorboards.

“I didn’t catch that. What?”

“I said if your job has a problem with the days you’ll be here, they’ll have to work around it. It’s a family emergency.”

“What?” I sputtered, turning to pace away. I could feel Harry’s worried gaze as I took a few steps down the hall and away from him.

“I’m not joking, Sawyer. I want to see you, we need to talk about this. I’m booking your flight right now.”

“You can’t do that!” I protested. “I’m an adult!”

“Then prove it and get your affairs in order. I’ll see you the sixteenth.”

He promptly hung up, leaving me to stare at my phone with jaw agape. I couldn’t believe what had just conspired in the five minutes I’d taken to answer the call. I knew I should have let it go to voicemail.

“Your dad?” Harry ventured to guess.

With an annoyed growl, I shoved my mobile in my pocket. My eyes falling shut, I let my back hit the wall behind me and let out a long sigh.

“What did he say?” he asked, moving closer.

“He’s forcing me to visit him in Chicago,” I answered monotonously.

Harry’s brows drew together in confusion. He frowned at the sound of this news, as displeased with hearing it as I was giving it.

“That’s a shit idea,” he finally said.

“Yes, I agree.”

“It might be helpful, though,” he offered. I may have unintentionally glared at him.

“How so?”

“I dunno. I think there’s a lot of unresolved things between the two of you. Maybe you can work it out. It might make you feel better,” he shrugged. When I maintained my glare, he lifted his hands in a surrender.

“Or not. But either way, if he’s already booked a ticket it doesn’t sound like you have much of a choice.”

“I could just not go,” I argued.

“And then he’d come down here and we’d both be fucked. He hated me,” he pointed out.

He was right, on both accounts. It wasn’t necessarily Harry my father had hated, but the idea of him. My dad hated anyone who pulled my attention away from him, and the list included Declan as well as my own mother. It was part of the reason why things between us had never been friendly.

Jacob Powell had always been a control freak. He’d been on the hunt for the ideal career with a pristine family and a perfect car, and when he hadn’t found it in Holmes Chapel with my mother and I, he’d decided he’d search for it elsewhere. It had been devistating, up until the point my mum and I realized it wasn’t. It had been a blessing in disguise, the reprieve from his controlling temperament. It had only come back to bite us both in the ass when he’d remarried and demanded I join him. It wasn’t a battle he’d won, and his resentment was apparent throughout the rest of my mum’s life.

I hated him.

I shook my head in displeasure, not willing to discuss what may or may not happen if I gave into my father’s will. Instead, I tilted my head in the direction of the booth, gesturing I’d like to go back inside. Harry relented, pulling open the door and allowing me to pass him back inside.

It seemed I no longer crossed one problem from the list that another appeared. As if reading my mind, Harry softly reached for my hand once we were inside. With Zayn in the booth and the rest of the boys otherwise occupied with one of the sound technicians, his movements were unnoticed by everyone except the two of us, which I suspected was his intent.

“Do you want to do something tonight? Take your mind off it?”

I definitely needed a distraction, but I was unsure on how to tell Harry I’d already found one. If his reaction to Andrew at their last two meetings was any indication, I wasn’t about to lift his spirits by agreeing to a movie night. Regardless, there was something off-kilter between the two of us and I felt uneasy agreeing to anything that sounded even remotely date-like, which for some reason, this sort of did. Coming from Declan I wouldn’t have thought twice to agreeing or otherwise telling him I couldn’t. Face to face with Harry, my head spun for an excuse.

He waited patiently for my response, lips parted and eyes wide with expectancy. I wondered if I was reading too far into it, if he only felt bad because of what had conspired between my father and I. Either way, I couldn’t think of anything quick enough to get me out of it without being honest.

“I’ve made plans already, actually,” I admitted.

“Dec can come, too,” he shrugged it off.

“They’re not with Dec.”

His brows drew in again thoughtfully as he tried to puzzle who else my plans could have been with. After a few seconds of this, his face straightened out and I knew he’d figured it out. Green eyes searching me, he didn’t say another word, only moved toward one of the couches and fell into a seat there. I turned to watch, wanting to say something but unsure of what that something was.

I settled for silence as I moved to the couch opposite him and watched him pick up his notebook before furiously beginning to scribble. My eyes fell shut as I tried not to think about what he could possibly be writing.

-

First dates had always left me feeling uneasy and nervous, no matter who they were with or what age I was at. With my hair falling in loose waves, I pinned some of it back and opted not to change out of my romper. It seemed date appropriate for whatever dinner venue Andrew had in mind, and I was looking forward to leaving the house without fear of being hounded by paparazzi or speculated upon.

Still, with Harry just downstairs with the news on, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander back to when I’d gone through a similar routine in preparation for a date with him. At fourteen, there hadn’t been very many options for either one of us, especially in Holmes Chapel, but we’d made it work.

His mum had driven us into town to see a movie, some thriller I couldn’t remember the plot of. I’d been too preoccupied with his hand slipping into mine, the way it had made my heart leap into my throat with giddy excitement. I wondered if he’d kiss me, if there would be a second date. I’d been in such awe that he’d asked me in the first place after months of my pining after him. In such a state of shock, I hadn’t had time to properly get nervous except when I was in that theater seat in the dark, watching from the corner of my eye the way in which the light reflected from the screen danced on his face.

When the movie had ended, his mum picked us up and we spent the rest of the evening on his front porch, sitting side by side and discussing school and mutual friends. I hadn’t lived further than a block away from his house, so when he trailed along beside me on my way home, I didn’t protest. Instead I reveled in his warmth and the way his eyes flickered to me occasionally. And when we’d reached the bottom of the steps at my front door, he’d leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine, hand cupping my cheek ever so slightly.

It wasn’t his first kiss, but it had been mine. He knew what he was doing and though it was thoroughly G-rated, it stayed on my mind long into the evening.

When I’d managed to wander blindly back into my own home, my mum asked nonchalantly how it had went. I answered vaguely positive, probably unsure of the words that fell from my own mouth. She’d looked up from the book she’d been reading and smiled knowingly at me before returning to it. She hadn’t made a comment, but I think she knew then that I was a goner for a fourteen-year-old curly haired boy in a Jack Wills hoodie and a goofy, dimpled grin.

My phone vibrated suddenly on the table beside my bed and I jumped at the noise, lost in my memory. With my hair pinned, all I had left was to slip on some shoes and head out the door. This was perfect timing on my part, because it was Andrew texting me to tell me he was waiting for me at the curb beside Harry’s driveway. I typed back a reply that I was on my way before sliding the phone into my bag and throwing it over my shoulder.

I shut my door closed behind me before making my way down the stairs in my favorite pair of ankle boots. Upon making my appearance, Harry glanced up from the couch where his eyes had been otherwised focused on his phone.

“I’ll be back later,” I tell him.

“If you’re not, will you text me to let me know so I don’t worry about you ending up in a ditch?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly annoyed.

“Yes, mom,” I rolled my eyes. He scowled at my comment and returned to his phone. When I reached for the door, he said something and I paused.

“What?” I asked for clarification, biting my lip as I looked over my shoulder at him. My hand was still poised on the doorknob and Harry cleared his throat.

“I said you look really nice.”

I was perplexed by this comment. I hadn’t done anything different from earlier in the day besdie pin my hair back and apply a layer of lip gloss, but I knew better than to argue with a compliment, especially one coming from him. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth while his eyes leveled with mine. A moment later, he dropped them back to his mobile screen and waved me off half-heartedly.

Thoroughly confused, I stumbled out into the night. Past the gate, Andrew was waiting in a Honda Civic, the windows rolled down and a Calvin Harris song playing through the speakers.

As I approached I noticed the way in which his eyes appraised me, a contrast to how Harry had commented on how I looked. Where Andrew’s eyes fell on my body appreciatively, Harry’s had stayed locked on my face, as if he didn’t need to study me to know. He’d just stated a fact.

“You look incredible,” he greeted me, and I blushed as I pulled open the door and slid into the passenger seat.

“Thanks,” I breathed, unsure as to why my breathing hitched when he leaned over to greet me with a kiss to my cheek. This is standard greeting in England and most of Europe, but it felt different with Andrew.

I chalked it up to nerves and swallowed my uneasiness as I pulled my seatbelt down across my chest and settled into the seat. He eyes me one more time before pulling out into the street and taking off.

For some reason, my eyes lingered on the sight of Harry’s house growing smaller in the side-view mirror.