Page 126 of Fighting Fate

A sarcastic voice in my head chides me. Maybe I could find that same strength if I faced my future head-on. I brush the thought aside as Harper catches me looking at her. She blushes and averts her gaze, a hint of embarrassment, possibly annoyance, flashing across her face. Without thinking, I adopt my usual deflection tactic—turning away, arms crossed, head tilted.

"So, this is the game plan now?" I ask.

She turns back, her voice soft yet audible. "You were staring."

Those three words hit hard, sending a pang through me. I drop my arms and face her directly. Her cheeks are a deep shade of red, her effort to hold back tears evident. She doesn't want her vulnerability on display.

I should've been more sensitive. Having been in her shoes, I know the weight of those stares, the wondering, the longing to be seen as just another person.

Not now, brain. Not the time for introspection.

Harper turns away, her body language signaling a retreat, but as I stand and lean toward her, the reality of her emotions becomes clear—tears streaming, her face flushed, her small frame trembling.

Damn it, Miles.

I wish I could hug her, but the IVs and tubes make it impossible. Instead, I brush a tear away with my thumb. "Harp, do you know why I was staring?"

Her eyes meet mine, their hardness melting away with the nickname, yet filled with a silent anticipation. I gather my thoughts. "I was staring because, despite everything, you're still Harper. Your strength is inspiring. It's not pity I feel; it's admiration."

Those thoughts echo inside me, a reminder of my own battles.

"I don't see a patient," I continue, my thumb gently catching another tear. "I see Harper, the fighter with fierce eyes, ready for whatever comes her way."

She inhales sharply, managing a small smile. "You really think that?"

I grin. "Absolutely. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

I move to sit next to her, but a voice interrupts. "Miles?"

Kinsley pauses in the corridor, her face etched with perplexity. She assumes I've come for a consultation. I shake my head, indicating Harper. Kinsley understands—I'm here for her, not me. She moves off, disappointment fleeting in her eyes.

I pivot back to Harper, her eyes radiating curiosity, searching deeply.

The voice in my head taunts, Whose fault is that, Miles?

I'm about to speak when Harper cuts in. "You can't lie to me."

I exhale, a reluctant smile creeping onto my face, one I wish wasn't there but can't help. Harper's laughter, so genuine and free from life's burdens, draws me in, melting away the layers of ice that have encased my emotions since my last football game, since my time in the hospital. In Harper's presence, the walls I've built around me start to crumble.

"Can you keep a secret?" I ask.

Without missing a beat, her playful assertiveness shines through. "I'm the queen of secrets," she declares with a grin.

Her giggle breaks through, bright and catching, loosening the tension in my shoulders. My face eases into a smile, and a wave of peace sweeps over me. She looks my way, her eyes alight with interest. I hesitate, then something inside me pushes me to move forward.

Just say it, Miles. Let it out.

And I do. I unload everything—my tangled feelings for Milli, my shift from chasing NFL dreams to pursuing medicine, the cancer battle—it all spills out in a torrent of words to a seven-year-old.

I pause, realizing the absurdity. She's just a kid. How can she grasp the complexities of my life?

But Harper, with startling directness, says, "Get the heck over it."

What the fuck? Did she really just tell me to get over it?

I shake my head, trying to reset. When I look at her again, her gaze is piercing, unwavering. I'm tempted to walk away, but then I hear a voice behind me, firm yet gentle, "Listen to her." It's not a suggestion, but a command.

Feeling my frustration simmering to a boil, I take a deep breath.