Part 3His Heartbeat Belongs To My Mother

After I walked out of his apartment that night, my phone blew up. His friends called one after another, thoroughly convinced it was a publicity stunt. The idea that his devoted shadow had finally snapped the leash was incomprehensible to them.

Some even texted me, warning me not to play hard to get, saying I’d overplay my hand and lose him for good.

I blocked every single number associated with Declan’s circle in one clean sweep. The next morning, I requested a temporary transfer to my firm’s Chicago office.

By the time I returned to Los Angeles, three months had passed.

The moment I landed, an old college friend called, practically vibrating with excitement. “Harper! You back? They’re running the canyon tonight. You in?”

A heavy wave of nostalgia washed over me. My voice sounded a little rusty when I replied, “I haven't been behind a wheel in years. I think I’ll pass.”

My friend didn't know about Declan. She just kept pushing, reminding me of who I used to be.

After a long pause, I caved.

Three years ago, before I ever knew the name Declan Cross, the underground racing scene was my entire life.

But out of all the canyon checkpoints in Southern California, I never expected to run into him at this one.

I hadn’t seen him in three months. He looked a little leaner, his hair grown out and—surprisingly—dyed back to his natural jet black.

When we were together, I had begged him to ditch the bleach. I told him it drew too much attention.

He had smiled, but his eyes were hard. “Do you get off on trying to control me, Harper?”

My memory was interrupted by the sound of a bright, musical laugh. Serena Blair slipped her arm through Declan’s, beaming up at him. “I told you my taste is flawless, Dec. The dark hair makes you look so much more dangerous.”

The crowd around them hooted in agreement.

I watched them for a second, feeling nothing but a dull sense of inevitability.

Serena was Declan’s childhood neighbor. His golden girl. The one who got away. Before she returned from Paris, I was constantly measured against her ghost. After she returned, Declan laid the world at her feet.

If Serena wanted his hair black, it was done before dinner.

Not wanting the drama, I grabbed my friend’s arm to leave.

“Harper!”

Declan had spotted me. He gritted my name through his teeth.

I didn’t even break my stride, turning my back to him.

He ripped his arm away from Serena, bridged the distance in seconds, and snatched the fabric of my jacket.

His hand was physically shaking. His face was a storm of suppressed fury.

He opened his mouth, but Serena’s honeyed voice cut through the exhaust fumes first.

“Harper, you finally decided to show your face. Playing hard to get is cute for a week, but three months? You’re pushing it, don't you think?” She smiled, playing the concerned mediator.

The atmosphere shifted. The racers nearby snickered, looking at me with familiar pity.

I met Serena’s gaze dead-on. “A breakup is a breakup. Since when does it come with a ninety-day waiting period?”

Declan looked at me, then looked at the tuned-up Porsche I was standing near. His dark mood suddenly evaporated, replaced by a triumphant, cocky smirk.

He clicked his tongue. “I thought you hated it when I raced. Held out for three months, and you still had to come track me down?”

Someone in the back laughed loudly. “Classic Harper! Out of all the canyon routes in LA, she magically finds this one.”

Declan’s ego was practically radiating off him. He was absolutely certain I was here to beg for my spot back in his bed, just like I always did.

The anxiety that had clearly been gnawing at him for three months vanished. He cleared his throat, playing the benevolent king. “Alright, fine. Sit in the passenger seat and behave. After my run, we’ll swing by your place and get your bags.”

I stared at him. The sheer audacity of his narcissism would have been funny if it wasn’t so pathetic. I realized just how deeply sick my own obsession had been to endure this man for three years.

My voice was ice. “You love the canyon, right? You think you’re untouchable behind the wheel?”

Declan frowned, confused by my tone.

I pointed toward the jagged silhouette of the Angeles Crest mountains. “The Devil’s Spine. Deadliest drop in the county. You and me. Right now.”

Serena gasped, putting a delicate hand on Declan’s chest. “Dec, don't. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s just throwing a tantrum. Give her an inch so she doesn't embarrass herself.”

Her words fueled him. Declan scoffed, looking at me like I was a child holding a loaded gun. “Harper, you’ve never touched a clutch in your life. What exactly do you think you’re going to do?”

I had already walked over to my friend's car and popped the door. I gestured toward the starting line. “Let’s find out.”

Minutes later, our tires were lined up on the asphalt.

Declan rolled his window down, his eyes dark and unreadable in the moonlight. “You don’t have to push it this far, Harper. Step out of the car. Now.”

I wrapped my fingers around the steering wheel, my eyes locked on the starter.

Go.

I slammed the pedal to the floor. The engine screamed, and I shot off the line like a bullet.

Apexing, drifting, riding the edge of the guardrails—I didn't let up for a fraction of a second. The G-force threw me against the bucket seat, tires screaming as they kissed the edge of a three-hundred-foot drop.

In my rearview mirror, I could see Declan fighting to keep up, his face a mask of absolute shock.

He found a brief straightaway and tried to overtake me, aggressively wedging his front bumper into a hairpin turn, grinding metal against my side panel.

I was forced to decelerate, my tires kicking up dirt over the sheer cliff edge.

Through the glass, I saw that arrogant, victorious smirk return to his face. He mouthed something at me.

I shifted gears, pinned the throttle to the floor, and turned my wheel violently into him.

The impact sent my car airborne for a terrifying, weightless second. Half of my chassis hung over the abyss of the canyon before gravity slammed the tires back onto the pavement. I let out a massive, unhinged breath, laughing as adrenaline flooded my veins, washing away three years of suppressed misery.

This. This was what I had been missing.

I crossed the finish line a full ten seconds ahead of him. I threw the car in park and leaned back, letting the beautiful, violent hum of the engine vibrate through my bones.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Fists slammed against my window.

I rolled it down. Declan stood there, pale as a ghost, his chest heaving, absolute terror in his eyes. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! You could have died!”

I looked up at him, studying his face. “Your heart seems to be handling the stress just fine.”

Declan stopped panting, utterly derailed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

His chest rose and fell rapidly, the pulse in his neck hammering against his skin. The rhythm was so frantic, so loud in the quiet night air.

I listened to that familiar, beautiful heartbeat greedily, and without warning, a tear slipped down my cheek.

Panic flashed in Declan’s eyes. He reached through the window. “Harper—”

“I wasn’t afraid of dying. That’s why I won,” I cut him off smoothly, rolling the window back up an inch. “I’ve loved this mountain a lot longer than you have, Declan. And honestly? Your driving is mediocre.”

I dropped the car back into gear.

“You spent three years looking down on me,” I said quietly over the idle of the engine. “But I never thought that highly of you, either.”

Declan stood frozen in the exhaust smoke as I turned the car around and drove away.