After 18 Years

Darcy Tanner ran away from home on her 18th birthday, in search of her father. A little over 18 years before, her mother- Ariel- found out that she was pregnant with Harry Styles' child. She fled to America, scared to end the career that he enjoyed so much. Now, when Darcy forces Harry and Ariel to reunite will they fall back into love? Will revisiting their youth be painful or the thing that makes them happiest? Will everything be the same again, even after 18 years apart?

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23. The Flash-drive

Harry and I ended up back in the kitchen after breakfast. Someone walked into the kitchen every few minutes to check on us, then making some lame excuse as to why they were in there.

“That's Louis' third time coming in here.” I laughed when he left.

“They're all acting a lot different today, young for their age.” Harry said, putting away the last dish.

“Maybe my presence makes them all feel like we're back in 2013.” I joked.

“I was about to say that. I think it's true.” He replied, resting a hand on my hip. I was just joking, but maybe I was right. Maybe they felt different, now that Harry and I were happy together again.

“Wow...” was all I could say on the matter.

“They all watched me be alone for years, and they knew I wasn't going to settle for anyone but you. I feel like a happier person.” Harry added.

“I feel better too, unnaturally happy, you know?” I said, just acknowledging the fact. He chuckled.

“Exactly.” He agreed, coming up closer and kissing my forehead, then running his nose gently along my jaw line. His breath on my neck caused me to shiver slightly. He laughed in response. “Lou was wrong. I still got it.” He grinned down at me. I smiled sheepishly, not quite sure how to react. I guess that's what he did, and he liked how flustered I could get around him.

“So,” I mumbled, after rearranging my brain, “we made a fort to keep the children busy...”

“Mmhm...” Harry smirked his famous smirk that made millions of girls swoon in his boy band days.

“Now how do we keep the adults busy?” I asked, smirking right back at him.

“The guys and I could do a little friendly gambling in the living room while the women sit in the kitchen and gossip.” He suggested, on the verge of laughter.

“Very funny Styles.” I rolled my eyes.

“Why thank you Georgia Rose.” He grinned, bowing cheekily. I snickered at the sound of my fake name.

“Never gonna live that down am I?” I questioned.

“I won't allow it.” He answered.

“But in all seriousness, what should we do?” I asked again. He thought for a moment, then perked up.

“We could play truth or dare.” He said, again almost bursting with laughter at his own joke.

“You're not helping.” I raised my eyebrows at him. I'd thought he'd actually had a real idea. I guess not.

 “Fine, fine,” He laughed, “I've got a scrabble board in the other room, and a pictionary set.”

“That works.” I grinned, stretching up on my toes to peck him on the lips. When I pulled away after a second he stared at me with a conflicted look on his face. The same one he had gotten whenever Darcy called him 'Harry'. Next thing I knew my feet were swept out from under me and he had me in his arms, bridal style. It took me a second to realize what had just happened. He laughed at my confused face. He turned around in a quick twirl, causing my foot to knock a vase of flowers, that I'd been preparing last night but forgotten about, off the island.

“That didn't go exactly as planned but I'll take it.” He laughed, staring down at the broken vase and spilled flowers. Before I could say anything, his eyes flickered to mine. The way his emerald green eyes burned into mine made me lose any hope of speaking or thinking clearly... He leaned down slowly and left a quick kiss on my cheek, then a sweet, loving one on my lips.

“You should get together with Louis more often.” I muttered when he pulled away. A chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Lou gave me the push, but he doesn't get credit for my moves.” He smirked, planting one more kiss on my forehead before setting me down. When I tried to walk I stumbled, almost falling, but Harry caught me by my waist. “I knew I could make you speechless but I had no idea a couple kisses could cause you to be unable to walk.” He laughed. I stood back up, making sure I was balanced before I tried to walk again.

“I'm just dizzy because I... uh... head rush... and, um...” I trailed off, unable to form a complete sentence.

“Took the words right out of my mouth.” He laughed again, louder this time. I couldn't help but smile at his careless laughter. It was contagious. I fetched the broom and dust pan from the corner of the room, bringing them over to him. He set them aside while picking up the big chunks of glass from the once very pretty vase. I picked up the flowers and set them on the counter, then helped him with the glass.

“You don't need to help Ariel.” He said softly.

“I want to.” I answered, not hesitating.

“You could hurt yourself on the glass.” He said, concerned.

“So could you.” I commented.

“I'm not worried about me.” He mumbled.

“What if I am?” I challenged, not wanting to ruin the moment we'd just had, but irritated that he thought I was so delicate.

“I've been shot, getting cut on a piece of glass wouldn't be the end of the world.” He scoffed.

“And I've given birth without pain medication. I don't think glass could hurt any worse than that.” I responded.

“Why didn't they give you pain meds?” He asked, pausing to look at me.

“I haven't told you?” I stopped as well, sitting back on my knees.

“Not that I recall.” He answered, waiting for an answer to his question.

“Darcy was born a month early, it wouldn't have been safe for her if they gave me medication.” I said, having told the story many times. I guess this would have been something Harry wanted to know. As her father and all... He shook his head, continuing again to pick up glass.

“I missed so much...” He murmured to himself, probably thinking I couldn't hear him. I sighed, covering my face in my hands. I'd been keeping something from him, from everyone. No one knew, except my mum and Kate.

“You know those letters you wrote me?” I asked, my voice muffled by my hands.

“What's wrong? What about them?” He questioned. I squeezed my eyes shut before taking my hands from my face. I stared down at the glass on the ground.

“I wrote some too.” I whispered. Harry was silent. I continued to pick up the last of the glass, and finally to sweep up the slivers.

“How many did you write?” He asked, standing up and pinning me against the side of the counter. He had his hands resting on my shoulders. His eyes bored into me, but I didn't look up.

“A lot. From the time I left to when Darcy was 15, once a month I sat down and wrote 6 page letters to you on my old computer. My mum told me it wasn't helping and made me stop. I have all of them on an old flash drive on my keys.” I answered, staring at his chest instead of his face. I was suddenly being constricted in a tight hug. I couldn't breath, but I didn't care. We stood there for what felt like hours.

“Your mom told me she had no idea where you went.” Harry said into my hair.

“You believed her? She's such a bad liar.” I mumbled into his shoulder. He laughed quietly.

“My entire point was that you can read the letters, and they tell everything that's happened in my life since I left. And everything Darcy told me happened in hers.” I said finally looking up at his face.

“You don't need to let me read them.” He said, a guilty look in his eyes. He probably thought he just made me feel bad. No, he only made me realize that I should let him read what went on in my life without him. 

“I want you to read them.” I insisted, taking my keys out of my purse that sat on the counter. I took the small red and black flash drive off the key chain and handed it to Harry. “The password to get into the files is my birthday.” I informed.

“Which, was so long ago.” Harry teased, lighthearted.

“You're older than me Styles, don't even try that.” I grinned as I walked away from Harry to the kitchen door, prepared to entertain guests again. I stumbled, feeling a sharp pain in my foot. 

"Fuck." I hissed.

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