Todos os capítulos de Dirty Daddies Underground: Capítulo 201 - Capítulo 210

Harper POVWe’re sitting together, not at the dining table like we usually do, but sprawled across the cinema room floor. Much to Nathan’s dismay, we skipped anything remotely healthy or balanced. Instead, Theo and I went all in and ordered Dunkin’ Donuts, cheesecake from The Cheesecake Factory, Taco Bell, and milkshakes with extra scoops of ice cream.Nathan looks like we’re torturing him. Every bite we take seems to cause him real, physical pain. Meanwhile, Theo is absolutely thriving. His eyes are brighter than they’ve been all week, and he’s already halfway through his second taco.“I’m not chasing him around when he’s on a sugar high at three in the morning,” Mason says, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.“Oh come on,” Nathan groans, gesturing toward the chaos around us. “I had to deal with him last time when he was high from the damn baked goods.”“Excuse me?” Mason laughs. “You were high with him. I dealt with both of you. So this time, you’re on sugar patrol.”Nathan shr

Nathan's POVThe quiet hum of the office is different at night.After dinner, the house seems to breathe slower. The lights are low, casting soft shadows against the shelves and cabinets lining the far wall. Outside the windows, dusk has settled, and the sky’s gone that deep, muted blue that only comes when the world’s winding down for the night.Harper’s sitting beside me at the desk, legs tucked up beneath her, the laptop open between us. She’s been helping me go over vendor contracts, sorting through pages of tiny numbers and clunky wording. And even though I know she’s exhausted, her eyes keep blinking longer each time she looks at the screen, she hasn’t moved. She hasn’t once asked if we’re almost done. She’s just… here.I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve looked at her in the last t

Harper POVWhen the glass is empty, I set it in the sink and turn toward the stove. My stomach rumbles before I even open a cupboard, and I know Mason would yell if he found out I didn’t eat something real. So I pull out the bread, some bacon, and let the ritual begin. The sizzle of the meat in the pan is comforting, filling the kitchen with warmth and familiarity. I toast the bread, drizzle a little honey over it when it’s done, and then layer the crispy bacon on top. It’s a weird combination, but one I love. Sweet and salty, soft and crisp. Balanced.I eat leaning against the counter, licking honey off my thumb between bites, letting the food ground me. They aren’t here, but they still are, in all the little ways. In the notes. The glass of water. The fact I’m not still in bed. They push me in ways that feel like being held.After I clean up, I walk toward the room at the end of the hall upstairs. The sewing room. The space where

Mason POVAfter about twenty minutes, I dry my hands on a towel and give Theo a look. “I’ll go grab her. Try not to burn anything in the next two minutes.”He doesn’t even look up. “Don’t rush her. She’s probably stabbing lace or hand-beading her emotions again.”“She does have that haunted seamstress look when she’s in deep,” I mutter, chuckling as I head upstairs.The house is quiet upstairs, but it’s not the kind of silence that feels empty. It’s the kind that hums with focus, the sort Harper sinks into when she’s lost in her work. I slow down as I reach the door to her sewing room and push it open gently, already knowing exactly what I’m going to find.She’s sitting at the table, her back straight, eyes fixed on the length of ribbon in her hands. A needle flashes in and out of

Harper POVTheo bursts into laughter, nearly choking on his drink as he leans forward. “She did not just compare skipping lunch to trench warfare.”Mason groans and drags a hand down his face. “You are not a soldier in a war zone, Harper.”Nathan shakes his head and sighs. “If you’re going to try and debate your way out of this, at least use the full facts. Yes, crackers were used during war, but that wasn’t all they ate. They didn’t survive on two breadsticks and a cup of optimism.”I cross my arms and mutter, “It wasn’t two. It was at least four. And some people thrive on optimism.”Nathan gives me a look that’s one part exasperated and one part fond, like I’m both the problem and the favorite student in a very long class.“You’re impossible,” Mason m