Chapter Thirty-one
Finn
I wake up at dawn with a pounding headache. I swallow two aspirin and drink the glass of water on the bedside table. I have a vague memory of putting it there last night. I stumble to the bathroom to pee then go back to sleep until noon. When I wake again, my headache is a dull pounding instead of the jackhammer it had been earlier. I stand in the shower for far longer than necessary, trying to wash away the fatigue and beer fog from last night. I regret that last beer. I’m also eternally grateful to Wyatt for refusing to serve me hard liquor. I don’t want to imagine that hangover. This one is bad enough. After my shower, I dress in jeans and a t-shirt and make my way to the couch with a Gatorade. It’s all I have energy for. I should go get my truck, but I just don’t care enough right now.
An hour or so later, my headache is finally gone, and I've stopped wishing for death. I still have zero motivation to go get my truck from Mack's. Later, I'll make my way over there for dinner. Maybe by then I’ll feel more human. For now, I'm content to lie here on this couch for as long as it will have me. I'm aware that I'm being self-pitying, but my girlfriend did recently spend several hours with her ex-husband slash father of her only child. It's been almost a full day since the two of them had dinner and Hannah still hasn't called or texted me. The implications of that are pretty obvious. She's either still with him or she's trying to figure out a way to break things off with me.
The sharp pain lances through me, shocking in its intensity. I hadn't expected this when we'd started this thing. I hadn't known how attached I'd get. How I'd come to expect her presence. How much I'd come to need her. I don't know how I'm going to go back to just being her friend and boss. But I made her a promise. No matter what happened between us, there would be no hard feelings. I can’t go back on my word now just because she changed her mind.
I look around my house. It feels empty and cold in a way I’ve never noticed before. I’ve lived here for years but it doesn’t really feel like home. I think of Hannah’s house, full of life and clutter and color. Liam’s toys scattered about, framed photos of the two of them on the walls. I’ve spent more time there than here lately and I realize I didn’t miss this place a bit.
I hear a car door close outside and wonder if maybe Wyatt or Van decided to bring my truck home for me. They know how much I had to drink. Hell, they were both there to witness my downfall. They probably think I'm still hungover. Hell, maybe I am. At the quiet knock on the door, I force myself to sit up.
"Hang on," I call, making my way to the front door. I pull it open, expecting to see one of my brothers standing there. Instead, it's Hannah.
She looks nervous, unable to meet my gaze for longer than a second at a time. My heart drops into my stomach and I feel a deep pool of dread spread through me. I'm not ready to hear her say the words that will end things between us. I need more time to get used to the idea of being without her. Hell, I’ve only just gotten used to being with her.
"Can I come in?" she says, giving me the barest hint of a smile. It doesn't reach her eyes, I notice.
I step back, holding the door open. I smooth a hand down my rumpled shirt and run my fingers through my hair. It’s probably sticking up all over from my time wallowing in self-pity on the couch. Hannah walks past me and her perfume hits me like a punch in the gut. I close my eyes briefly, keeping my back to her while I pull myself together. When I turn to face her, I school my features into something more neutral. Hannah is standing on the other side of the room, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. She’s looking everywhere but at me, which just serves to confirm my theory that she’s here to break things off.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night,” she says. “I wanted to. But something came up.”
I tamp down the anger that threatens to surge forward. Something came up? Something, meaning her ex-husband. Was she even planning to tell me the truth?
“Oh?” I ask. “Anything important?”
“Important?” she repeats the word as though examining its meaning. She shakes her head slowly. “No. I wouldn’t say important. Interesting, maybe.”
I wait, not wanting to interrupt. She’s studying her hands, clenching and unclenching her fingers. After several seconds of silence that borders on awkward, Hannah blows out a breath and looks up to meet my gaze. There’s something in her eyes that seems resigned. I open my mouth to speak. I don’t know what I’m going to say. I just want to stop her from saying the words that will end what we have. But she speaks before I get the chance.
“I had dinner with my ex-husband last night,” she says in a rush. “Paul. He called me out of the blue on Friday and asked if we could meet for dinner. He wanted to talk. I panicked. I thought he’d come to try and take Liam or fight for shared
