12
Walker
It must be out of an unconscious need to steady her reeling mind, but Hannah grabs my arm that’s resting on the bar.
My eyes stay trained on her face, and I read the sheer panic darting through those big blue eyes.
“No.” Her gasped word is a plea.
Without second-guessing myself, I take the hand gripping my arm and fold into my own, lacing our fingers together. We’re back in the same moment as the night in the parking lot, her clinging to me and me trying to save her from any threat or monster.
“You have the restraining order, right? We can ask him to leave.” Colleen keeps her voice low, trying not to make a scene.
Clark has come back, probably noticing our teammate having walked into the bar, and he’s not dumb.
“Should we get out of here?” he asks, his eyes urgent.
Slowly, so as not to draw attention to our foursome, I direct my gaze over Hannah’s left shoulder; her back is to the door. Shane has walked in with two guys from the local CrossFit gym, I recognize them from some events they’ve attended with him. They’re beefy, brawny, and all three of them look like they’re out on the prowl. He hasn’t noticed us yet, hasn’t noticed that his soon-to-be ex-wife is on the premises, and I’d like for it to stay that way.
Bending to Hannah’s eye level, I get her attention with our noses only inches apart.
“We’re going to leave, okay, Hannah? I’ll drive you home. We’ll go out the kitchen, I know the exit out that way.”
I’ve only had a beer, not even a full one, and there is no way I am letting her on the road with the state of shock and fear she is in. She can barely even focus on my face.
She nods, in a daze, and all I want to do is wrap her up in me and hide her away from anything that can hurt her. I guide her off the barstool, but before we can make it three steps, we’re rooted to the spot by a voice.
“Hannah!” I hear Shane bark, and I think I might actually physically cringe.
It feels like we’ve been caught right before we’re about to make a scot-free exit, and now we’re trapped like foxes in a hole.
“Just keep moving,” I say, but Hannah won’t budge.
It’s like she’s locked here, and I see every emotion ranging from fear to anger to, finally, submission run over her face. She turns, as if she has no other choice, to face him. And in that moment I see it, how her life has played out for the last six years. Always bending to him, letting him dictate her every move, each interaction. I both want to sucker punch him in the jaw and beg her to leave. I want to shake some sense into her, but I know it’s not that easy. I know this is years of conditioning that she has to undo herself, and a situation that I can’t possibly begin to understand from her point of view.
Shane is suddenly in front of us, his burly frame just an inch or so taller than mine, and I puff my chest out like some kind of animal challenging another. His eyes flit down to where our hands are laced, as I was about to begin pulling her out the door, and he sneers.
“So, I see you’re already whoring around with my teammates?”
Hannah flinches, as if he’s slapped her, and beside me I hear Colleen’s sharp intake of breath.
“You motherfu—” Clark growls, and he’s not even personally invested in this situation.
“Leave. Now, Shane. You have to stay a certain distance from her, that much I know. We can call the police, if you prefer.” Colleen is very matter-of-fact, but I know she hates that she has to get involved in this.
Shane’s eyes swing to my cousin, his former general manager, and I realize that he’s already a few drinks too deep. “You can’t tell me what to do anymore, bitch. I’m not property of the Callahans anymore.”
I swear to God, I almost tackle him right there. But Hannah’s hand is shaking in mine, and I know I should stay by her side rather than turning this into a brawl. In my mind, though, I’m ripping off this dude’s nut sack and shoving it in a burning tequila bottle behind the bar.
“Shane, please. We’re going. No need to do this.” Her voice is meek, but she’s found it finally.
“Psh, to do what? Aren’t you supposed to be at home, taking care of my children? Instead, you’re out on the town, breezing up the single life? Is this what you do after filing for divorce? Real classy, Hannah.” Shane looks at her in total disgust.
I want Hannah to fight back, to curse him out or tell him to go to hell. Instead, she just looks at the floor and shakes her head in disappointment.
“Can you drive me home?” She turns to ask me.
I nod. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t you dare go after my wife, Callahan!” I hear Shane scream at my retreating back. “You’ll pay for this, Hannah!”
His threats are like bullets, piercing through my thin armor. I want to turn around and smash his hand onto the bar top, but am almost being dragged out by Hannah at this point.
When we make it into the parking lot, a blast of cold air hits us, and I realize she’s shivering next to me.
“Your coat, shit. I’ll go back and get it,” I say, turning to walk back into Hudson’s.
She tugs my hand, which is still in hers. “Leave it. I’ll get it another day. Please, I just want to go home.”
Nodding, I hurry her across the parking lot. As I unlock my truck, I pull open the passenger door and help her up, then run to my side to throw the heat on. Once we’re both in, and I’m backing out of my parking space and pulling onto Packton’s main drag, I hear Hannah audibly sigh.
The sound is both relief and exhaustion, and I know there must be a million things running through her mind.
“Did he … is that how he spoke to you?” My stomach plunges to my feet at the thought of how bad things got inside their home.
Hannah looks down at her hands. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things he’s said to me.”
That one sentence makes me want to tear the world apart, burn it to the ground for pairing her with someone so heinous.
“Why didn’t you … you could have told him to go to hell.” I’m not saying it to give her grief or be an asshole, but I guess I just don’t get it.
Hannah snorts, but the sound is a half-sob, and I flash my eyes over to her quickly before turning them back to the road. She looks angry, but resigned.
“And what, risk both of my court cases backfiring on me? You may think I looked weak back there, but I’m the smarter one in this situation, Walker. I’m not going to turn into a hot head, or cause a scene for the whole town to see. I have my girls to think about, their future, and their custody. I have an order of protection I’d like to protect myself with, and I don’t need Shane running to his lawyers telling them I went off half-cocked like some crazy bitch so they can bring it up in court to paint me as the villain. You may think this is all tit for tat, but I have real consequences to think about here. Just because someone is louder doesn’t mean they’re winning.”
The venom in her tone bites me, infecting me with regret and apology. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I just … it kills me, that he speaks to you like that. That he must have done so for years. I’d put him six feet under if it didn’t mean an orange jumpsuit for me.”
I say it with such sincerity, and my jaw is so tense, that I feel her cold, small hand rest on my forearm where it’s white-knuckling the wheel.
“And I get that. Don’t think that just because I didn’t fight back, I’m not angry. I’m furious, Walker. Embarrassed. I hate that we were having a really great night and it was ruined with one word from him. I hate that other people saw that. But fighting back against someone like Shane, a narcissistic sociopath who will never hear other’s concerns or care for anyone but himself? That’s just not a worthy battle. You know what is? Making him responsible for what he did to me and then getting out of my marriage with my daughters solely in my care. That’s the bright light at the end of the tunnel.”
It dawns on me; Hannah is not weak, or trained to st
ay silent around her husband. She’s strong as hell and exercising more control than I’d ever be able to wield. In the end, she’ll have the last laugh.
“Doesn’t that mean he violated the restraining order?” A lightbulb goes on in my head.
I see Hannah shrug out of the corner of my eye. “Honestly, I don’t know. Technically, he didn’t know I was there. Any lawyer will argue that it was coincidence we ended up in the same restaurant. What he said to me was awful, but how can I prove it? There will be just as many people who said he didn’t do it as I have on my side who say he did.”
“That’s just not fucking fair.” I slam my hand into the wheel.
She turns, gives me a small, sad smile. “And such is the justice system. Did you know my lawyer told me that we’d have to prove there was a pattern of abuse? I have medical records for six years, public photos leaked to gossip sites of what he did to me in that parking lot, and I still have to prove that he’s a dangerous man? The court is protecting him, over me and my girls. It’s an uphill battle.”
That’s like pouring salt in my already festering wounds. Why the hell is the world like this?
By the time I realize I’ve driven us there, I’m parking in a space in Hannah’s condo association. It’s dark, the street lamps glowing orange outside, and I cut the engine to soak in the silence.
After tonight, and our heavy conversation on the way home, I’m positive Hannah is about to flee from my truck. But when I unbuckle my seatbelt, she does the same, and we simply turn to each other.
“Thank you for getting me out of there. And … showing restraint. I know you wanted to put him through the floorboards.”
“I was thinking the bar itself, but those would have done, too.”
We fall quiet, and the moment seems to charge up in its intensity.
“You are truly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” My hand moves of its own volition as it sweeps a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Walker …” she breathes, her eyes fluttering closed.
“The things I’d do for you, to you, if you’d only let me.” I hear the desperation in my voice, trying to keep my hammering heart in its cage.
This is the first time I’ve touched her, pulled back the curtain on my feelings. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, and I’m a goner. I couldn’t stop myself if I tried.
Leaning across the center console, I take her face in my hands, and bend ever so gently to make our lips touch. Hannah doesn’t lean in, but she doesn’t back away. Coaxing, ever so slowly, I kiss her with the tenderness of a thousand feathers. She tastes like her drink, a little spicy from the ginger beer and sweet from whatever gloss she was wearing on her lips.
I can’t believe this is happening, I’ve dreamed it so many times. As I tilt my head to deepen it, I feel Hannah’s hands come up to my jaw. We’re holding each other’s faces, lost in this moment, the kiss morphing from a test, a question, to something cosmic. Other-worldly. Soul-jarring.
Before I know it, we’re practically clawing across the console to get closer, my hands lifting her and trying to get her on my lap. The truck is tight quarters, and our kisses become rushed, heated, and not nearly enough.
Hannah breaks off, heaving breaths in and out of her lungs, as she stares at me. Her expression is something between blind lust and “what the hell was that?” Perhaps she didn’t know I had it in me, that we had it in us … but now she does.
“Let me take you on a date?” It’s a question, but I also am not asking.
It feels like we’ve, or maybe she has, been fighting this inevitability for some time. I want to grab at the chance while it’s in front of me.
“Walker … you don’t want to date me.” She leans her head back against the seat, sighing as she looks at me.
“You have no idea how false that statement is. I’ve been waiting six years for a date with you.” My voice is quiet, but deadly serious.
And she knows it, by the gasp she inhales. We stare at each other, every unspoken thing I’ve never said floating in the ether between us. It’s the first time I’ve really made it known, my prolonged longing for her.
Maybe it’s the moment, or that I kissed her under my spell. My ego would like to think it’s the latter.. Whatever it is though, my heart soars into oblivion when Hannah nods and whispers, “Okay.”
13
Hannah
I’m going on my first date in over seven years.
The last time I even thought about dressing up, introducing myself to a man, sharing a meal, feeling the newness and possibility of something … well, I was a twenty-something with no attachments and could say yes to anything at the drop of a hat. My stomach was tighter, my boobs didn’t have stretch marks, and I didn’t get less than six hours of sleep a day.
But despite all that, I don’t think I clean up too terribly.
I give myself a once over in the mirror, marveling at the woman who looks back at me. A month and a half ago, I wouldn’t even know who she was. I have on a black lacy blouse over black skinny jeans, with dark magenta high heels. It’s an outfit that would have gotten me a screaming lecture and maybe even a shove back into our bedroom from Shane.
Your body is mine, I don’t want anyone seeing it. Are you trying to be a slut? His ugly words ring in my ears. But then it would be the opposite whenever I put something modest on to wear to a game; do you want my teammates to think my wife is some frumpy, fat chick?
When I was with Shane, I ended up going silent toward the last year of our marriage. If I could just nod my head, never let a word slip out, then it meant I wasn’t waiting for a slap or a shove every other second. I relented, submitted in every way possible—even sexually—and lost myself in the process. And it still wasn’t enough, because he found ways that I’d “screw up” or “purposely get it wrong.”
His voice from Hudson’s the other night drifts through my head, and I squeeze my eyes shut. That night was a disaster, up until the end of it. So many emotions were packed so tightly into it; at the beginning I was happy to be having a night out with Colleen, then surprised and giddy at having Walker buy me a drink, then embarrassed, ashamed, and upset when Shane showed up. He put me down in the same ways he always had, except it was the first time we’d spoken in months. Then to have Walker drive me home and kiss the daylights out of me. To come in both crying to Dahlia about my soon-to-be ex-husband and confessing about the hot kiss I’d just shared with the eligible bachelor in my parking lot … it was a lot to digest all in the span of a couple of hours.
Attempting to put them out of my head, I slather on another coat of nude matte lip-gloss, just because I can. It’s taken me weeks, and I’m only giving myself inches, but slowly I’m allowing myself to pick things I’d wear, or makeup I think looks good. It’s kind of like I’m a teenager again, testing out different styles and choosing which ones make me feel good about myself.
There is no doubt that whatever I wear, Walker is going to like it. I don’t need to be self-conscious around him, even if I’m giddy like a schoolgirl. I’ve recognized the way he’s been looking at me, maybe always has, with this hunger like he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off me if we were alone in a quiet place.
Just the thought makes everything south of my waist clench, and dirty, naughty thoughts about just how incredible he has to be in bed fill my brain.
If that kiss in the car is any indication, we’ve got a passion that could explode off the charts. Heck, it would eliminate the charts. It’s half the reason I agreed to this date, because I am so caught up in my lust for Walker that I can’t think straight. Not that I don’t want to go …
If I remove all the periphery in my life, going on a date with Walker would be number one on my list of things I’d want to do. But I’m not single, I’m not in my twenties, I don’t have just me to answer to. Technically, I’m still married. I have two children. I have a slew of problems and baggage that come with me, and was not planning on rebounding or dating or even
considering the possibility of love for at least … oh, ten years or so?
When the doorbell downstairs rings, my heart leaps like a stallion hopping one of those really high obstacle bars. I feel it in my throat, and nerves flutter out to every appendage.
“Hi, I think we’ve met, I’m Walker.” Since my condo is about as big as my master suite in the house I shared with Shane, I hear that deep voice all the way upstairs in my bathroom.
“Dahlia, nice to see you again,” I hear my sister say.
The girls are now yelping and curious, and I know they must be attacking the man before he can even walk in through the doorframe.
Shaking my head to clear the cobwebs, I hurry downstairs. It’s very chivalrous of him to come in and get me, but I almost didn’t want to have to explain to the girls who Walker is or where I’m going. It’s going to be confusing for them, and they still don’t really grasp that their mother and father are no longer going to live under the same roof. I think, because they’ve grown up with an athlete father, they think Shane is just on some extended road trip.
“Do you go to the potty, too? You can use our potty,” Noelle is telling Walker as I step off the last stair.
“Popsicle?” I watch as Breanna walks over to him, her tiny hands pulling at his pant leg.
“Careful, if you don’t set boundaries, they’ll walk all over you.” I smirk, and Walker turns around.
Good lord, the man should come with a warning label. It’s a crime to be that handsome, in his black, perfectly fitted jeans and chambray button-down. His hair has been recently buzzed, with a little notch near his temple for some style. I’ve always gone for men with thicker hair, something to grab onto, but there is something almost military-hot about Walker’s preferred hairstyle.
“Mommy, you look pretty!” Noelle gushes, running over to bend down and examine the buckles on my magenta shoes.
“Thanks, sweetheart.” I ruffle her hair, but let her play with the shoes she probably thinks she’ll be using for dress-up next week.
Stealing Home (Callahan Family Book 2) Page 8