by Joelle Knox
Twenty-five thousand dollars doesn’t sound small to me. It sounds like freedom. Even a part-time job could stretch that out for a year or more, as long as I’m careful. “So that’s it? I don’t have to worry about the house or selling it or anything?”
A tiny, sympathetic smile tilts his mouth. “No. No, I’m afraid things are a little more complex than that.”
Maybe it’s terrible, but I’m relieved. It’s one less thing to worry about, and maybe I can do this if I can claw out some breathing room. One problem at a time, one decision at a time. “I guess I should start signing, then.”
That’s what I do for the next hour—listen to him talk and sign everything he pushes in front of me. As tedious as it is, I almost regret when he closes the last folder and promises to call me with updates.
This was the easy part of my day.
The hospital isn’t far from the lawyer’s office, and the drive is over too soon. I’m already more familiar with this place than I ever wanted to be. I know where to park, which elevator takes forever to show up, which nurses will smile at me and which will look away.
Marcia is still in my mother’s room, reading aloud from a magazine. “’To rid your tomatoes of blossom-end rot, the best soil amendment is lime—’ Oh, that’s ridiculous, Betsy. Everyone knows crushed eggshells are best.”
I almost back out of the room, but my shoe squeaks on the floor and Marcia looks up, and then there’s nothing to do but put on my best Casey mask. A smile—not too big, because a Casey smile isn’t natural, it’s calculated. “Hi, Mrs. Prescott.”
“Hannah.” She closes the magazine and leaves it on her chair as she reaches for me. “How are you, honey?”
“I’m okay,” I mumble, feeling wildly guilty as Marcia encloses me in a hug. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but she’s trying and I know I’m the broken one here. I don’t know what to do with my arms. They just sort of hang there limply at my sides as I stare over her shoulder.
The woman in the bed doesn’t look like my mother. Elizabeth Casey was always perfect. She didn’t come out of her bedroom in the morning without every hair in place and her makeup applied with a skill I lack, the one that makes it all seem effortless.
She was put together every day of her life and frustrated when I wasn’t, which makes this that much harder. I want to feel grief and loss when I look at her, but I have to struggle to remember that this fragile, still body in the narrow hospital bed belongs to the mother who loomed large in my life even from hundreds of miles away.
Marcia watches me, biting her lip. “It must be so difficult for you.”
It is, but not for the reasons she imagines. “I was just at the lawyer’s. It’s a lot to try to manage.”
She rubs my arm. “Mr. Ewing and I will handle whatever we can.”
“Thank you.” My gaze drifts back to my mother, and either I’m human after all, or the grief is catching up with me. Resentment and pain have defined my relationship with my mother—my whole damn life, really—but it was easy to hate the cold-eyed woman who cut my confidence out from under me with backhanded compliments and sly insults.
I can’t hate her like this. Not for all the things she did wrong, all the ways she failed us. Not even for Cait.
I swallow past the knot in my throat. Tears, I guess, though Caseys don’t cry, not in front of other people. “How is she today? Is there…?” I don’t say any change because I know there won’t be. But I need there to be. I need her to wake up, sit up, tear me to shreds.
“She’s the same,” Marcia answers gently, then sighs. “I’m so damn angry, I don’t even know what to do.”
“Me neither.” I turn away from the bed. There’s nothing else to look at except Marcia, who’s torn up with all the sadness and anger that’s still choking me. “I don’t know what to do. I wish I did.”
“I told her—” Marcia’s voice breaks. “How many times did I tell her? You can manage a drunk everywhere but in a bar and behind the wheel.”
I freeze. Not out of instinct, not exactly—surely I wasn’t born with this urge to hide—but it’s a habit almost as strong and pressing as survival. I know it’s not a secret anymore. Hell, it probably never was. But even with all the whispers and the pity, no one has said it to my face. I’ve never had to break the final rule and say it out loud.
My father was a drunk. He killed himself, and he took my mother with him.
“Sorry,” she says thickly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, especially not— I’m sorry.”
It feels like I’m watching from outside my body as my hand drifts up on its own to awkwardly pat her arm. It’s ridiculous, me trying to comfort her, but she needs it, because she knew my mother. Better than I ever guessed, if she knew the truth.
I guess my mother was capable of friendship and affection, after all. Just not with me.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “It’s complicated. It’s...messy.”
She swipes away the tears beneath her eyes with a desperate nod. She says nothing for a long time, just stares at the bed. Finally, she turns to me. “I’m selfish, horribly selfish. Because I know Betsy wouldn’t want to lie there like that, and yet...I still don’t want to ask you to let her go.”
I can feel them now—the tears, prickling at the corners of my eyes. Not at the idea of letting her go, but because I’m selfish, too. Selfish and jealous of this immaculate woman with her red eyes and her knowledge. She had more of my mother than I ever got to see, and there’s a tiny, lonely girl inside me who hates her for it.
I swallow the pain along with the tears. There’s nothing good or pretty inside me. Only dark feelings and pettiness, and something even more horrifying beneath those. I have vengeance in my heart. I’m capable of that kind of rage. I’m capable of leaving my mother here, abandoning her the same way she abandoned Cait.
Loving Sean wasn’t the only thing that killed Cait. It was just the start. Denial, shame, and neglect did the rest.
I’m too torn up inside for lies, but Marcia will never understand the truth, because I look so pleasant on the outside. Like a normal, boring girl, not a monster who wants revenge. “I’m not ready to let her go, either.”
Marcia looks over at me, her blue eyes bright with unshed tears, and squeezes my hand.
I’m a terrible person.
»» sean ««
I’m in the middle of changing a battery when Gibb clears his throat behind me. “Hey, hotshot. The trouble you weren’t getting mixed up with is sitting in your office.”
I finish seating the battery, then straighten and wipe my hands. “Hannah’s here?”
“Uh-huh.” Gibb looks like he’s about to say something else, but in the end he just shakes his head. “Want me to finish up here?”
“Yeah, thanks.” No text and no call—
Shit, her mom. I duck through the side door of my office and twist the blinds shut before turning to face her. I don’t know what I expect—tears, trembling, maybe both.
What I get are her fingers curved around the back of my head and her mouth on mine.
I stand there, shocked still, my heart stuttering as she moves her lips over mine. Then the sparks hit, the same ones that lit me up when we were playing pool, when we were driving fast in my car. The last time she kissed me.
And then I’m not thinking anymore. Instead, I press her forward until her ass bumps the edge of my desk, and I lift her on top of it.
She makes a quiet, desperate noise, and her fingernails prick the back of my neck. Her tongue glides between my lips, hot and soft, and the last fucking bit of my good sense melts away.
This is crazy. Crazy.
It’s that thought—crazy—fluttering through the haze in my brain that makes me break the kiss. “Hannah, what the fuck?” I ask hoarsely.
She’s flushed and breathing heavy, her eyes wild. “Distract me. God, Sean, please. Please.”
I cup her face between my hands. “What happened?”
“I don�
�t want to talk.” She tangles her fingers in my shirt, pulling me closer. “I don’t want to think.”
A sick chill prickles over my skin. How many times did Cait whisper those same words to me?
I free my shirt from Hannah’s clenched grip and take a step back. “I can’t. Not like this.”
She deflates all at once, covering her face with her hands as her shoulders tremble. “I’m sorry. I’m stupid. I shouldn’t have—”
“Hey. Hey.” I tug at her hands, clutch them to my aching chest. “Don’t, okay? Talk to me.”
Tears gather on her lashes, and she blinks them away. But more form, spilling down her cheeks as she squeezes her eyes shut. “I think something inside of me’s broken. The good part.”
“Why the hell would you think that?”
“Because I still hate her.”
Her voice breaks on the word hate, and hot tears drip on my hands as she bends her head forward. I’m filthy, but I don’t think she cares, so I wrap my arms around her.
The truth is an easy counter to her words. “You don’t hate her, and you’re not broken. If either of those things were true, you wouldn’t be this shredded.”
Hannah shakes like the sobs are about to rip out of her chest, but she doesn’t make a sound. She cries in silence, a silence that stretches out between us as I stroke her hair.
The ache in my chest splinters into pain. It’s one thing to be a distraction from the heavy shit, but from this kind of heartache? I went down that road with Cait. I can’t stand to think about doing it with Hannah, too.
“You want me to take you home?” I ask softly.
“No.” The word is muffled against my shoulder, but then she pulls away, scrubbing at her face as if she can erase the evidence of her tears. “This was a mistake, I’m sorry.”
The words scrape over me. “Come on, aren’t we past that yet?”
She laughs, watery and broken. “No, it’s not you. It’s me. Who am I fooling? I’m not this girl.”
“You don’t have to be.” I tip her face back and dry one cheek with my thumb. “You’re Hannah, and she’s pretty damn cool.”
“Am I?” Suspicious, like she doesn’t really believe me, but she’s also leaning into my touch like she never wants it to stop.
She looks so frail. For a split second, my gut clenches. Cait was frail, too, in ways I never realized until it was too late, and I’d already broken her for good.
I shove the thought aside. “Yeah, you are. Saturday night.”
Hannah blinks. “Saturday?”
“Got another race. You want to come?”
Her smile lights up her whole face for a dangerous moment. She’s not just pretty, she’s beautiful, alive and captivating. My heart thuds, and I clear my throat to cover the sudden, rough rush of air into my lungs.
She leans in, so close her unsteady breath tickles my chin. When she kisses me this time, it’s not frantic or wrong. It’s slow and shy, with her lips barely parted and her body tensed like she’s waiting for me to push her away.
I should, but I can’t. Her eyes are still bright with tears, but she isn’t crying anymore, and I can feel the difference in my bones. She’s not kissing me to get away from the world. She’s kissing me because it’s what she wants most, right here, right now.
I’ll take it.
She winds her arms around my neck as her tongue touches my lower lip, quick and hesitant. I tilt my head, chasing her tongue back into her mouth.
She moans and opens for me, uncertainty melting away as she follows my lead. Her hands tighten on the back of my head, urging me closer, until my body is pressed tight against hers.
It’s hot—and surprisingly sweet. Her fingers are in my hair, but it’s easy to imagine them tugging at my clothes, sliding beneath the fabric. Wrapped around my—
I tear my mouth from hers with a groan and take a deep breath. “Saturday.”
“Saturday,” she agrees breathlessly. She has engine grease on her chin and another streak on her cheek, and her cute little outfit is even dirtier. One look at her and Gibb’s gonna give me holy hell.
My only chance on Saturday is to have someone around to run interference. “Why don’t you bring Evie?” I suggest. “Gibb could use a little smacking around.”
She laughs and presses her forehead to mine. “That’s mean. To both of them.”
“It was a joke. Sort of.”
“For all I know, maybe Gibb likes it when she smacks him around.”
“He’s got a soft spot for Evie.” Ever since she came back to Hurricane Creek, thin and brittle, on the run from her life in Atlanta. “Not a thing—not like that. I think he feels sorry for her.”
She tilts her head, as if considering that, and nods. “I’ll ask her. For now, I should go. You’re trying to work.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“No.” She eases back—as much as she can when I’m still standing between her thighs. The skirt of her sundress is bunched up, and Hannah flushes as she smooths it down over her legs. “I’m okay, I swear. Today at the hospital was just...too much.”
I’m such an asshole. “Your mom?”
“No change.” She clenches her fingers in her dress and finally meets my eyes. “But the lawyer had me sign some paperwork, and I have some money coming to me. Enough that maybe—maybe I don’t have to go back to Atlanta unless I want to.”
My pulse instantly trips into a faster beat. “You’re staying?”
“I don’t know,” she says quickly. “But I have options now. I feel like I can breathe.”
“Good. That’s good.” I take a step back and help her off the desk. Some of my purchase orders are crumpled, and we knocked a cup full of pens off the other side.
Christ knows what the place would look like if things had gone any further.
They could have, all too easily. She straightens her clothes and hair, but you can still see all the places I’ve touched her in the smudges of oil on her dress and cheeks. She’s disheveled in a way that’s more than a little hot, and it only gets worse when she peeks up at me with a knowing smile. “You got me dirty.”
I have to swallow another groan. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”
I take her through the front door instead of the garage, but with both bay doors wide open, I have a perfect view of the dangerously blank look on Gibb’s face as I open Hannah’s car door for her.
She’s oblivious as she says her goodbyes through the open window and pulls out of the parking lot. But when I turn around, Gibb’s only a few feet behind me, his arms crossed over his chest and his frown fixed.
I wipe my hands on my jeans. “Did you get that battery hooked up for Ms. Perkins?”
“Uh-huh.” His jaw tightens, and he shakes his head. “Did you have fun playing grab-ass?”
“Yep.” The best defense is a good offense, right? “Hey, don’t make any plans for after the race Saturday night. You’ve got a date.”
“Aw, fuck. What did you do, Sean?”
“Relax, man.” I slap him on the shoulder. “You want to keep an eye on me, don’t you?”
“Not while you’re plowing Hannah Casey, I don’t.”
“Hey.” I hit him harder, and I can’t keep the thread of warning from my voice. “Nobody’s plowing anybody, and that includes Evie. Keep your pants on.”
Gibb doesn’t smile. He doesn’t even make his customary rude joke. His brow furrows, and worry fills his eyes. “Is that what you’re telling yourself? That you’re not gonna screw her, so it’s all good?”
“I’m not telling myself anything,” I shoot back. “I’m not making excuses, because I don’t need them.”
“Fine. You’re not making excuses.” He turns back to the garage and gets halfway there before calling back over his shoulder, “And I’m not making any damn promises about Evie Galloway’s pants.”
8
»» hannah ««
From the outside, the speedway looks like a small football stadium. Evie and I pay our
admission fees, grab our programs, and walk up a set of concrete steps into the stands. The field itself looks like a high school running track—an oval of asphalt circling a central green lawn packed with colorful cars and trailers and people.
One car is circling the track, its engine rumbling. The sound is so loud I can feel it vibrating in my bones. Evie nudges me before handing over a plastic package containing two squishy foam earplugs. “You’re going to want these for the races.”
If one car is almost painfully loud, I can’t imagine how bad the race will be. “Do you come to these a lot?”
“Sometimes.” Her cheeks turn a little pink.
My fingers tighten until the plastic crinkles in my grip. I don’t know much about what drove Evie back to Hurricane Creek, and that fact’s been weighing on me since the day in Sean’s office. Something happened to her, something that made a guy as bitter and angry as Gibb feel sorry for her.
How do you broach a subject like that? Hey, so, any big traumas I missed? Everything has been about me and my fucked-up life, and I haven’t asked her a damn thing about hers.
I haven’t asked if she has a thing for Gibb, either. Or—oh shit. My stomach flips over as I remember how easy and friendly she was with Sean. That would be the highlight on my World’s Worst Friend blooper reel, to move in with Evie and immediately start making out with the guy she’s into.
I can’t ask her, not now—but I have to. I wet my lips and stare out at the track. “To watch Sean?”
“We went out,” she admits. “Once. Neither one of us was feeling it.”
She seems earnest. A little embarrassed, maybe, but now so am I. “Are you sure? If I’d known, I wouldn’t have—any of it.”
She chokes on a strangled laugh. “It’s not a problem, Hannah. I swear.”
I catch her hand and squeeze it. “Promise me.”
“I promise, okay?” She stares back at me. “It isn’t a thing.”
Evie has always been a terrible liar, so bad she never used to bother. She was like me, minimizing what she could with sarcasm. But when I couldn’t do that, I avoided the truth. Evie owned up to it.