“Are you speaking as a parent?” She lowered her arm and stared at him, dry-eyed.
Tonight of all nights, he couldn’t talk about Freddie. An explosion of rain pounded against the window like the rat-a-tat of automatic gunfire. Thunder crashed overhead, and two of the dogs scrambled to get under the bed. Will fell back into her white comforter, letting it swallow him.
“Your father talks about Freddie nonstop, and yet you never mention him. Why is that, Will?” she said.
Will closed his eyes. Tell her. It would be so easy to tell her the truth, but he couldn’t, not after everything she’d been through tonight. Besides, he had made the decision, minutes earlier, to keep the lie alive, to keep Freddie alive. To do what he believed was best for his dad.
He rolled his head toward her and opened his eyes. She had propped herself up onto her elbows. She was so close. Close enough that he could feel her body next to his: thigh-to-thigh, chest-to-chest, heart-to-heart. Close enough that he could kiss her. A light kiss on the lips, as chaste as the kiss he’d given Ally in kindergarten, right before she’d bitten him and left the tiny scar on his bicep—the wound of his first, and until now only, love.
“I’m sorry.” Hannah stared out into the room. “I don’t know why I asked that. I understand that you don’t like to talk about your son, and God knows I don’t want to talk about mine.”
“We don’t have to talk,” he said.
She opened her palm and revealed a familiar orange capsule. “Matt gave it to me, to help me sleep. But I don’t want to be drugged—in case Galen needs me.”
“My dad takes those,” Will said. “They’re pretty innocuous. They just relax you. I gave him two earlier in the evening, and he still woke up when the ambulance came.”
She stared at the pill.
“Take it, get some sleep. I’ll listen for the phone, and I promise to wake you if there’s any news.”
She raised her hand to her mouth, tossed back her head and swallowed.
He sat up.
“Wait, where are you going?” She grabbed his arm and her fingernails dug deep.
“Just to the sofa, so you can sleep in peace.”
“No! No!” She burst into tears. “Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me alone.”
He reached out and wiped under her eyes. “Hey. It’s okay. What if we just lie here, together? And pretend nothing exists outside this room.”
“I’d like that,” she said.
I’ll hold you while you sleep, he used to tell Freddie.
“I’ll hold you while you sleep.”
* * *
The storm rumbled through, but the rain continued for another hour. Soft rain that seeped into the soil and fed the roots. Already it was the day after. The day after the four-month anniversary of Freddie’s death, the day after Galen’s attempted suicide. This dark morning should feel like a beginning, but it felt like a hole in time. A gap.
Mind the gap was the warning he’d heard over the intercom the last time he’d traveled on the London Underground. Mind the gap.
Hannah was breathing in a soft rhythm. His right arm, wrapped around her body, was numb, but he couldn’t move. He wouldn’t get up and clean the bathroom before dawn. That way if she woke up, she wouldn’t be scared and alone in the dark.
He planned out his day—or rather, his escape. His stuff would take twenty minutes to pull together, his dad’s not much longer. And all the boxes from Hawk’s Ridge were stacked and ready to go. He would talk to his dad, then pack up the car, then call a cleaning service. They could be on the road before midafternoon.
He made mental lists and thought about everything and anything except for the woman curled up asleep in his arms.
Hannah shifted and he buried his face in her hair. Lavender, she smelled of lavender. Maybe some things weren’t meant to have a future. Maybe they could just lie here, together, and never move. Maybe this was enough. Raised on tales of heroic acts committed in the name of devotion, he’d always believed in love that endured, love that never died. After Ally spurned him, he’d convinced himself he would never—could never—love again. And then he’d stumbled into someone else’s family crisis and reverted to that little boy who believed in the curse of happily-ever-after.
He kissed the top of her head. A stolen kiss. She would never know. He wasn’t taking advantage, being a douche bag. He just wanted one memento to carry with him after he left.
Hannah’s head moved up into the crook of his neck, and then kept moving. Her lips brushed his with a sweet, warm kiss, a sleepy statement of reassurance. Nothing that screamed sex, but his body hummed like a tuning fork.
Her hand fumbled with his zipper, and he reached down to stop her. She didn’t want this. She was drugged, half-asleep, seeking escape. And he wasn’t taking advantage of—
She kissed him again. Nothing chaste about the second kiss. It felt like hunger, like raw need. A primal yell stuck in his throat, and in that fragment of distraction, she tore at his sweatshirt, yanking it over his head.
Will grabbed at her robe, tugged it open and pulled her back against his chest until her heart beat into his. The perfect echo. He should slow down, create a golden moment, one that would last forever. But as his mouth found hers, his mind ripped into a thousand sparks. He was light-headed, dizzy, smashed on desire, and then he was spinning outside his body, no longer human. Drunken sex had always been his preference, but this? High on dopamine, he couldn’t figure out where he ended and she began. Didn’t want this; didn’t want to need another person this much. And then, he had no thought at all.
* * *
Gently repositioning her, Will slipped out of the bed and watched Hannah sleep. How could he walk away from this woman?
He had given in to mind-numbing sex without speaking a word, without saying I love you, without even stopping to ask, “Contraception?” And yet, he had no regret. Months of blackness had retreated into the corner. Soon enough he would, once again, be alone with his grief. But right now, it was just him and Hannah.
Raindrops from the night’s storm were splattered on the screen beyond her window, and the first streaks of dawn filtered across Saponi Mountain. He closed her curtains, shutting out the day.
He grabbed his boxers and, stepping over Hannah’s dressing gown, tiptoed out of the room and into the kitchen. It didn’t take him long to find what he needed. When it came to cleaning supplies, Hannah was unsurprisingly logical. Balancing his load—a mop, a bucket, bleach, rubber gloves and a roll of paper towels—he crept up the stairs and headed for the bathroom.
The door was wide-open, as he’d left it. A sour, rancid odor kicked him in the stomach. In his writing, he described the smell of blood as metallic, but this was more like rotting flesh. And urine, he could smell urine. Had Galen pissed himself?
Entering the bathroom, Will kept his eyes on the window as he squatted down, dropped his arm into cold, bloody water and pulled the plug. A few hours earlier, he had looked out of that window and seen flashing lights down below. An image sprung, of emergency vehicles surrounding a crash scene in New York. Had Freddie peed into his car seat in those final moments? Jesus. He ran to the toilet, flipped up the seat and puked.
Sinking to his knees, Will clung to the toilet bowl. How had he conned himself into thinking he could help Hannah when he could barely help himself? Pushing up to standing, Will looked at the blood pooled on the floor and splattered across the mirror. He would scrub until nothing remained but the scent of bleach, and then he would shower off the stink of attempted suicide and return to Hannah’s bed. For just a little while longer.
Twenty-Nine
Hannah rested her head against the door. Walking back into her bedroom could be as devastating as waking up earlier and facing two crushing memories: her son wanted to die, and she had forced herself on his
friend.
Her son wanted to die. And in the past hour, she had discovered that the only person with the power to save him was the guy lying naked in her bed.
She breathed through the impulse to retch. The stench of bleach permeated the house, but it could never erase the memory burned into her mind.
My son wanted to die.
She turned the doorknob.
Will sat up, and the sheet fell to his groin. Images besieged her, images of stripping off his clothes and pinning him to her bed. Using him the same way she’d used the temazepam. To forget that her son wanted to die.
Shame settled: cold, heavy, suffocating.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Will looked younger than ever, whereas she’d aged overnight. For the first time, she was aware life was half-over, not half-begun.
Keeping hold of the doorknob, she eased the door closed behind her and leaned into it. “Thank you. For cleaning the bathroom.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Last night—I’m...I’m just so sorry.”
He twisted the sheet, then untwisted it. “You regret sleeping with me?”
“No, just the sex part.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, it wasn’t...that wasn’t me.”
“Demonic possession?”
“A break with reality.”
“It was pretty intense.” He blushed. “We didn’t even stop to talk contraception.”
“Tubes tied. After Liam was born.”
She broke eye contact first. “What kind of a mother has sex while her son—”
“Hannah,” he said softly. “There’s nothing wrong with what happened between us.”
“How can you say that?” She glanced up. “There’s a world of wrong with what happened! I’ll never forgive myself for being so irresponsible, so selfish, so amoral.”
“I share the blame. I didn’t exactly stop you.”
“I wish you had. I wish life had stopped twenty-four hours ago. I wish today was yesterday and the future was still unlived.”
“Come here.” He started to reach for her, but she couldn’t risk moving. Couldn’t risk a repeat performance of the night before. She could fix this, if they could just forget what had happened in her bed.
His hands jiggled in the air. “Not to...you know...just to cuddle. Last night—you and me—we were good. Together, I mean. Wow.” He smiled. “Stellar communication from someone who’s spent ten years on the New York Times bestseller list.”
“Nothing good can come from last night, Will. Nothing.”
He dug his hands into his hair, combing it back from his forehead. “All I know is that last night we needed each other. You told me things happen for a reason. What if you and me—us—was one of those things that was meant to happen?”
Was, not is. Already she was his past.
“How can it be, Will? You’re a celebrity author who lives in a skyscraper and dates gorgeous young things twenty years my junior. I have two grown sons and a quiet life in the middle of nowhere. You go to charity galas. I stay home and read.”
“I love to stay home and read, too, and I’ve only been to one charity gala, with my ex.”
“It’s irrelevant, Will. We’re on different tracks, heading in different directions. We need to forget last night, concentrate on the only thing that matters right now—saving my son.” She paused. “My suicidal son.”
She had finally branded her son. But this wasn’t labeling, this was staring down truth. This was marching up to the enemy and saying, I’ve seen your face, I know who you are and you will not win. You will not claim my son as well as my father. She was going to fight for her son, fight for his life, and right now the only thing that mattered was convincing Will to help.
He squinted at her alarm clock. “Eleven o’clock? Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I thought you should sleep. Poppy said she could stay with your dad as long as you needed.”
“What time are you going to the hospital?”
“I’m not. Galen refused to see me. He doesn’t want to see Inigo, either. The only person he wants to see—” she stared at Will “—is you.”
“Me? Why would he want to see me?”
“Because you’re his friend. And right now, I’m the enemy.” She opened the door. “I’m fixing breakfast, so why don’t you get dressed and join us. Then I’ll pack a bag of clothes for you to take to Galen. He’s going to call your cell phone with the password for the day. You can’t speak to him without it.”
Will was wasting time. He needed to get moving; he needed to get to the hospital; he needed to show Galen he was not alone. That he was loved.
“Don’t ask me to do this, please,” Will said.
“I’m not asking you. My suicidal son is.”
“That’s even worse.” He swung his legs around and, jumping out of bed, stood before her, naked.
She kept her eyes on his face. “You’re the only person who’s reached my son since he came home. Please, Will. I need you to do this for Galen’s sake.”
“I can’t,” he whispered.
“So Galen has to suffer because I made a terrible mistake?”
“Do you honestly believe that’s what’s going on here?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“This isn’t about us, Hannah. Can we just leave it at that?”
“No!” She threw up her hands. There was no time for anger; she had to stay calm. “Okay, okay. Let’s be adults here and forget that I forced myself on you while my son was fighting for his life. Forget that we—” she shielded her eyes “—forget everything but this. Galen needs you.”
“I’ll do anything else for you, Hannah. Anything.”
“I’m not asking for anything else.”
“Please. You have to trust me when I tell you I cannot help your son.”
“Why?” She folded her arms and waited, but Will stayed silent. “Let me guess, because you have to get back to your life in the city?”
“Yes, no, I mean—”
Hannah turned and left, because what could she say? The only words that filled her mind spoke of humiliation for screwing—quite literally—with the one thing that mattered to Galen: his friendship with Will. But it was irrelevant, because if he wasn’t going to help Galen, then she was done with Will Shepard.
* * *
Will grabbed the edge of the sheet and tugged it off the bed. Tucking in the ends, he hopped after her like some comic-strip mummy. “Come back, let me explain! Darling, please.”
He stumbled, stubbing his toe. “Damn it, Hannah—”
The sheet began to unravel. What the hell. He ditched it and jogged down the hallway.
However she phrased it, she was offering him the parental reins. He’d never wanted to be a parent and yet, for a while, he’d allowed himself to believe fatherhood would be his greatest achievement. But history had a nasty habit of repeating itself. And like his mom, he had proved to be incapable of looking after his son. No way could he fail someone else’s son; no way could he stick around to see if Galen finished the job.
“Hannah—” He rushed into the kitchen. “Come back and—”
“Willie!” His dad pushed up from one of Hannah’s pine chairs. “No sleepin’ naked with the womenfolk around. Cover yourself, son.” He handed Will an oven mitt. Poppy, over by the sink, was holding a dish towel that would have covered more of his groin area, but she seemed reluctant to share. She winked, then craned her neck for a better view.
Hannah turned her back on Will, picked up a metal whisk and began beating a bowl of raw eggs. Up Saponi Mountain, a hawk screeched. Another hawk answered, and for a moment, a soulful duet resonated around the kitchen.
Will shuffled tow
ard his dad in a parody of a straight dance—the warrior dance that was slow and graceful with no fancy moves—and felt stupid as shit. He grabbed the oven mitt.
“Thanks.” Great, now his dad was looking after him.
Hannah cranked and cranked the pepper mill. “I’m fixing everyone breakfast,” she said. “If you want to join us, Will, I suggest you take your father’s advice and get dressed.”
The look she threw over her shoulder shriveled his dick to nothing. He swallowed back a Yes, ma’am.
“Ah, c’mon, Han,” Poppy said. “Us girls gotta get our kicks wherever we can.”
Spontaneous evaporation would have been a blessing.
“Hannah, I—” I what? I love you, but I can’t be there for your son?
“Yes?” She flipped around with the whisk in her hand, and for one brief moment, he wondered if she might hit him with it.
The phone rang and Hannah snatched it up. “Andrew? It’s okay, take a deep breath and start again.” She paused. “Scarlet hasn’t eaten in how long? Okay. Keep her comfortable, and I’ll be there within an hour.”
“Really?” He didn’t like his tone, but now he was ticked off on Galen’s behalf. This was the kind of stunt she’d pulled on his first night home. Had she learned nothing? “Your son’s in the hospital, and you’re going to look after a cat?”
“I’m going to do my job, since my son refuses to see me.” Hannah placed the phone back on the cradle and avoided eye contact. “He does, however, want to see you.”
Will tossed the oven mitt onto the counter and ignored Poppy’s comment of, “Nice bod. Got yourself a keeper there, Han.”
“Galen’s right,” Will said. “You’re a people pleaser with shitty boundaries.”
“Now, son. None of that language around the ladies.”
“Yeah? Tell someone who gives a fuck. I’m going to the hospital.”
Something clattered to the counter, but Will didn’t turn to find out what. He stormed into the hallway and slammed Hannah’s bedroom door. That, without a doubt, was the harshest morning-after scenario ever. Yes, he’d woken up in the wrong bed before and summoned charm he didn’t know he possessed to extricate himself, but this was different. He didn’t want to be the one leaving; he didn’t want Hannah to wish him gone. Clearly, she did. In her eyes, he was little more than a terrible mistake.
In-between Hour (9781460323731) Page 25