Jesus, why is she raising her voice like I’ve shocked her by being in my own bed? And does she need to flail around like a lunatic so early in the morning? Damn, this girl is animated.
“Relax, will you?” I push down her arm, earning a glare that I’ll take on if she stops freaking out. “My head is killing me, and you doing whatever this is”— I imitate her— “isn’t helping it at all.”
“This”— she windmills her arms again— “doesn’t make any noise.”
“You think, but it literally hurts me to watch you do that.” I cover my eyes with my pillow, wishing the world would stop spinning long enough for me to relax.
“Alcohol will do that.” Her hand pats my stomach, and I peek to find a know-it-all smirk gleaming down at me.
“I may have gone a little overboard last night.” I hate admitting that. It makes me seem weak, like I’m unable to control myself.
Something about Hannah Barnes makes me feel like I’m in a church confessional, overcome by the need to speak about my sins. Except my sins aren’t sins at all. I’m a high schooler. We go to parties, make horrible decisions. That hasn’t always been my MO, though, which may explain why she’s giving me that look of disapproval right now.
“The cuts and bruises on your face say more than just a little bit.” She holds up her hand.
Memories flood my mind. She hit that girl last night, for me, then dragged my sorry ass out of the party before it escalated any further.
I pull her hand closer to inspect the bruising. “I wonder what her face looks like this morning.”
“She got what she deserved, coercing you out to that damn fire like a lamb to its death.”
“I’m no lamb.”
“You are the lamb if it’s five against one.”
“I could have taken them.” Alcohol has a way of making me invincible. More than likely, I would’ve gotten my ass handed to me. My eyes shift to Hannah, and I flash a smirk to try to prove my confidence. “And you better believe I would’ve given them one hell of a fight.”
“I know, but instead, you allowed them to beat the shit out of you because you want to play the martyr.” She wraps her arms tight around her knees while looking at me over her shoulder.
“How much did I say last night in my drunken haze?” Through her thin shirt, I watch the curve of her spine flex as she wiggles her ass against my mattress. Something picks at the back of my mind, telling me she’s still in my bed for a reason.
“Enough, and just to set the record straight, you don’t deserve to feel an ounce of the pain she endured. What happened to her was unfortunate and so not fair, but it wasn’t due to anything you did, so you can stop not fighting back.” She laughs. “Even better, you can stop fighting altogether.”
“I’m a hockey player. What do you expect?” My brushoff attempt leaves my body feeling heavy. Why is avoidance easier than admitting the truth? Can I tell her it feels good to have someone’s fist connecting with my jaw? That the pain reminds me I’m still alive even when sometimes it feels like I’m drowning? Of course, I can’t. No one wants to hear that kind of heavy shit first thing in the morning, if ever.
She rolls her eyes in this endearing way that makes me want to know what she’s thinking. “You weren’t like this when she was alive.”
Ouch. That one fucking hurt.
“I’m not the same person I was then, either.” I stand on the bed and bounce on the mattress. Hannah tousles a bit, and her grin spreads wider. “People change,” I say, plopping back down onto the mattress.
“People change because they’re too afraid to be the person they were before.” She pivots her body away from me. Is she afraid to hear the truth as much as I’m afraid to speak it? “What are you so afraid of?”
“I was the perfect boyfriend who worshiped the ground she walked on.” I play with the seam of the comforter I apparently cuddled under last night. “There was never a moment where anyone debated my character or my dependability. Where did that get me? Sue me for wanting to test waters I’ve never been in before.”
“This fuck boy thing you have going on is here to stay, then?” She barely holds back her laughter.
“Did you just call me a fuck boy?” Does she think so little of me? Maybe it’s a compliment. Doubtful.
“If it quacks.” She shrugs, jumping off my bed. She opens a few drawers, stealing a pair of sweats and my favorite long sleeve t-shirt.
“What exactly are you doing?” I ask, pulling out my own change of clothes. “You’re wearing perfectly good clothes.”
Hannah circles her finger, prompting me to look away. Behind me, I hear clothes being shed and thrown onto the end of my mattress.
“Okay, all is clear.” She taps me on the shoulder. “And I can’t be seen wearing the clothes I wore yesterday when you take me out to breakfast.”
I look her up and down. Just like my sweatshirt, the shirt swallows her body, and the sweats drag against the carpet, hiding her feet. “Are you trying to steal all of my clothes? Don’t think I forgot you still have my sweatshirt.”
“They look better on me, anyway.” She has me there. The way they drape over her small frame, makes me wonder what’s underneath. “Come on and buy me breakfast, then take me to get my car.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“Yes, it’s the very least you can do.” She grabs her shoes off the floor and heads for the door.
Hannah’s really about to walk down the stairs where my mom and dad are. They’re probably sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, and the minute they see her, they’ll have a thousand questions.
“Good morning!” Hannah sing-songs.
Jesus! She makes herself at home, doesn’t she?
“Good morning,” my dad says. The questions are in his tone. He’s baffled as to why Hannah is standing in his doorway at nine in the morning.
“I need some orange juice.” I push past Hannah and open the fridge.
“Did you stay the night, Hannah?”
I look at my mom as I sit down at the island. Did she already know she was here?
“I apologize. I shouldn’t have, but your son wasn’t exactly in the best mind frame last night,” Hannah explains, looking back at me with a raised eyebrow.
“I heard you thumping up the stairs last night,” my dad says, raising a matching eyebrow to Hannah’s.
“I know I’m a complete fuck up.”
“Do you honestly think I never stumbled into my parents’ home when I was in high school?” Dad stands from the table, puts his dish into the sink, and walks to the door. “Please, don’t make this a regular occurrence, and all will be good.” He smiles at Hannah. “And count your blessings you have a friend who’s willing to drag your drunk ass around.”
We laugh, but there’s an undertone to the humor. They’re barely holding onto my new reality. My choices haven’t been the best lately, and instead of grounding my ass for it, they’re letting me go through the motions. Maybe they’re afraid I’ll spiral deeper if they don’t let me handle this in the way I believe I need to.
“Okay, Nick, you owe me a stack of pancakes.” Hannah pats me on the shoulder, signaling it’s time to go.
“I like her,” my dad calls from the living room.
“Anyone who can give me a run for my money is good in your eyes.” I squeeze his shoulder as I pass. Hannah is right on my heels.
He shifts his eyes from the newspaper and smiles at me. “Someone needs to.” His attention moves to Hannah. “Thank you, again.”
Hannah nods like she knows nothing else needs to be said. She doesn’t remind me of the kind of person who needs constant praise for the good she does. She does it with nothing expected in return, except maybe breakfast, apparently.
“You look ridiculous in my clothes. You know that, right?” I glance at her in the passenger seat. “I expect to get those back.”
“Keep your eyes on the road, please.” She takes out her phone and starts to text someone.
We pull into the small parking lot, and she’s quick to jump out. This girl is hungry. I follow her inside and tell the hostess we need a table for two. She smiles at me, tucking two menus under her arm as she guides us to a table in the back.
“Your waitress will be over in a second.” The hostess puts a menu in front of Hannah and then in front of me, except I earn a little extra attention. Her fingers graze my hand before she leaves the table.
“That happens a lot, doesn’t it? The flirty touches and googly eyes whenever you step into a room?” Hannah groans, holding up the menu to cover her face.
Is that a hint of jealousy I hear? I’d really like it if she’d uncover her face.
Hannah and I are friends because of Mia, but now, we’re forging this new dynamic without her. Although most of it seems to be fueled by my own stupidity, I’m finding myself intrigued by having her around. I’m not sure where that’s coming from.
Before Mia passed, Hannah was simply a girl who hung around us. With her boisterous personality, she’s not easy to ignore. During the summer months when we were at the beach, there may have been moments when my eyes wandered a little too long on her body. I’m human, and sure as hell not a saint, but I always felt guilty for it immediately after. Mia was my girl. Hannah was her best friend.
“When you’re as handsome as me, it sort of just happens.” I shrug, flicking my fingers against her menu, making it jump and proving what I’d thought I heard.
Her smirk is complicated. She’s jealous, but perhaps even a little amused by me.
The waitress walks to our table, her focus aimed on me. She barely side-eyes Hannah, which only makes Hannah more annoyed.
At one point, she rolls her eyes, slams her hand on the table, and groans, forcing the waitress to glance her way. “Hi, I’m over here. I know he’s gorgeous and everything, but I’m starving, too.”
My eyes widen, and I can’t stop the laugh that pops from my mouth. Jesus, this girl is a piece of work.
“I’m so sorry.” The waitress hunches over, cringing. “What can I get you?”
“Your biggest stack of blueberry pancakes, an order of bacon, and a trough of coffee, please.” She grins wildly at the waitress, and a storm brews in her eyes as she points at me. “This guy kept me up all night, if you know what I mean.”
“I’ll... have it right up,” the waitress says, backing away from our table.
The look of horror in her eyes clearly amuses Hannah, because she can’t hold back the damn giggles.
“Are you proud of yourself?” I lean my elbows on the table, unable to stop my own laughter. “You just embarrassed that poor girl.”
“She embarrassed herself by coming over here like a dog in heat.”
“Hannah Barnes, are you jealous?” A part of me, the tiniest segment of my brain, hopes she is. That isn’t something I’m ready to unload or try to begin to understand, though. She’s Mia’s best friend, but it’s hard to ignore the smile she seems to always sport when I’m around.
“Not even the slightest.” She gazes around the room. “I just feel sorry for girls who feel the need to be so obvious.”
“Unlike you, right?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. You think you go unnoticed, only coming up for attention when you want it. In reality, you just walking into a room makes some of these guys pant like—what was it?—dogs in heat?” I laugh, leaning back in my chair to get comfortable.
Everything I’ve just said is true. Hannah doesn’t date. At least not openly. She’s definitely not a virgin. When we were sophomores, a senior made sure of that, too happy to announce he hooked up with Coach’s daughter. One thing though about Hannah is that she doesn’t realize how much power she has in her tiny little body. Even the strongest willed person would crack under one of her knowing glances.
“What’s your point?” She shrugs, unmoved by my words.
“It was meant as a compliment, if you didn’t catch that.”
“No, I caught it, Nick. You think I’m pretty.” Her smirk grows slow, like a sunrise. “What I don’t understand is why you’re saying it.”
I laugh uncomfortably under her watch. “That makes two of us.”
We stare at each other, until she breaks away, using the fork and knife as a good distraction. Our waitress slips in, dropping off our food, and is gone before we can utter a single word. Hannah really did a number on her head.
She smothers the stack with syrup, cuts off a large chunk, and dives in as though it’s her last meal before she’s executed. You’d think she’d never eaten a pancake before. By the third or fourth bite, she freezes. She lowers the fork to the plate, and her head lifts so slow, it’s almost comical.
“Is your food okay?” she asks, looking over my plate with this worried, annoyed expression I don’t think I’ve ever seen on her face before.
“How can I eat when you look like you’re in the middle of an eating contest?” I joke, allowing myself to really laugh.
I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard in a while. It’s like one ridiculous minute with Hannah has lifted the tension off my chest. This is what it feels like to be carefree. You truly don’t understand what that means until you lose it.
“Jerk!” she squeals.
“Oww!” I yelp. “Did you just kick me?” Leaning down, I rub the spot on my shin where her shoe connected.
In comfortable silence, we eat our breakfast. Every so often, Hannah glances up, and when I notice, she drops her stare back to her plate. She finishes before me but swirls the leftovers around the plate, like she’s in need of a distraction.
When I take my last bite, she eats the last small piece. What is her deal? Did I say something?
“You ready?” I ask, standing and collecting the check.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” she answers.
As I pay at the front counter, she walks outside and leans her head against the passenger window.
I unlock and open her door. I’ve never done that before, and she questions it with an eyebrow raise as she slips under my arm and gets into the truck.
“You good?” I ask as I pull out of the parking lot.
She nods in answer, laying her head on the cool window. We drive through town, not saying a single word. All this silence is driving me crazy. That seems to be how we operate, though. I’m not even sure what we are doing here.
“Last night, I didn’t want to stay the night,” she whispers as I park on the side of the road next to her car.
“Oookaaay.” I don’t understand what she’s trying to get out.
“And then when I tried to get up, you pulled me back.” Her head turns, and her eyes burn into mine.
“I’m sorry,” I say, because it seems like the right thing to say. Am I sorry, though? I can’t be so sure. Even in my drunken haze, I remember the smell of her shampoo as she rested with her back to my chest, her hair spread across my pillow, tickling my nose. She fit to my body like a puzzle piece, and I’m ashamed to admit, I liked feeling her close to me.
“It’s just that you and I, we’ve never been close like that, and it took me by surprise, I guess.” She rubs her hands down the front of the pants she’s stolen from me.
“That’s fair. It won’t happen again,” I say, putting my truck into park to allow her to get out.
“It’s not that I didn’t like the way it felt,” she whispers as she jumps down. Her eyes widen as she comes face-to-face with me. “I don’t even know what I’m saying, Nick. Ignore me. Thank you for breakfast, and for taking me back to get my car.”
Does this girl even take a damn breath when she speaks? And she looks like she’s swatting flies in the air with how frantic her hands are moving around.
If her rambling tells me anything, I’d say she feels like she fucked up by saying what she did.
“Hannah, chill out. It’s all good. I’ll see you at school.”
She closes the door, not bothering to look bac
k. That shouldn’t disturb me, but it does.
Things feel unsettled and unsaid between us. We’ve been stuck inside this limbo of friendship and obligation. Hannah and I don’t have to be friends, but something keeps pulling us together. Some could argue it’s my personal choices that landed us at each other’s feet. They’d be right.
What I can’t put a finger on is why Hannah is so hell bent on pulling me from the darkness.
Chapter Seven
Hannah
“You doing okay?” Nicole sits down beside me in the cafeteria. “I didn’t hear from you all week, and every time I tried to talk, you seemed so out of it.”
“I’m sorry.” The lie rolls off my tongue.
Sometimes it’s hard to be around people, but no one wants to hear that kind of honesty. I struggle too much, trying to understand my own feelings and my own place in my own story, to bother anyone else with my bullshit. This is something I’d talk to Mia about. Ironically, she’s the one person I wouldn’t be able to talk to about this.
Ever since I’d picked Nick up from that party and stayed with him, my mind has been all over the place. The memory of the way he held me to him, it’s fucking with my head.
It’s been three days. We haven’t spoken except for a quick text I’d sent asking if we were okay. That seems to be our thing. Share a moment, dead silence, and then we talk again when he needs rescuing again.
Keeping my promise is becoming unbearably impossible.
“Did your dad tell you what happened at practice on Monday?” She steals a chip from my bag, popping it into her mouth, too excited to tell me. “I guess Nick showed up a little drunk.”
“No, he did not!” I look around the lunchroom for any sign of him. We left things at my car kind of strange. Everything felt off.
“Yep, and now he’s on suspension for one game, and his parents really laid into him.” She grabs the bag from my hands and continues to snack on them. “I mean, it’s about damn time. They’ve been letting him act like a fucking fool since Mia died.”
The bell rings, and I stand to throw my garbage away. “I’ll catch you after school. Maybe we can hang out or something.” With my books under my arms, I work my way through the crowded hallways.
Under a Different Sky Page 7