Fox had never been overboard, but that possibility struck fear in the heart of every fisherman. The chances of being sucked down into the icy cold drink, the air drawn straight out of his lungs, the hull of the ship becoming smaller and smaller above, land a distant memory. Yet he knew with dead certainty that meeting his demise at the bottom of the ocean would be favorable compared to watching Hannah walk out his front door, her shoulders shaking with silent tears.
He’d been so sure he was doing the right thing.
But how could the right thing make that sweet girl cry?
Oh Jesus, he’d made her cry. And she loved him.
She fucking loved him?
His feet wouldn’t move, his eyes burned, his body ached. He should go after her, but he knew Hannah. None of the words in his head right now were the correct ones, and she wasn’t going to accept anything less. Christ, he couldn’t help but be proud of the way she’d looked him in the eye and read him the riot act, even as she tore the heart clean out of his chest. That was some real leading-lady shit.
I love you more than life. Don’t go.
Those were the words he wanted to shout at her retreating back. They wouldn’t penetrate, though. He could see that. She didn’t want impulsive, emotional statements from him. She wanted him to . . . pull his head out of his stubborn ass.
The door clicked shut behind Hannah, and his knees gave out, dropping him down to the bed, not a stitch of clothing on. With his pounding head clutched in his hands, he shouted a vile curse into the silent room that smelled like her, a fishhook impaling his gullet and ripping downward, all the way to his belly. He needed her back in his arms so badly, his entire body shook in bereavement.
But as terribly as he wanted her back, Fox didn’t know how to do it the right way. He had no earthly clue how to make his head healthy for her. For them.
He only knew one thing. The answers weren’t in this empty apartment, and the lack of Hannah’s presence mocked him everywhere. In his bedroom where they’d spent nights wrapped around each other, the kitchen where he’d fed her soup and ice cream, the living room where she’d cried over her father. As quickly as he could, he dragged his jeans and T-shirt back on, grabbed his car keys, and left.
* * *
The change of scenery didn’t help.
It wasn’t the apartment Hannah was haunting so beautifully.
It was him.
Didn’t matter how hard he applied the gas pedal, she came with him, as if her mussed dirty-blond head was resting on his shoulder, her fingers lazily playing with the radio. The image struck so deep, he had to breathe through it.
Fox had no idea where he was going. No clue at all.
Not until he pulled up outside his mother’s apartment.
He cut the engine and sat there dumbfounded. Why here?
And had he really been driving a full two hours?
Charlene had sold his childhood home a long time ago and bought a condo in what amounted to a retirement complex. His mother grew up next door to the old folks’ home where her parents worked, and she’d always been most comfortable around the blue-haired crowd, hence her living situation and job as a bingo caller. Fox’s father had always made fun of her for that, telling her she would get old before her time, but Fox didn’t see it that way. Charlene just stuck to what she knew.
Fox stared through the windshield at the complex, the empty pool visible through the side gate. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d been here. A birthday or two. Christmas morning. He’d have come more often if he didn’t know it was difficult for his mother to look at him.
On top of tonight’s catastrophe, did he really want to see his mother and encounter the flinch? Maybe he did. Maybe he’d come here to punish himself for hurting Hannah. For making her cry. For failing to be the man she stubbornly believed him to be.
Take some time and think.
Because next time you tell me good-bye, I’ll believe you.
Did that mean she didn’t believe him tonight?
Did she know he wouldn’t have made it a day without texting her? Did she know he’d melt at the sight of her for the rest of his life, every single time she visited Westport? Did she suspect he’d fly to LA and beg for forgiveness?
He probably would have done all those things.
But he’d still be the same person, with all the same hang-ups.
And he didn’t want them anymore.
Admitting that to himself untangled the fishing line in his gut, gave him the impetus to climb out of the car. All the apartments were identical, so he had to double-check his mother’s address in his phone contacts. Then he was standing in front of her door, fist poised to knock, when Charlene opened it.
Winced at the sight of him.
Fox took it on the chin, like he always did. Smiled. Leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Hey, Ma.”
She folded her arms behind his neck, squeezing him tight. “Well! Caroline from 1A called and said there was a handsome man lurking in the parking lot, and I was going to inspect. Turns out it was my son!”
Fox attempted a chuckle, but his throat only sounded like a garbage disposal. God, he felt like he’d been run over, the aches and pains stemming from the middle of his chest. “Next time, don’t go check it out yourself. Call the police.”
“Oh, I was just going to look through Caroline’s binoculars and have a gab about it. Don’t worry about me, boy. I’m indestructible.” She stepped back and looked at him. “Not sure I can say the same for you. Never seen you look so green around the gills.”
“Yeah.” Finally, she took his elbow and ushered him inside, pointing him toward the small dining-room table, where he took a seat. The round piece of furniture was painted powder blue, covered in knickknacks, but the misshapen frog ashtray was what caught his attention. “Did I make this?”
“Sure did. Ceramics class your sophomore year of high school. Coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
Charlene sat down across from him with a steaming mug in her hand. “Well, go on.” She paused to take a sip. “Tell me what happened with Hannah.”
Fox’s chest wanted to cave in just hearing her name. “How did you know?”
“It’s like I always say, a man doesn’t bring a woman to bingo unless he’s serious about her.” She tapped a nail against her mug. “Nah. But in truth, I could tell by the way you looked at her, she was something real special.”
“How did I look at her?” He was afraid to find out.
“Ah, son. Like a summer day showing up after a hundred years of winter.”
Fox couldn’t speak for long moments. Could only stare down at the table, trying to get rid of the painful squeeze in his throat, seventeen incarnations of Hannah’s smile playing in his head. “Yeah, well. I told her it was over tonight. She disagreed.”
Charlene had to set her coffee down, she was laughing so hard. “Hold on to that one.” She used her wrist to swipe at her eyes. “She’s a keeper.”
“You don’t really think I could, though.” He twisted the ceramic frog on the table. “Hold on to her. Hold on to anyone.”
His mother’s laughter cut off abruptly. “And why not?”
“You know why.”
“I surely do not.”
Fox laughed without humor. “You know, Ma. The way I kept Dad’s legacy alive. The way I’ve carried on more than half my life now. That’s what I know. That’s what I’m used to. It’s no use trying to be something I’m not. And, Jesus, I’m definitely not one half of a couple.”
Charlene fell silent, looking almost pained. Proof that she agreed. Maybe she didn’t want to say it out loud, but she knew he spoke the truth.
It was too hard to witness her disappointment, but when Fox stood to leave, Charlene spoke and he lowered back into the seat.
“You never had the chance to try . . . to be anything else. ‘He’s going to be a heartbreaker, just like his father.’ That’s what everyone used to say, and I laughed. I laughed, but it stuck. And then . . .”
“What?”
“This is hard to talk about,” she said quietly, standing to top off her coffee, eventually sitting back down and visibly gathering her poise. “I’d spent years of my life trying to change your father. Make him a home, make him happy with me and me alone. Us alone. Well, you know how that worked out. He came home smelling like a perfume factory five nights out of seven.” She paused to huff a breath. “When you got older and started looking like him, I guess . . . I guess I was too scared to try. To teach you how to be different from him and have my heart broken all over again if you resisted. So I just . . . I didn’t resist. In fact, I joined in with the chorus and encouraged you to break hearts and . . . and the coffee tin . . .” She covered her face with her hands. “I want to die just thinking about it.”
On reflex, Fox glanced at the cabinet, as if he might find it there, stuffed full of condom money. Even though he wouldn’t. Even though it wasn’t the same house. “It’s okay, Ma.”
“No, it’s not.” She shook her head. “I needed to explain to you, Fox, that you’re nothing like him. To correct the damaging things you believed about yourself. These misconceptions. But you’d already started doing exactly what we encouraged you to do from the start. When you came back from college, you’d retreated into a hard shell. There was no talking to you then. And here we are now, years later. Here we are.”
Fox ran back through everything she’d said, his deepest insecurities exposed like a raw nerve, but so what. Nothing hurt like Hannah leaving hurt. Not even this. “If you don’t think I’m anything like him, why do you flinch every time you see me?”
Charlene paled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing that.” A beat passed. “Some of the time, I can live with the guilt of failing you. When I see you, though, that guilt hits me like a backhand to the cheek. That flinch is for me, not you.”
An unexpected burn started behind his eyes.
Something hard began to erode in the vicinity of his heart.
“I remember some of the things he said to you, all the way back to fourth grade, fifth grade. Which one in the class was your girlfriend? When were you going to start going on dates? Boy, you’ll have your pick of the litter! And I thought it was funny. I even said those things myself once in a while.” She reached for her pack of cigarettes, tapped one out and lit it, blowing the smoke out of the side of her mouth. “Should have been encouraging you to do well in class. Or join clubs. Instead, we made life about . . . intimacy for you. From the damn jump. And I don’t have any excuse except to say, your father’s life was women. By default, so was mine. The affairs surrounded us at the time, took up all the air. We let it hurt our son, too. Let it turn into a shadow to follow you around. That’s the real tragedy. Not the marriage.”
Fox had to stand up. Had to move.
He remembered his parents saying those things to him. Of course he did. However, all the way up until this moment, it never once occurred to him that all parents weren’t saying those things to their kids. Never occurred to him that he’d effectively been brainwashed into believing his identity was the sum of his success with women. And . . .
And his mother didn’t wince when she saw him because he reminded her of his father. It was guilt. Fox didn’t like that, either. He owned his actions and didn’t want his mother claiming responsibility for them, because that would be cowardly. But, God, it was a relief. To know his mother didn’t dread seeing his face. To know he wasn’t broken, but maybe, just maybe, he’d been wedged into a category before he even knew what was happening.
More than anything in that moment, he wished for Hannah.
He wished to burrow his face into her neck and tell her everything Charlene had said, so she could sum it up perfectly for him in her Hannah way. So she could kiss the salt from his skin and save him. But Hannah wasn’t there. She’d gone. He’d sent her away. So he had to rescue himself. Had to work this out for himself.
“People will think she’s crazy to take a chance on me. People will assume I’m going to do to her what Dad did to you.”
When no response was forthcoming, Fox looked back over his shoulder to find Charlene aggressively stubbing out her cigarette. “Let me tell you a story. Earl and Georgette have been coming to bingo for over a decade, sitting on opposite sides of the hall. As far away from each other as they can get. They might look like sweet little seniors, but let me tell you, they are stubborn as shit.” Charlene lit another cigarette, comfortable in the middle of her storytelling. “Earl used to be married to Georgette’s sister, right up until she passed. Young. Maybe in her fifties. And, well, through comforting each other, Earl and Georgette got to falling in love, right? Both of them worried about people judging them, so they stopped seeing each other. Cut each other right off. But hell if they didn’t stare at each other across the bingo hall like two lovesick puppies for years.”
“What happened?”
“I’m going to tell you, aren’t I?” She puffed her smoke. “Then Georgette got sick. Same illness as her sister. And there was Earl, not only left to realize he’d missed out on creating a life with the woman he loved, but having no right to help her through the rough time. No right to care for her. Did it matter what other people thought at that point? No. It did not.”
“Christ, Ma. You couldn’t have picked something a little more uplifting?”
“I haven’t finished yet,” she said patiently, enjoying herself. “Earl professed his love to Georgette and moved in, nursed her back to health. Now they sit in the front row every time I host bingo in Aberdeen. Can’t pry them apart with a butter knife. And you know what? Everyone is happy for them. You can’t live life worrying about what people will think. You’ll wake up one day, look at a calendar, and count the days you could have spent being happy. With her. And no one else, especially the ones wagging their tongues, are going to be there to console you.”
Fox thought of waking up in fifteen years and having spent none of it with Hannah, and he got dizzy, his mother’s kitchen spinning around him, his lungs on fire. Crossing to the living room, he fell back on the couch and counted off his breaths, trying to fight through the sudden nausea.
Exhaustion crashed down on him unexpectedly, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was having his long-standing issues unraveled, explained, and the subsequent weightless feeling in his stomach. Maybe it was the emotional excess or the utter depression of losing Hannah and making her cry, plus knowing his mother didn’t secretly hate him. All of it wrapping around his head like a thick, fuzzy bandage, blurring his thoughts until they were nothing more than a fading echo. His head dropped back against the cushion, and his roundabout worries eventually sent him into a deep sleep. The last thing he remembered was his mother laying a blanket over him and the promise he made to himself. As soon as he woke up, he’d go get her.
Hang on. I’ll be right there, Freckles.
* * *
Fox woke up in the sunlight to the chatter of voices.
He sat up and looked around, piecing together the night before, trying to clear the cobwebs that clung harder than usual. Tchotchkes on every surface, the lingering smell of Marlboro Reds. This was his mother’s living room. He knew that much. And then their conversation came back in precise detail, followed by a sinking feeling in his stomach.
It was morning. Eight in the morning.
The bus . . . the bus back to LA left at seven.
“No.” Fox almost got sick. “No, no, no.”
He was off the couch like a shot, his stomach pitching violently. Several pairs of eyes stared back at him from the kitchen, belonging to the senior ladies who’d apparently congregated in Charlene’s kitchen for coffee and donuts.
“Morning, honey,” his mother sang from the table, in the same place she’d sat last night. Same mug in her hands. “Got a bear claw over here with your name on it. Come meet the lady gang.”
“I can’t. I . . . She’s leaving. She’s . . . left?” He patted the pocket of his jeans and found his phone, the battery at 6 percent, and quickly tapped Hannah’s number, raking a hand through his hair and pacing while it rang. No way. No way he let her get on a bus back to California. He didn’t have a plan yet, didn’t have a strategy for keeping Hannah. He only knew that the fear of God was rattling his bones. That—the reality of her actually being gone—along with what his mother had said to him last night, had damn well put Fox’s priorities in order.
My head is out of my ass, Hannah. Answer the phone.
Voicemail.
Of course it was the opening bars to “Me and Bobby McGee,” followed by the husky efficiency of her greeting.
Fox stopped pacing, the sound of her voice against his ear washing over him like warmth from a fireplace. Oh God, oh God, he’d been such a jackass. This girl, this one-in-a-billion angel of a girl, loved him. He loved her back in a wild, desperate, uncontrollable way. And he didn’t know how to build a home with her, but they would figure it out together. That he was positive about.
Hannah gave him faith. She was his faith.
The beep sounded in his ear. “Hannah, it’s me. Please, please, get off the bus. I’m coming home right now. I’m . . .” His voice lost power. “Just get off the bus somewhere safe and wait for me, all right? I fucking love you. I love you. And I’m sorry you fell in love with an idiot. I’m . . .” Find the words. Find the right words. “Remember in Seattle, you said we’ve been trying this whole time. Since last summer. To be in a relationship. I didn’t fully understand at the time, but I do now. There was never going to be a life away from you, because, Jesus, that’s no life at all. You, Hannah. Are my life. I love you and I’m coming home, so please, babe. Please. Will you just wait for me? I’m sorry.”
Fox stopped and listened, as if she might somehow answer and reassure him like she always did, then hung up with dread curdling in his stomach. Looked up to find the women in various states of crying, from dabbing away tears to openly weeping.
“I have to go.”
No one tried to stop Fox as he ran out the door and sprinted to his truck, throwing himself into the driver’s seat and peeling out. He hit a stoplight on the way to the highway and cursed, slamming on the brakes. Restless without being in motion, he took out his phone again and called Brendan.
“Fox,” the captain said, answering on the first ring. “I’ve been meaning to call you, actually. I want to apologize again—”
“Good. Do it another time, though.” The light turned green, and he floored it, merging onto the highway, thanking God there didn’t seem to be any rush hour traffic. “Is Hannah with you guys? Did she stay there last night?”
A brief pause. “No. She didn’t stay with you?”
“No.” Knowing he could have spent the night with Hannah—and didn’t—was a bitter pill to swallow. It was a world that didn’t make sense, and he never wanted to live in it again. Where would she have gone? There were a couple of inns in Westport, but she wouldn’t check in somewhere, would she? Maybe she’d gone to the house where the crew was staying. All of them would have gotten on the bus an hour ago. She went with them. She’s gone. “No, she’s not with me,” he rasped, misery washing over him. “Look. It’s complicated. Predictably, I fucked everything up. I need a chance to fix it.”
“Hey. Whatever you did, I’m sure you can repair it.”
No accusations. No knowing sighs or disappointment.
Just faith.
Fox ached just above his collarbone. Maybe, like the ocean, he could evolve.
Maybe the crew would realize they were wrong about him after some time passed. After all, they were just following his lead, treating him like he asked them to. Like the cheap version of himself he’d presented. Demanding respect from Brendan one time was all it took to change his best friend’s tune. What if that was all it took to do the same with everyone else?
And if it didn’t work? The hell with them. His relationship with Hannah belonged to him and her. No one else.
Either way, he was going to do everything in his power to keep Hannah.
That was a given.
Imagining a future without her had his hands shaking on the wheel.
For the first time since he’d left for college, he was eager to find out how far his potential could reach. He was ready to take chances again. Maybe because he now knew, after speaking frankly with Charlene, that he’d been guided incorrectly. Or maybe because he was no longer so afraid of being judged. He was driving blindly, pretty sure Hannah had gone back to LA. This was pain. This was self-loathing. Losing the love of his life—his future—because he’d let the past win. He could endure and overcome anything but this.
Cradling the phone between his cheek and shoulder, he ripped off the leather bracelet and threw it out the window of his car. “I want the boat, Brendan.”
Even without seeing his best friend’s face, he could imagine the raised eyebrow, the thoughtful stroking of his jaw. “You sure?”
“Positive. And I’m putting in a new chair. Your ass grooves are in the old one.” He waited for his friend to stop chuckling. “Is Piper there? Has she spoken to Hannah?”
“She’s out on her run. I can call her—”
Fox’s phone died.
The breath hissed out of him, and he threw the device onto the dashboard, heart slamming in his ears as he wove in and out of traffic. She couldn’t be gone. All right, they hadn’t agreed on a timeline for him to come and find her. Perhaps she thought she’d go back to LA and he’d take a few weeks or even months to figure out he’d die without her? Maybe he should have assumed she would leave this morning? Well, he hadn’t. He’d been thinking about it for weeks, and when the moment finally came, his heart had blocked the painful possibility.
Too late. He was too late.
God, she could have changed her mind. Maybe she wasn’t giving him time to pull his head out of his stubborn ass at all. That would explain why she wasn’t answering her phone. She’d deemed Fox more trouble than he was worth. If that was the case, it wouldn’t matter if he flew to LA. Or drove like a bat out of hell and caught up with the bus. If she was done with him . . .
No.
No, please. He couldn’t think like that.
With his skin somehow icy and sweating at the same time, Fox took the exit to Westport an hour and a half later, searching the streets for members of the cast or crew. Would he even recognize any of them? At that moment, he would have been grateful to see the fucking director and his yuppie turtleneck. None of the people waving as he passed were non-locals, though. None of them. No bus idling on the harbor.
Gone.
“No, Hannah,” he said hoarsely. “No.”
He parked haphazardly outside his apartment, prepared to go inside and pack a bag. He’d get on the highway and catch up with the bus. Wait for it to stop and beg her to listen. If he couldn’t find the bus, he’d get on a plane. Bottom line, he wasn’t coming back here until they were unequivocally committed. With a plan.
A plan.
He might have laughed if he wasn’t on the verge of splitting straight down the middle. Suddenly, he could think of a million plans. Because he was capable of anything. They were. Together.
As long as she hadn’t given up on him—
Fox walked into his apartment and stopped dead in his tracks.
Hannah sat cross-legged on the floor in front of his record player, giant can headphones over her ears, humming along to the music.
If she’d heard him or turned around in that moment, she would have seen him slump back against the door, shaking. Seen him use the hem of his T-shirt to wipe the scalding moisture from his eyes. Would have seen the prayers he mouthed at the ceiling. But, oblivious, she didn’t turn. Didn’t witness him devouring the tilt of her neck with his gaze, the line of her shoulders. Inhaling the breathiness of her voice singing along to Soundgarden.
As soon as he could walk straight, he went toward her, picking up her phone where it rested on the counter, his voicemail not yet played.
He dug for the right words.
Ones that could possibly express how much he loved her.
But in the end, all he had to do was listen to his heart and trust himself.
He came to a stop beside her, and she jolted and looked up at him.
They stared for long moments, searching each other for answers.
He gave her one by changing the record. Putting on “Let’s Stay Together” by Al Green. Watching her expression soften with each word. Lyrics that couldn’t have been more appropriate. When tears started to fill her beautiful eyes, Fox pulled Hannah to her feet and they slow danced to the music in her ears and the music in his heart, the headphones only coming off when the song ended.
“I love you,” Fox said thickly, still rocking her side to side. Holding on to her like a life preserver in the middle of the Bering. “Oh my God, I love you so much, Hannah.” He burrowed his face into her hair, starved for closeness to her, this incredible person who somehow loved him. “I thought you left,” he said, lifting her off the floor and walking toward the bedroom. “I thought you left.”
“No. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.” Her arms tightened around his neck. “I love you too much.”
As he laid her down on the bed, tears leaked from his eyes, and Hannah reached up, wiped them away, along with her own. “What happened to you giving me time to pull my head out of my ass?”
“Six hours seemed like more than enough,” she whispered up at him.
Happiness rushed in, crowding him from all sides. And he let it. Let himself accept it and think of all the ways he could give happiness to her in return. For the rest of his life. Every hour, every day.
Fox covered her with his body, both of them groaning against each other’s mouth, sliding and writhing muscle on curves. “We can find a place in between here and Seattle. That way if you get a job in the city, we cut the commute in half for us both.” He unfastened her jeans and pushed a hand inside, watching her eyes go blind when his fingers tucked into her panties and found her. There. Pressing between her seam of flesh and rubbing with increasing pressure. “Does that work for you?”
“Yes,” she gasped when he slowly worked his middle finger inside, drawing it in and out. “Mmmm. I like that idea. W-we can find out who we’ll become together. Without everyone around all the t-time.”
Fox nodded, took his time tugging off her jeans and panties, eventually rendering her naked while he remained fully clothed on top of her, pressing her down into the bedclothes. “Whoever we become together, Hannah,” he said, mouth roaming over hers, fingers reaching down to lower his zipper. “I’m yours and you’re mine. So it’s always going to be right.” His throat started to close as he pushed inside her, those thighs of hers jerking up into the perfect position. “I didn’t know what right felt like until you,” he choked out. “I’m holding on to the good you give me. I’m holding on to you.”
“I’m hanging on to you, too, Fox Thornton,” she murmured unevenly, her body propelled up the bed on his first drive, eyes glazing. “Never letting go.”
“I’m in for the good, bad, and everything in between, Hannah.” He pressed his open mouth to the side of her neck and pushed deeper, deep enough, close enough to feel her breathe, and rejoiced in it. “Decades. A lifetime. I’m in.”
