Page 40 of From This Moment (After We Fall 4)
She clucked her tongue. “I couldn’t sleep. No idea why. Probably the full moon or something.”
It was that kind of night, I thought.
“Want some breakfast? I could make you some eggs.”
“No thanks. I’ll get something when I’m back. I don’t eat before a run.”
“Okay, dear. What’s that?” She gestured to the envelope in my hand.
“Nothing. Just a little note for Abby on her first day of school.”
She beamed. “How sweet. You’ve really taken to her, huh?”
I shrugged. “Who wouldn’t take to her?”
“I think it’s sweet. You’re just so good with kids. Not all men are. You’d be such a great dad.”
I saw where this had the potential to go and cut it off at the pass. “We’ll see. I’m off.” I gave her a wave and slipped out the back door, setting out at a light jog to warm up.
Hannah’s house was probably about three miles from my parents’, and I covered the distance in about twenty-five minutes. Her mailbox was at the foot of the driveway, but I was worried Abby wouldn’t see it before school if I put it in there. Instead, I quietly went up on the porch, opened the screen door, and tucked the envelope into the frame of the wooden door. Once it was secure, I stood there for a moment thinking about Hannah and the night before, feeling guilty and sad. I should have just gone home after reading the story to Abby. Hannah was entitled to feel upset sometimes, and she didn’t need me poking around in her head thinking I could solve her every problem or take away her sadness just because she’d confided in me.
And what a jerk I was, stopping that kiss and then telling her how she felt, like I was some sort of fucking mind-reader superhero, saving us both with my inhuman strength and stalwart moral rectitude. As if I hadn’t been thinking about kissing her all day. As if I hadn’t touched her back that way. As if I hadn’t wanted her even more than she wanted me.
I’m sorry, Hannah.
Suddenly the door opened, and there she was.
“Hey,” she said. “I thought I heard something.”
Her hair was wet but uncombed, like she’d just gotten out of the shower, and she wore a fluffy white bathrobe tied tightly at the waist. I could smell her shampoo, the one that always made me hungry. She looked beautiful, but her eyes were puffy. I felt horrible.
“I brought a letter for Abby.”
“You did?”
I bent down to retrieve the envelope, which had fallen to the porch floor when she opened the door. “Just a little good-luck wish for her first day. She’d asked me if I could walk her, but I wasn’t sure if you…” I stared at her lips and wanted to kiss them so badly I could have punched a hole through the front wall of the house. “Hannah, I’m sorry. About last night.”
“I’m sorry, too.” Her eyes closed. “And also mortified.”
“Don’t be.”
A low, sarcastic laugh escaped her. “Really? After throwing myself at you? Telling you to fuck off? Hitting you?”
“I deserved it.” You have no idea how much I deserved it.
“For what?” Her eyes widened. “Being my friend? Listening to me drone on about my feelings? Tolerating my mood swings and meltdowns and making me feel understood? Being so sweet with Abby?”
No. For wanting you the way I do. The way I always have. But I couldn’t say that, of course. “For being a condescending dickhead. For putting words in your mouth. For assuming I knew how you felt.”
“But you did.” Her eyes filled. “You did, at least partly. I spent the entire night asking myself why I did what I did, and the truth is…” She shrugged. “I am lonely. I do miss Drew. I do feel some unresolved anger at him about the cheating, and it’s entirely possible I went after you to get back at him. Or because you look like him. Or because I haven’t had sex in forever and you’re a safe opportunity. Or because I see the way you make Abby happy, and I want to feel that, too.”
Jesus, why didn’t she just pull out a knife and stab me? “Hannah—”
“It could be all of those things,” she went on, “or none of them. Maybe I just lost my mind. But either way, what I did was wrong and totally unfair to you and way, way out of line. You were right to stop it.”
“You weren’t unfair to me.”
She held up a hand. “Please don’t. I don’t want you to feel like you have to soothe me or heal me or try to fix what’s broken, Wes. I am not your responsibility. I had a bad day, I made a mistake, and you stopped me from taking it too far. I’m grateful.”
