Page 47 of From This Moment (After We Fall 4)
He realized what I meant. “Oh, God, Hannah. I’m such an asshole. I didn’t even think.”
My capacity for stringing rational thoughts together was working hard to keep up. We’d had unprotected sex. Were we okay? After a quick calculation, I thought we were. My cycle was really reliable, and I was due for a period in the next day or so. “It’s fine. I didn’t think either, but the timing is—it’s fine. Just give me a minute.”
“Of course.”
I slipped past him, scooping up my underwear and T-shirt from the floor, and slowly moving up the steps. My mind was reeling. What had I done?
Lots of things. Here are the highlights: You had insanely good but unprotected sex with your brother-in-law in your front hall, followed by a panic attack when you realized you’re falling for him. And by the way, you’re still wearing your wedding band.
A fresh wave of dizziness hit me at the top of the stairs, and for a moment I feared I’d embarrass myself further by tumbling backward down the stairs. I placed a hand the wall to steady myself and took a few more deep breaths. When the feeling subsided, I went into the bathroom and cleaned up. I could feel my emotions working themselves up inside me, gathering strength like a hurricane. Shock and guilt and shame and fear and confusion.
How had I let this happen? Was I crazy? Was I so desperate to feel desired that I’d actually lost my mind?
I looked at myself in my bathroom mirror. Flushed cheeks. Puffed-up lips. Some slight abrasions where his scruff had rubbed against my jaw. Tousled hair. Trembling hands. Finally, I met my eyes. If I couldn’t look myself in the eye after what we’d done, how could I look Wes in the eye? Or Abby? Or Lenore?
Fuck. Don’t think about Lenore.
If she ever found out what we’d done…
The thought terrified me, and I tried to talk myself out of the terror with reason.
She won’t. It was a one-time thing, a moment of insanity born out of confusion and grief. A desperate attempt to latch on to something life-affirming in the wake of so much sorrow. You’re lonely, that’s all. Both of you.
Except I hadn’t felt lonely in his arms. Not at all. For the first time in eighteen months, I’d felt safe. Strong. Protected. I’d felt connected to him, like I wasn’t just a lost soul swimming through space alone. I’d felt loved again.
But feelings lied. Because I wasn’t really safe or strong or protected, was I? Just because something felt real didn’t mean it was. Look at the way I’d just been convinced I was going to die in the hallway downstairs. Our perceptions of things were faulty. Our senses deceived us.
He didn’t love me. And I didn’t want to love him. But I saw how easily it could happen if we weren’t careful.
We can’t. We can’t let this happen. I can’t let this happen.
Fighting off tears, I went back downstairs, where I found Wes standing in the hall with the light on. He’d pulled his shirt on and done up his pants, and the look on his face was worried. “Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I just look at you real quick?”
“Sure.”
He checked each eye and took my pulse again, and listened to me breathe for a moment. I felt small and childlike next to him, and I wished I didn’t like the feeling of being fussed over by him so much. As a single parent, it was always me doing the fussing.
“Do you have panic attacks very often?” he asked.
“Not anymore.”
He frowned and stepped back from me. “I’m sorry, Hannah. This was all my fault.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “We both know that’s not true. I wanted this just as badly as you did tonight. Don’t make me a victim.”
He swallowed and nodded.
“But that doesn’t make it right.”
“No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t.”
“We need to forget this happened, Wes. And we can’t do it again.”
“But—”
