Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
HANNAH GRACE
I sleep a deep, dreamless sleep. When my alarm goes off it’s as though I’ve only blinked since I went to bed.
There were no dreams of Cole like I was afraid would happen.
Instead, there was nothing.
And I’m not sure if I should be relieved or concerned.
I haven’t slept this well in seven years.
But I decide not to examine that too closely as I get ready for school and leave the house.
I pull into the parking lot of the elementary school at the same time as Zach and bound over to his car.
“Good morning, Mr. Nolan, isn’t it a beautiful day?” I greet as soon as he opens the door.
He grimaces, but can’t hide the smile that takes over.
“Has anyone ever said you’re too much of a morning person?” he teases and I laugh.
“You. Almost every day.”
“Good. Just making sure I’ve said it out loud.” He leans into his car and grabs his bag and a travel mug of coffee.
“Don’t you ever have one of those nights where you sleep so well you wake up as rested as after summer vacation?”
“Ummm…no.”
“It’s because you play video games until all hours of the night.”
Zach’s let it slip on more than one occasion that he’ll stay up most of the night online playing games with friends.
Crazy.
I’m in bed by ten at the absolute latest.
“Got to have my fun somehow since you don’t ever want to go out on a school night.”
“Well, we can’t all have cushy PE teacher jobs where your first class doesn’t come in until partway through the morning. I’ve got twenty blinking sets of eyes on me at 8:15 sharp.”
“Awww, poor HG. Your kids love you.”
“They do,” I agree. “But I love them just as much. They’re so sweet at this age.”
He badges into the door and holds it open for me before following. The school is mostly dark, the administration still thirty minutes from getting here. It’s just Zach, me, and Mrs. Wilkes, one of the lunch ladies that preps breakfast every day for students who arrive early.
“Your class is pretty sweet. Maybe we should do the balloon exercise this week.”
“That’s my favorite!” I tell him, bouncing in place.
“Does that mean you’ll stick around through class?” he asks.
“Duh! I wouldn’t miss it.”
We stop in the teachers’ lounge and drop off my lunch bag.
“Did you forget lunch?”
He groans. “At home on my counter. What’s on the menu for today?”
The crestfallen look he gives me is pathetic.
“Poor baby. I’ll share mine with you today,” I offer. “Leftovers.”
“You’re the best.”
“What are friends for?” I ask. “Besides, you rescued me when I forgot mine last time.”
“It’s a deal. See you at lunch?”
“It’s a date,” I say.
Only it’s not a date . Because you don’t like him . Why can’t you like Zach? He’s a nice guy. Local. He’s a teacher. No plans on leaving .
Unlike—no. There’s no use in comparing him to anyone else. Regardless, I don’t like Zach. Not like that. He’s my friend. My best friend.
“I like your shoes by the way,” he says, rescuing me from my awkwardness.
I glance past my floral dress and jean jacket to the pink slip-on shoes I put on this morning.
“Thanks. These are the ones I picked up last weekend at the mall.”
“I remember.”
“Are those the new ones you got?” I ask.
“No. Those didn’t fit right after all. I just cleaned my old ones.”
“You’re pretty handy. Maybe I’ll bring you my shoes next,” I tease him and start to walk down the hall.
“HG?”
I spin around, my bag bumping against my hip.
“Yeah?”
“Any word from your ex?” Zach asks.
“Cole?”
“Yeah.” He may appear nonchalant, but there’s a tension that wasn’t there before.
“No. Not a peep. He probably thinks I’m crazy too,” I say.
Zach’s posture relaxes.
“Just curious.”
So am I, but I won’t admit it out loud. Will Cole stick around?
“See you at lunch?” I ask. “I need to go check my lesson plan for the holiday projects that start today.”
“See you later.” He salutes and turns to head to the gym.
But when I walk the kids down to the lunchroom, there’s no sign of him just inside the cafeteria like normal. Instead, I drop the kids off with the monitors for the day and walk to the gym. It’s dark except for the office.
“Zach?” I ask, poking my head into the room.
The woman behind the desk looks up from the book she’s reading.
“Sorry?”
“My fault. I was looking for Mr. Nolan?”
She shrugs. “I’m not sure. I got a call earlier saying they needed a sub for PE today.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”
I leave the gym and grab my lunch bag from the lounge before walking the rest of the way back to my classroom since I forgot my phone. Sure enough there’s a text from him.
ZACH
Sorry, HG, went home with a migraine.
Rain check on the lunch?
It’s not the first time he’s suffered from those stupid migraines, and I frown as I key in my response.
Of course! Hope you feel better soon!
Do you need anything?
There’s no response from him by the time I finish eating, and I hope he’s sleeping it off.
Hope you’re getting some sleep. I’ll stop by with dinner and drop it off for you after school.
The rest of the afternoon feels like it drags until the end of the school day, but finally, the bell rings and I walk my class out to meet their parents.
“Bye, Miss Whittaker.”
“Bye! Hey, Mom…”
“Bye, Miss W, see you tomorrow!”
I smile and wave as each student departs before going back to my classroom to gather my bags. I stop at a local restaurant for things he can eat when he’s recovering—things that won’t trigger another migraine—and head to his apartment.
I need to remind him to schedule something with his doctor. He told me he was going to last time he ended up with a migraine that lasted a week, but I doubt he has.
His apartment complex is clean and well-lit, but older than some of the nearby complexes. At least the insides all look nicer than the faded exteriors.
Adjusting the bag to not spill the soup, I walk the stairs to his apartment and knock on the door.
And wait.
“Zach?” I call through the door and knock again. “It’s me. Hannah Grace. I brought food.”
He knows who you are, dummy .
I knock again.
“Are you home?”
Wouldn’t he have answered the door if he was? Is he still sleeping?
I shift my weight from foot to foot in front of his door.
This has never happened before.
I’ve never been to his apartment where he hasn’t answered. Come to think of it, it’s rare we’re here at all. It’s more likely he’ll come hang out with me at my place.
My stomach churns with a mix of worry for him and disappointment, and I bend over and leave the bag in front of his door. His car is in the parking lot when I walk back down and I groan.
“I hope this isn’t another week-long migraine.”
I miss him when he’s not at school. Not around to hang out and talk to. Once I’m seated back in my car, I find his contact in my phone, and my finger hovers over the call button.
“No, I shouldn’t call him if he has a migraine.”
I shake my head and switch to our text thread.
Hope you’re feeling better.
I dropped off dinner on your porch.
My drive home is a mix of worry about Zach and serious consideration about Cole’s reappearance in my life. Speaking of, I’m surprised that I haven’t heard from him all day. Does that mean he’s waiting for me now?
My foot comes off the accelerator with the question.
Do I want him to be waiting for me? Or would I rather pretend that him showing up last night was a figment of my imagination?
“Ugh. Get out of my head, Cole Strickland.” I hit the steering wheel with my command.
There’s no sign of his car anywhere on my street, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The second relief comes as my phone pings with a text. I wait until I’m in the garage to look at my phone.
ZACH
Sorry. I just woke up.
Thanks for dinner.
Are you feeling better?
ZACH
Yeah, finally.
See you tomorrow?
Okay. Want me to grab a coffee on the way to school? Something with extra caffeine and sugar?
ZACH
Who needs sugar when I have you?
I groan and send a GIF of a person hiding their face.
That’s terrible.
ZACH
Made you smile though.
I shake my head at his text, but he’s right. I am smiling.
You did. But save your strength.
And don’t forget balloon day.
ZACH
Never.
See you tomorrow.
ZACH
Night, HG.
I’m relieved that I finally heard from him and he’s feeling better.
I’m still smiling when I walk into my kitchen and drop my lunch bag on the counter and my big bag for school on the chair at the table. I’m still smiling when I walk into my room to change into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.
Only my smile fades as my gaze lands on the crimson-red flower petals that are all over my bed. On the dozen roses that are a mix of living and dead resting against my pillow. No, not just a dozen. Two.
My phone is still in the kitchen as fear pounds through my veins with every pulse of my heart. At least it’s still beating. The scream I want to echo is lodged in my throat.
Run!
Spinning on my heel, I race back into the kitchen and try to grab my phone that slides out of reach and crashes to the floor with my clumsy fingers grasping air.
I crawl under the table, grabbing my phone as the doorbell rings. My head jerks against the underside of the solid wood, and stars dot my vision.
“Ow, fuck, dammit.”
I rub my head with one hand while gripping my phone with the other. But I stay crouched next to my table, paralyzed by the choice to answer the door or run from my house.
“Hannah Grace?”
I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Relief floods my body so quickly, my vision dims, and I grip the chair as dizziness swims through my body.
The doorbell rings again with an accompanying knock.
“Hannah Grace?”
The second use of my name unlocks my body and I rush to the door, slamming it open as I jump against Cole, who catches me.
“Honey Girl, what is it? What’s happened?”
His arms lock around me, his hands spanning my back, and the cold terror of fear since I walked into my bedroom begins to dissolve.
My fingers grip his shirt and I bury my nose against his chest, breathing in the warm, spicy scent of his cologne. It’s a far cry from the Coolwater he wore in high school, but the warm scent is familiar. It’s quintessential Cole.
“Hannah Grace, you’re scaring me, sweetheart. What’s going on?”
I take another deep breath, the icy fist releasing from around my heart.
“My b-b-bedroom.”
He walks us back inside, and I shudder as the door closes behind us.
“It’s okay, I’m right here.”
His hand rubs up and down my back in a soothing motion. Only then do I realize I’m shaking.
“I’ll go check it out,” he tells me, and extricates himself from my grip.
“Don’t leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. But I need to see what’s happened. I need to make sure you’re safe.”
He pulls a gun from behind his back and I shiver.
“Stay here,” he commands.
“No.”
He opens his mouth to argue before snapping it shut, then readjusts his grip on the gun.
“Stay close then. And behind me.”
I nod and crowd against his back as he leads the way to my bedroom.
“What the actual fuck?” he growls.
I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see the bed again.
“I-it was like this when I came h-home.”
“Fuck. It wasn’t like this earlier. Is anyone here?”
Maybe it’s stupid, but I hadn’t even considered that.
“I-I-I?—”
“It’s okay, I can check.”
“We—”
“I’m putting my foot down on this one, Honey Girl.” He leads the way to my bathroom, and once he’s convinced it’s only us, he pulls me out from behind him. “Stay here. Lock the door. I’ll come get you when I make sure it’s safe.”
Warm, brown eyes lock on mine with a seriousness I can’t argue with.
There’s a familiarity in those depths. One I’ve trusted for the majority of my life.
But there’s also a stranger, one with a determination that didn’t exist the last time I saw him.
He’s Cole. But he’s not.
“Hannah Grace?” he murmurs my name.
I nod. “Okay.”
He steps through the doorway.
“Lock it. I’ll be back soon.”
I nod again and close the door, twisting the lock in place. Leaning against the solid wood, I press my ear against it and strain to hear anything.
But the only things audible are my shallow breathing and the way my heart beats in my ears. Is someone else in the house with us? Will Cole be okay?
I breathe out a sigh with that question.
How many times have I asked myself that question? How many times had I prayed for him to be safe while he was overseas? He’s no longer anything to me other than my past, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to him either.
Especially not because of me.
I pace the length of the bathroom, wrapping my arms around myself.
My house isn’t that big. It shouldn’t take him this long to search the house.
Maybe he left .
No. He wouldn’t have.
He did before .
“That was different,” I whisper and move back to the door again.
He wouldn’t leave. Not right now. Not like this.
“Cole, where are you?”
The only answer is my own voice echoing back at me.
I lift my hand to the door, flicking the lock but changing my mind at the last second. I reengage the lock and spin, grabbing my hairspray off the counter before turning back around and unlocking the door. Throwing it open, I scream and depress the button. Only my aim is off and all I manage to do is douse Cole’s shirt with the megahold hairspray.
He grimaces and reaches for the hairspray that thankfully I already stopped spraying, but not soon enough based on the large spot on his light-blue shirt.
“Sorry,” I mumble as he recaps the spray and reaches around me to deposit it back on the counter.
“I thought I told you to stay in the bathroom until I came back.”
“I was worried about you.”
The corners of his lips twitch with his smile, but he doesn’t let it stretch across his face.
“Sweetheart, I can take care of myself. And you.”
I sigh and move to the linen cupboard in my bathroom to grab a washcloth for him. Our fingers brush as I pass him the small terrycloth square, and I try to ignore the little electric zing that travels from my fingertips through my body.
“Thanks.” He dampens the cloth in the sink and unbuttons several buttons on his shirt to swipe it across the hairspray that has transferred from his shirt to his skin.
Holy muscles on muscles. Even with his shirt still on, the definition of his chest is clearly evident.
I force my attention to his face in the mirror, relieved that he hasn’t caught me ogling him.
“Did you find anything?” I ask.
His gaze meets mine in the reflection, and the disappointment is obvious.
“No. There’s no sign of forced entry, and nothing else has been disturbed—I think. Just your room. When did you last change your locks?”
“Right after I bought the house. My dad…”
Cole knows how protective Dad is over both my sister and me. He’s the one who bought the locks and showed up on my front porch the weekend after I closed to change them.
“Did anyone have a key? Do you have a hide-a-key anywhere? I looked earlier?—”
His statement reminds me about what he said.
“You were here earlier?”
He nods.
“Around lunchtime. I wanted to check out the house without having a nosy neighbor call the cops.”
“Most of my neighbors work during the day. Except for Braeden who bartends at night.”
“Across the street?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Did you come in through the back door?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Yeah, I always do.”
“And the door was locked when you got home?” He buttons his shirt and swipes at the material with the washcloth.
“I-I’m not sure. I wasn’t paying attention when I got home. But…”
His hand freezes and his gaze lifts back to mine again.
“But what?”
“I’ve been meaning to call my dad, but I noticed that the lock is getting loose. If you shake the door hard enough it unlocks. I locked myself out and figured that out trying to get back in and?—”
“Fuck. Hannah Grace! How long?”
I shrug.
“I noticed it a few weeks ago. That’s when I locked myself out.”
He closes his eyes and his lips move but there’s no sound. It takes me a minute, but I realize he’s counting to ten. His eyes reopen with a blaze of anger, but it’s banked behind the serious facade he’s perfected.
Would anyone who knows him less recognize the tension beneath the surface?
“I’m here to keep you safe,” he tells me.
“I know.”
Because regardless of what’s happened between us, I can say that.
“Until I find whoever did that”—he motions toward my bedroom— “it’s not safe for you to be alone.”
I’m not so trusting that I don’t believe him, but I also don’t want to give up my independence. I also know what it means if I do.
“I’ve lived alone all this time without anything happening.”
A muscle tics in his jaw.
“And you’ve never had something like this happen before.”
He tugs me into the room where the roses are still a garish display. I can’t stop the shudder that works its way down my spine to sit in a ball of anxiety and fear in my stomach.
“It’s not safe,” he tells me.
“So what? I run home to Mom and Dad’s? I have a job, Cole. I have a life. One that I can’t just run away from.”
He sucks in a breath.
That was below the belt, Hannah Grace.
But I don’t take it back. I can’t.
“I’m not saying to run away.”
“What are you saying?” I ask.
“Well, for starters, we’re going to call the police and file an official report.”
“That sounds reasonable,” I tell him.
But I should know better.
“Second, you can’t stay here alone. You have two options.”
Something tells me I’m not going to like either option.
“What?” I ask.
“I can stay here with you. Or you can come to my hotel with me.”
Called it.
“What’s it going to be, Hannah Grace?”