Chapter 17 Hannah
Hannah
As I wet my toothbrush under the faucet, I peek out my bathroom window and spot the shiny black Camaro that arrived at my house around ten last night, still sitting at the end of my long driveway.
It’s unmarked, but after my conversation with Dom last night, I know it’s MNPD.
Plus, I’ve seen him driving a similar car before.
Relief trickles through me as I remember how he promised to send someone to keep watch over us. Knowing there’s someone out there has me feeling safer than I have in weeks.
I turn back to my sink and finish brushing my teeth, spitting and rinsing before replacing my toothbrush in its holder.
I pull my long brown hair up in front of my shoulders, fluff some volume into it, and smear some light-pink gloss across my mouth to finish the look.
After exiting my bathroom and turning out the light behind me, I grab my phone from my nightstand and slide my rings onto my fingers.
Then I make my way into the kitchen, where Lovie stands at the counter, drinking a cup of coffee.
My mom sits on the couch in front of the TV, her hair done, her makeup in place, and her look finished with a smart button-up shirt.
Ever since I was a little girl, she has been the type of woman who never lounged around in her pajamas or skipped any of her hygiene practices. Even with her mind fogged with Alzheimer’s, a lot of that is still muscle memory. It just takes a little reminding and encouraging from Lovie and me.
And it’s worth the effort. My mother’s state of mind thrives when she’s sticking to her usual routine, even if she doesn’t always remember the specific steps.
“Morning, Lovie,” I greet her, my mood much improved from yesterday thanks to the sleep I got last night. Having the patrol car Dom sent over sitting in front of the house was incredibly boosting for my peace of mind.
It felt like I could finally just relax, and for the first time in several weeks, my shoulders aren’t tensed right beneath my ears.
“Hey, Hannah Banana.” Lovie gives my jeans and off-the-shoulder lilac shirt a smiling once-over. “Boy, you look pretty today. Look a lot more like you’re feeling yourself too. I’m glad.”
“I’m feeling lots better, thanks.”
“You know, hon, I was thinking a lot about you last night, and I want you to know that I think you’re doing a good thing. Helping the police like you are,” she says, her voice only loud enough for my ears. “I know sometimes it doesn’t feel like it, but all that good karma comes back.”
“Thanks, Lovie.”
My mom jumps up from the couch, her excitement palpable as a scene from NCIS plays on the screen behind her. I try my best to figure out what episode it is quickly, so I’m prepared to say what she needs me to.
I think it’s the end of an episode in season 4, called “Friends & Lovers.” Strangely enough, if I’m remembering correctly, it’s the one where they suspect a petty officer died from an accidental drug overdose, but, really, he was murdered.
Which, to be honest, is some kind of flipping irony.
From what I’ve overheard from Dom and Shane, this episode might as well be a fictional reflection of my actual life right now.
“Ziva!” my mom exclaims, a big smile on her face, which I can’t not return.
“Hey, Sherry.”
“You off to meet up with Tony and Gibbs?”
“Yep. Headed to meet up with them now,” I answer, and I feel like I’m only half lying. In her mind, Dom and Shane are Tony and Gibbs.
“Listen, Ziva. Things could get hairy, okay?” Her eyes turn serious. “Just watch your six.”
“You got it, Sherry,” I agree, seeing as it’s not exactly bad advice these days.
Lovie hands me a packed lunch in the form of a grocery bag full of food, and I smile gratefully before grabbing my purse and keys and heading down the stairs and out the front door.
The Camaro still sits at the curb, and I decide to take a little detour toward it so I can say thank you.
It’s the least I can do. Whoever it is, they gave up their night for us.
I get to the slightly black-tinted passenger side window and raise my hand to knock, but when the window rolls down and Dom’s face comes into view, I freeze.
“Morning,” he says, but my throat is so tight with confusion I can barely squeak out a hello.
But seriously, what is he doing here? I thought he was sending a car?
Dom stretches a little and climbs out of the car, leaning over top of it with a smile.
His hair is tousled and messy, and the white T-shirt he’s wearing is rumpled from what I now realize must have been a full night spent in his car.
Something inside my belly flips and twists and turns—something warm and confusing and impossible to ignore.
He looks good. Really good. And I promptly ignore it.
“I thought you were sending a patrol car?” I ask, shaking my head. “Have you been here all night?”
“Guilty,” he says, holding up both hands with a grin. “We just didn’t have any patrols free, so I decided to do it myself.”
My heart lurches beneath my ribs, and for a split second, I forget how to breathe. “You . . . you stayed here all night?”
“It’s no big deal, Hannah. I didn’t mind.”
Didn’t mind? Sleeping in my driveway all freaking night long?
“Wow.” My cheeks heat, my chest tightens, and a whirlwind of emotions hit me all at once. Embarrassment, gratitude, disbelief. No one’s ever done anything like this for me. “Thanks. I . . . can’t believe you did that. But I . . . I really do appreciate it.”
Dominic’s head tips slightly to the side, and his lips curl into a deeper smile. “Did you sleep well?”
“Honestly? Better than I have in ages.”
“Good. It was worth it then.” He stretches his arms again, and I try really hard not to notice just how freaking muscular he is as his biceps and triceps and shoulders flex with the movement. “See you in a bit, I guess?”
“Uh-huh.” I awkwardly jingle my keys in the air. “See you in a bit.”
He taps the top of the car a couple of times before climbing back inside, and I turn to make my way back up the driveway.
I don’t know why all of a sudden I feel self-conscious around him, but I force myself to shake it off as I head to my Civic.
Obviously, I don’t have time to let myself get a weird little crush on the detective who is screening my phone sex calls.
Ha. The insanity of that makes me snort out loud as I open my driver’s side door with a creak.
I climb in, tossing my purse and the lunch Lovie packed for me on the passenger seat.
Key already in hand, I slip it into the ignition and crank the car to start, but other than a couple of groans, it doesn’t do anything at all.
What the . . . ?
I try again, but this time the noise is slower, and then eventually, it stops cranking at all. I sink my head into my hands and groan, as all the breath from my lungs leaves in a whoosh.
Whyyy does it always have to be something?
I’m still in that position when a knock on my window startles me, and I look up to find Dom standing there, outside my driver’s side door.
When I hit the button to roll my window down and talk to him, nothing happens. Because, apparently, this isn’t already enough of a shit show.
On a sigh, I open my door and climb back out to stand in front of him.
“Won’t start?” he asks, and I cringe.
“I think it needs a battery.” Frankly, when I got my last oil change, I knew it was going to need a new battery soon, but I kind of . . . sort of . . . let that go for a bit, because money was tight.
“Why don’t you ride with me then?” he suggests. “I could jump you, but then you might get stuck downtown with no way to get home and a broken-down car.”
My mind tries to fixate on the words jump you, and I internally scold myself for being such a pervert.
“Um . . .” I dig my teeth into my bottom lip.
My guilt and embarrassment hover over me like a rain cloud.
This guy has already spent the night outside my freaking house, his over-six-foot frame sleeping in a two-door Camaro.
Pretty sure he’s already done enough. “Yeah, but if I ride with you, you still have to bring me home.”
Dom shrugs. “And?”
“And . . . that would be incredibly inconvenient for you.”
I don’t know exactly where Dom lives, but I’ve spent enough time with him to know it’s somewhere near downtown Nashville. Basically, the opposite direction of my house from CMA headquarters.
“It’s no problem. I’ll drive you,” he says, gesturing me to follow his lead toward his car. I shake my head, trying my hardest to find a plan of action that doesn’t include Dom saving my ass two times in a row.
“It’s fine. I can—”
“Hannah,” he cuts me off, a smile cresting on his mouth. “There’s no way I’m leaving you here stranded. I’ll drive you.”
And then, he turns on his boots and heads toward his Camaro. Conversation done.
“Okay . . . uh . . . I guess I’ll get my stuff?”
“Sounds good!” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the car.”
I let out a deep exhale before leaning into my Civic to grab my lunch and purse, closing the door and locking it, and then heading back down the driveway once again. Over my shoulder, I steal a quick glance back at the house to find my mom and Lovie watching us from the window.
I can only imagine the scenarios my mom is cooking up in her head right now. Tony and Ziva, getting into a car together. Dom’s car might not be an obvious patrol car, but Sherry’s watched enough NCIS to understand that a black, unmarked Camaro with spotlights on both mirrors equals law enforcement.
Dom is holding the passenger door open for me when I reach his car. His smile is big and warm, and it makes me dig my teeth into my bottom lip so hard I might draw blood.
And when I climb inside his car, settling into the seat as the faint but addicting scent of his cologne surrounds me, one hell of an intrusive thought hits me square between the eyes.
What if it’s not nothing to him? What if I want it to be more than nothing to me?
I swallow hard, forcing myself to look out the window as a distraction, but my thoughts spiral anyway.
Sherry might not be the only one cooking up scenarios about me and Dom.