Chapter 37 Hannah
Hannah
I peer over my mom’s shoulder to make sure she’s sound asleep before removing the brush from her hair, and then I gently climb out of her bed.
I turn on her favorite rain sounds machine, click on the small night-light near her door, just in case she wakes up in the middle of the night, and tiptoe out of her room, closing the door behind me.
Tonight is one of Lovie’s weeknights off; the house always feels crazy quiet when I don’t hear the familiar soft sounds of her favorite late-night talk shows coming from her room downstairs.
But I haven’t even made it to the kitchen when I hear my phone vibrating on the marble countertop. I quicken my steps to snag it.
Dom: I’m outside.
With a smile, I set my phone back on the counter and head down the staircase to the door. I swing it open with enthusiasm, more than ready to kiss his handsome face off, and my excitement isn’t hindered when I’m graced with his breathtaking smile.
“Hi, baby.” Dom still wears his serious-detective suit from work, but he also carries a duffel bag.
I don’t even bother with a greeting; instead, I jump into his arms so hard he has to take a step back to steady his balance.
A soft chuckle leaves his lips when I rain kisses on his face.
His beard is doing that five-day-old scruff thing I love so much, and when my mouth meets his, I don’t hesitate to deepen the kiss.
“Miss me?” he asks, and I slide down his body until I’m back on my feet.
“Nah.” I wink and turn on my heels to walk back inside the house, but he only lets me get one step ahead of him before he’s wrapping his free hand around my waist and tugging me back against his chest.
“Nah?” he asks, his lips right near my ear.
I shake my head, but I also giggle when he tickles my ribs. “Okay, fine!” I whisper-yell. “I might’ve missed you a little bit.”
He chuckles then and shuts and locks the door behind him as he steps us inside. He follows me back up the stairs without a moment’s delay. He drops his duffel to the ground by the kitchen island, and I open the fridge door to pull out a plate I saved him from dinner.
“Hungry?” I ask, holding the leftovers out toward his face. “I made meatloaf and mashed potatoes and carrots.”
“Damn, woman.” He makes a show of licking his lips. “You sure are the best.”
I grin, set the plate on the counter, and start removing the plastic wrap from the top. But before I can carry it over to the microwave for a quick reheat, he gently grabs my attention with his hand on my wrist.
“Before you do that, I have some news.”
I furrow my brow, setting the plate back on the counter. “Is it about the case?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “But Shane’s keeping me updated on that, and he feels strongly everything is going as it should. They have two suspects they’ve really homed in on.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Even though I try not to think about the case and the tragic events that it involves, I’d be lying if I said it’s not still on my mind. I mean, how could it not be when my calls are still being recorded because a murderer is still on the loose?
“Okay . . .” I pause, my eyes searching his. “Then . . . ?”
“I know you’re not happy working at Call Me Anytime, and I know you don’t feel like you have a choice.” He reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out what looks to be paper of some sort. “But, Hannah, you do have a choice.”
I scrunch up my nose as he sets the papers into my hands. “What is this?”
“Just look at it.”
I move my eyes from his face to my hands, and the first thing I see is a payment confirmation to the same lender I used to get the reverse mortgage on my mom’s house. But as I look closer, I realize the payment is in reference to this address, and it’s in the amount of $301,752.28.
The exact amount I know I still owe on the loan.
“Dom?”
“You don’t have to worry about it anymore, Hannah,” he says. “The loan is paid off in full. You’ll get the deed in the mail in two weeks.”
“You paid off my debt?” I ask, my mind and chest and belly feeling woozy with confusion and discomfort. “In full?”
“I wanted to do it,” he says and reaches out to place a gentle hand to my wrist. “I had the money, more than enough money to help you, and I just couldn’t stand by and let you suffer working at CMA when I could easily help you out of that situation.”
I flip the paper over, still trying to understand what in the hell is happening, but as I do, the paper beneath it comes into full view. And it’s not a paper at all, but a check. A check from a Dominic Dunn signed to Hannah May for the insane amount of one hundred thousand dollars.
“Dom, I don’t . . .” I pause, and the most uncomfortable of emotions clogs my throat. I don’t know if I’m angry or sad or upset, but I know that none of this is making me feel good.
If anything, it’s making me feel pathetic. Like I’m a weak woman who can’t handle her own shit. Like I’m a charity case.
“Han, I know it’s a lot, but you deserve it. You deserve this freedom,” he says, and I look up to find him smiling softly at me. But I don’t feel like smiling at all.
“Freedom?” I blurt out. “This doesn’t feel like freedom, Dom. This feels like . . . I’m drowning. This feels like I’m suffocating.”
“Suffocating?” His head jerks back in surprise. “Hannah? What do you mean? I don’t understand. I thought—”
“Dom, this is too much,” I cut him off, shaking my head furiously. “This is wrong in so many different ways I don’t even know where to begin.”
“My helping you is wrong?”
“No,” I retort. “You going behind my back and arranging all of this without even talking to me first was wrong.”
“Wait . . .” He pauses and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re mad at me?”
“I’m more than mad, Dom. I’m disappointed. I’m hurt. I’m so . . .” I trail off, not able to find the words.
“Hannah,” he whispers and reaches out for me, but I shove his hands away.
“I’m not some kind of pet project for you, Dom,” I spit. “I’m not some helpless little girl who needs her rich boyfriend to tap into his trust fund and save her.”
He just stands there, staring at me, his jaw outright gaping.
But I feel so angry and so betrayed and so hurt from the whole thing that I can’t stop myself from ripping up the stupid check in my hands.
“I don’t want your money, Dom,” I announce as the pieces of the check fall to the hardwood floor of my kitchen.
“I’ve been handling my own shit for a hell of a lot longer than most people have ever had to do.
I’ve been making sacrifices for what feels like my whole life.
And you know what? I’m proud of myself for that.
I’m proud of myself for everything I’ve managed to do for my mom. ”
“You should be proud, Hannah. Of course you should be proud. You’re amazing.”
“So amazing that you think you need to step in and save me?”
“Hannah, that’s not why I did this,” he refutes. “I know you don’t need saving. I know you’re strong. So fucking strong. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve to have someone by your side. Someone to help you out if they can.”
“This doesn’t feel like you’re being someone by my side.
This feels like you’re being someone who thinks I’m weak and pathetic,” I mutter, staring down at the ground.
“I’ve worked so hard for so many years. I’ve sacrificed so much.
” I lift my eyes to his. “And you just come in here and write a few checks and poof! Everything is solved? Do you know how demoralizing that feels for me?”
I actually feel the moment my body reaches a breaking point. I feel my heart crack in two, feel every nerve ending beneath my skin fraying into nothingness, and feel the instant my mind chooses self-preservation over everything else.
“Hannah, I—”
“No, Dom. I don’t want to hear it. In fact, I can’t hear any more.” I shake my head, stepping away from him and picking up his duffel bag that sits on the floor. I shove it into his chest. “I think you need to go. I think we’re done here.”
“We’re done?” he questions, outrage raising his voice a few octaves. “You’re breaking up with me?”
My heart cracks even more, creating a million tiny pieces inside my chest. Everything hurts—my heart, my mind, my body. But more than that, even looking at him right now is almost too much to bear.
“Dom, you obviously don’t know me at all if you think something like this was going to make me happy,” I whisper, but I also have to swallow hard against the tears that now want to pour out of my eyes.
“I can’t believe this,” he says, and his eyes are wide with such strong emotions that I have to avert my gaze. “I can’t fucking believe this, Hannah!”
“Well, believe it,” I snap back. “But do it while you’re leaving.”
“I see you’re struggling. I hear you tell me how you hate working that fucking phone sex job.
And what was I supposed to do? Just stand here and do nothing when I could very easily do something?
Is that what you wanted?” he challenges.
“Hannah, I think you’re amazing. I think you’re the strongest person I know.
You should be proud of everything you’ve managed to do for your mom.
Hell, I’m proud of you for it every fucking day.
But right now, all of that pride of yours is getting in your way. ”
When I don’t say anything, he keeps going.
“You ever heard the story about the man in a flood praying to God for a boat?” he asks, but the question is clearly rhetorical, because he starts to tell it to me.
“The waters are rising, and he prays to God for help. And while he’s waist deep in water, another man in a boat passes by him, telling him to hop on, but he tells him no.
Tells him he’s already prayed to God to help him.
So, the boat leaves and the water keeps rising.
“And when the water is at his neck, another man on a boat stops beside him, telling him to get on. But the man refuses again, saying he’s prayed to God and God will help him.
The second boat leaves, and the water keeps rising until the man drowns, Hannah.
He fucking drowns. And when he gets to heaven, he asks God, What happened?
Asks him why he didn’t answer his prayers, and you know what God says?
” Dom runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “He says, I sent you two boats.”
I just stare at him.
“This”—he nods toward the torn-up paper on the ground—“what I’m trying to do for you, is your boat, Hannah. It’s your fucking boat.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want your boat!” I shout back at him, my hands shaking and tears streaming down my face.
“Dom, we haven’t even said I love you, and you want me to let you just hand over four hundred thousand dollars because you see me as a pitiful woman in need of a handout?
I don’t think so, Dom. I don’t fucking think so. ”
He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes sad and his mouth turned down at the corners.
“Hannah, if you can’t see that this is me showing you just how much I fucking love you, I don’t know what to tell you,” he says, but his voice is so quiet and sad that it makes more tears fall down my cheeks. “Because I do love you.”
I love him too. So much it hurts. But this isn’t how I pictured our first “I love you” would be shared. And that makes this all the more tragic.
Tears stream down my cheeks. “I think you need to go.”
Maybe I’m prideful. Maybe I’m stubborn. But he shouldn’t have done any of this without talking to me first. Truth be told, I feel incredibly violated. I feel like he invaded my privacy.
“I’m so sorry, Hannah,” he says, but I just shake my head, my feet frozen to the ground and my eyes fixated on my bare toes.
Dom steps up to me, presses a soft kiss to my cheek, and whispers, “And even though leaving right now, walking away from you, is the last fucking thing I want, I’m going to respect your wishes.
But fuck, Hannah, I hope you know that I’m still here.
I’ll always be here. And you can always call on me. Always. For anything.”
And then, he’s gone.