Chapter 12 – Hannah
A knock on my door wakes me from the deepest sleep I’ve had in a very long time. I’m talking, drool running down my cheek; my eyes feel like they’re cemented shut, and I don’t know what day it is. “Yeah?” I call out; the door opens, and Abby sticks her head in. Her eyes are the size of a cartoon character. Am I missing something here? I roll over to my nightstand and tap my phone; it’s only 8:12 AM; where’s the fire?
“Uhh, you might want to make yourself presentable before you come out here.” Again, it’s 8 AM, for pity’s sake; why do I need to look presentable? Before I had time to protest, a very loud, very male voice sounded from the living room.
“I brought you coffee, Kitten. Extra peppermint, super cold!” Now it’s my turn to have my eyes that pop out of my head. What the frick is he doing here? And why is he interrupting my beauty sleep? I jump out of bed and rush into the bathroom, running through my morning routine at lightning speed. I throw my hair up in a bun on the top of my head and put some clothes on that are better suited for early morning surprise guests than my pajamas.
Walking out into the living room, I realize it’s not just Greyson; there’s a guy standing next to him who looks oddly similar but with black hair. Their eyes are identical, though; this must be his brother. “Dozer, to what do I owe this early morning surprise?” My tone is light as to not show my aggravation.
I’m greeted by a smile from Grey and a confused look from the guy I don’t know. “What’s a dozer?” Abby snorts, eyes darting to the floor, trying to avoid his gaze.
“You don’t know how th ey met, do you?” More confusion from Mr. Tall, dark and broody. “He physically ran into her, then proceeded to knock her down because he ran out of the locker room like a bull in a china shop. He bulldozed her over, hence the nickname Bulldozer or Dozer.”
“Hmm...” Mr. Mysterious says. Well, that was an exhilarating conversation.
“Grey, why are you here?” My eyes drift up to meet his; they’re full of hope and excitement.
“Well, first, I brought you coffee and a muffin.” He holds them both up as if it’d make me less frustrated with this situation. “Harley ran off with the pumpkin dog treat I brought her. Second, this is Tatum, my younger brother. Third, we’re taking you to this week's Wilder Family Sunday lunch!” Extending his arm, he hands me the cup and bag. I stare at them warily; I don’t like being ambushed. Yet I can’t duck and run because, well. I’m in my own house.
Wait. Did he say Wilder family lunch? Pump the breaks, buddy. My body immediately heats, and I feel clammy. What is he talking about? Like with parents? No, no, no. Nope. How do I get out of this while there are two of them here?
“It’s nice to meet you, Tatum, I’m Hannah.” I extend my hand to shake his, but he just stares at it and then grunts before turning and walking to the other side of the room.
Well, okay then. Rude.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I jut my chin in the direction of my room, then dart towards it before I finish my sentence. I close the door behind him, and all of a sudden, I’m very aware of the man in front of me.
His forearms are on full d isplay, veins wrapping around them like a present waiting to be unwrapped. His jeans had to be custom-made because they fit like a glove. Showing off a perfect set of quads and an even nicer ass. Nope, that’s not what we came in here for.
I notice he’s looking around my room; at one point, that may have embarrassed me. But, there’s not much in here, a desk under the window overlooking a small body of water. My queen-sized bed is the perfect size for Harley snuggles, with a dresser off to my left next to the closet and the bathroom to my right. The walls are an off-white color with framed pictures of Abby and me, my mom and brother, and, of course, my Harley girl.
My mind is running in ten different directions, and I’m not sure which way I should go first. I’m trying not to explode, not out of anger but of confusion. Why is he taking me somewhere with his family? Why did he show up out of nowhere? Did he think I’d decline? I mean, I probably would have unless there’s a really good reason for it. I cross my arms over my chest as his eyes continue to dart around the room, and I realize he’s stalling and not looking around.
“Explain.” The word falls out before I can stop it. His eyes flick to mine, wide and uncertain. He looks like he’s questioning every decision he’s ever made. I kinda feel bad, but at the same time, I need an answer.
He shifts his weight from side to side, slipping his hands into his back pockets. His tongue presses against the side of his cheek as his eyes find a spot on the floor, clearly avoiding mine.
He sighs as he finally looks at me, a sheepish grin tugs at his lips. “I wanted to introduce you to my family before the carnival next week.” His voice softens as he continues, “I’m sorry, I got a little excited.” He runs his han d down his face like he’s trying to rid himself of the nerves clearly written all over his face. “We leave for Washington in a few days, I’m nervous. And to be honest, I just wanted to see you.”
My heart accelerates at a pace I’m sure isn’t safe and for reasons I can’t quite explain. “Okay, and you thought the best course of action was to surprise me at 8 AM on a Sunday with zero knowledge of this event? I’m not ready to leave the house; it’s going to take me at least half an hour to get ready.”
“That’s okay!” He’s quick to say. “Plus, my mom won’t shut up about meeting the ‘young lady’ from last week.”
Buh-dum-tss. There it is. I laugh, “You should’ve stopped while you were ahead, Grey.” Oh, holy smokes. I sound like my dad, gross. Shaking my head to clear my head of that thought, I pull my hair out and grab my brush off the dresser.
His teeth are biting so hard into his bottom lip that it’s turning white. I take two steps toward him and free it, my hand lingering a moment too long. He catches my wrist in his hand and brings his lips to my fingertips. He places a kiss on my open palm, before intertwining our fingers and dropping our hands between us. “I needed to see you before I left,” he says softly, the sincerity in his voice making the space between us feel smaller. “I knew if I told you about my mom wanting to meet you, you would’ve found a way out of it.”
His words hit me in the strangest way. “I wouldn’t have; if it means something to you, it means something to me, too.” The words shocked me on their way out of my mouth. The only reasonable explanation for me suddenly being okay with this sneak attack is I haven’t had my coffee yet. Oh heck, let’s be real, I’d probably steal the moon if he asked me to. And maybe, just maybe, I miss my family. It’d be nice to be around one for a few hours. Unless they’re psychotic, then I’ll need an escape plan.
He raises his eyebrows before saying, “Yeah?” Eyes twinkling in the soft light of my bedroom, he looks so young, so innocent.
“Yeah, Grey, I care about you. A lot.” I pause letting the weight of my words settle over the two of us. “It’s terrifying.” I press up on my toes and place a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw. “Let me get ready, and I’ll meet you in the living room. You might want to make sure Abby hasn’t killed your brother yet.”
“Son of a nutcracker! I forgot about him.” He turns and bolts from the room. I stare at the door for a minute before I walk to my closet to find something suitable for the occasion . Thinking back to last week when we hung out, he was so open and vulnerable with me; it made me realize my little crush has grown legs. My head and my heart are currently at war over what to do about that.
Twenty-five minutes and two mental pep talks later, I walk into my living room, stopping just short of the archway. “What in the actual?” Greyson is on the floor flat on his stomach; his brother is sitting on his back, Greyson’s left leg is pulled up behind him at a 90-degree angle. Did I just walk into a WWE match?
Abby, bless her soul. Sweet, sweet Abby. “Abs, you’re drooling.” She gasps and whips her head towards me at top speed.
“I am not.” Her signature “I’ve been caught” scowl is on her face.
“What’s happening here?” I ask, not even attempting to hide my amusement.
“They were arguing over who the stronger brother is. Greyson bench-pressed Tatum, but now Tatum is showing how scrappy soccer players are as he literally tripped Greyson, rolled him to his stomach, and has been sitting on him like this for...” She glances at her watch, “Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds.”
“And what exactly are they waiting for?”
“He needs to say mercy,” Tatum explains, sounding as bored as one would be watching paint dry.
“NEVER!” Greyson yells while raising his fist to the sky, reminding me of a lost boy from Peter Pan. A sense of longing passes through me, one which Abby catches because, as I’ve said before, nothing gets past her.
She wraps her arms around me and whispers, “Love you, sister.” I tip my head and rest it on hers, a warmth passes through me as I realize how lucky I am to have the friendship with her that I do.
Once I get the two fully grown toddlers to stop fighting, we hop in Greyson’s white SUV and head to the Wilder’s childhood home. The drive is scenic; they live on an intercoastal waterway. It’s beautiful, and is one of my favorite parts of the area.
The palm trees are tall and green, wind swaying them gently from side to side. The sun is in the perfect position to bounce off the water just right so that it looks like twinkling stars. My mom used to call that phenomenon “kisses of the sea.” Smiling to myself, I take it all in. There’s music in the background, and Grey is talking a mile a minute; Tatum just grunts or nods his head, and me. Well, I haven’t said a word, but every few minutes, I see Greyson checking the rearview mirror to make sure I’m okay.
He pulls the car into a circular driveway; I start to ask if we’re in the wrong place. But before I can, he’s out of the front seat and opening my door for me. What a gentleman. The house is beautiful. It’s a white stucco two-story house; in the middle of the house sits gray double doors with frosted glass, and there are matching gray shutters on the windows on the bottom floor.
The driveway is large and made of cobblestone; two large planters filled with pink and purple flowers sit at the beginning of the walkway to the door. Before I can dwell much longer, the door swings open, “Hi guys!” A woman calls from the threshold. I watch her as we start our walk from the car to the door that she’s running out of.
“Oooof!” Tatum grunts as she runs straight into him. “Sheesh, Ma, let me breathe.” He pulls his mom's arms from around his neck.
“Oh, hush.” She swats at him as she turns to me. “Hi, you must be Hannah.” Her smile doesn’t quite meet her eyes; my stomach drops at the thought that she doesn’t like me already. Not that she should; I’ve never met the woman. I just don’t do well with disapproving parents.
“Yes, ma’am.” I offer her my hand, and she shakes it; I relax the tiniest bit. “It’s nice to meet you. You raised wonderful men, Mrs. Wilder.”
“Mrs. Wilder makes me sound ancient. Please, call me Amy.” She turns from me and gives Greyson a hug before looping her arms through both her sons. I stand there and watch as they walk into the house. I feel so out of my elemen t. This is part of healing, though, isn’t it? Getting comfortable with the uncomfortable. With that in mind, I follow behind the trio, praying I can make it through the day without embarrassing myself.
The inside of the house is just as beautiful as the outside, with tall ceilings and walls in the whitest shade of white I’ve ever seen. Floating shelves sit above the fireplace in the living room; two soft gray couches face each other with a coffee table in the middle. To the side is the kitchen. All white cabinets have matte black accents; they’re modern but still classy. Straight to the back, the sliding glass doors are pushed all the way to the side, opening the house to the backyard.
A huge pool with enough lounge chairs for half the hockey team looks so inviting. To curl up on one of those with a good book. What a dream. There’s an outdoor kitchen equipped with a grill, pizza oven, and a full-size fridge. Before I can admire it any further, I’m pulled into a hug.
“Hannah, I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing for the local kids. You don’t know how much it means to me personally.” My eyes burn, and my nose tingles because I quickly realize I’m wrapped in the arms of Mr. Wilder. Not only that but I’m also being hugged by a dad. I don’t remember the last time my dad hugged me.
Clearing my throat, I try to keep my voice steady. I rest my head on his shoulder since my arms are pinned to my sides, “Of course, Mr. Wilder, they deserve every opportunity to chase their dreams.”
Pulling back, he looks at me, seeing my watery eyes, his widen in shock. “I didn’t mean to upset you; I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Holy cannoli, a hug, and an apology; I have to be dreaming. This isn’t actually happening. “Son, I think I broke her.”
I hear him say as he releases me and steps back. My brain is malfunctioning and my mouth feels like I swallowed an entire bag of cotton balls, and it suddenly seems like the world is moving at a snail’s pace.
“Kitten?” I bring my gaze up to the side of Mr. Wilder and see the twin expressions of concern on their faces. I take a few deep breaths to try to steady my breathing and keep the tears at bay. I probably look like a lunatic. Sheesh, Hannah, get it together.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t upset me. You just caught me off guard. I, uh, I don’t think I’ve gotten a hug from my dad since I was in middle school.” Well, that did it. I’m sandwiched between them both in seconds.
My skin is crawling; I need to get out of here. I am so uncomfortable. This is why I always prefer driving myself; I can leave whenever I need to, like now. But I’m stuck. I take a deep breath, trying to quell the sob stuck in my throat, and then Greyson whispers, “It’s okay; you’re safe here.” And suddenly, the dam breaks. Choo-choo, a one-way ticket on the Hot Mess Express, please. No one says a word; they just form a cocoon of comfort, one in which I’m in no rush to leave.
How embarrassing; this is the first time I’ve met three of the four people here, and I’m straight-up sobbing. I’m never going to live this down. With the mortification of the situation settling in, I focus on calming my breathing, which in turn helps me stop crying. I eventually stand up straighter and they let go in unison.
“Well, that was embarrassing; sorry about that.” Greyson and his dad both have a look of sympathy on their face, but over their shoulder, Tatum is staring with a glare that could slice through an iceberg. His mom is nowhere to be found. Unease runs through me; I get the sense they don’t want me here.
Wiping at the stray tears, I plaster a smile on my face and try to salvage the situation, “Well, this wasn’t how I thought today would go. But I guess it can only go up from here.” Walking into the kitchen, I turn to Amy. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Want to make margaritas for us?” I arch an eyebrow; what an odd request for ten o'clock in the morning.
“Sure. Where’s the tequila and lime?”
“I’m just kidding; I already have it made. I wanted to see if you’d actually do it. The last one wouldn’t.” What does that mean? Turning my head to Greyson; his eyes are wide as he stares at the back of his mom's head. He doesn’t look at me, though. I’ll pocket that for later.
“Congratulations. You passed initiation.” Tatum’s eyes roll, then meet mine with a menacing glare, his voice dripping in annoyance. This guy is starting to give me a complex; what the heck could I possibly have done between meeting him a few hours ago and now to make him so annoyed? His dad pops him in the back of the head while his mom focuses on pouring olive oil over the salad.
“Are you okay?” I ask Greyson, who hasn’t moved in about two minutes.
“Walk with me?” His eyes are distant, not focused on anything. His voice sounds different, robotic almost.
“Sure.”
He throws his arm around my shoulder as we walk down a path on the side of the house, making it to a sidewalk that leads out of the neighborhood. As we walk, he leans more of his weight on me, slowing us both down.
I look up at him, and it’s like I’m looking at a wall instead of the happy-go-lucky Greyson Wilder I’ve come to know. The crease between his brows is pulled tight, his jaw is clenched, and he’s still staring off into space, somewhere far away in his mind. When I turn my attention back to where we’re walking, I audibly gasp. There, about 500 feet in front of us, is a red and white lighthouse that looks just like the one on my nightstand.