Chapter 28 #2
I nod, but honestly, I don’t know what that feels like.
I’ve felt the pressure to be an exact replica of my dad my entire life.
Growing up hearing, “You’re going to be just like your dad,” and then both my parents putting that expectation on me that I’d be doing something important with my career.
Following in his footsteps wasn’t a choice; it was an assumption.
“What about yours?”
“Lucky for me, I actually enjoy my role, and it’s far enough from my dad’s world that he can’t insert himself into my daily work.
” I leave it at that. It’s more than I usually say to anyone, and I can already feel the familiar instinct to shut it down before it goes further.
Clearing my throat, I run a hand through my hair and force a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
“Come on, let’s get your tea before I pass out from the smell. ”
She laughs and picks up three different boxes—green, jasmine, and something called Rooibos. “My mom’s going to love these.”
I carry them as we make our way to the counter, and I notice Cove, an older woman with dreadlocks, a nose ring, and a long-sleeved dark dress. She’s the nicest person in town. She gives me the vibe of what maybe Hannah’s mom might be like: sweet and kind.
Cove does a double-take when she recognizes Hannah. To her credit, she doesn’t make a big deal of it, just smiles and asks if she needs help with anything else.
I reach for my wallet.
“Zac—” she starts, protest in her voice.
“Hannah,” I counter. “It’s tea. Let me.”
We lock eyes for a moment, and I can see her weighing whether to fight me on this. Finally, she sighs, but she’s smiling. “You’re stubborn.”
“Takes one to know one,” I reply, handing my card to Cove.
We walk out with a bag and a box of pie in my hands. Hannah moves beside me, and I unconsciously match her pace rather than my own.
“Thank you,” she says again, looking up at me as we pause at the corner. “For today. For all of it. You didn’t have to take me out after work.”
“I wanted to,” I say, and it’s the truth. That’s the problem. I wanted to. “You earned it.”
She grins, pride clear on her face. I force myself to look away, because the way she’s smiling at me right now is affecting me in a way that has nothing to do with being her doctor and everything to do with what happened in that laundry room.
“I couldn’t have done it without you helping me. You’re a good doctor, Zac.”
Good doctor. Right. That’s what I am. That’s all I should be.
“Come on,” I say, gesturing toward where I’m parked. “Let’s get you home before it gets dark.”
We’re all the way down the block when someone steps directly into our path. I pull up short, shifting the bag to avoid collision, instinctively angling my body so she doesn’t get jostled off the crutches.
Yolanda.
My stomach drops. Of all the people, in all of Pulse Point.
“Oh, hello. You must be Hannah.” Yolanda’s voice drips with false sweetness. “Everyone’s talking about you.”
There’s a hidden note of sarcasm threading through her words, but from the look on Hannah’s face, she clearly doesn’t hear it. Her smile stays genuine.
“We were just leaving,” I say and step forward.
“But can I grab a photo first?” Yolanda asks, her eyes glittering with something mean.
“No,” I say at the same time Hannah says, “Sure.”
I don’t want to have an argument here on the street, with Hannah beside me on crutches and a gossip column that already has my name in it.
Losing my temper with Yolanda is the worst thing I could do.
Peltz would hear about it by morning, thanks to Dr. Whisperer.
It would confirm every concern he has about me, and this time, there’d be no second chance to talk my way back from the edge.
Hannah doesn’t know any of that. She’s just being herself—accommodating, genuine, completely unaware that this woman isn’t. Her face is bright, already shifting toward Yolanda for the photo.
Fine. The quicker it’s done, the sooner we leave.
“Can you take it? Please?” Yolanda’s sickly-sweet act is pissing me off. I take the phone from her hand, my fingers closing around it harder than necessary.
Hannah cocks her head slightly, reading me, a small furrow appearing between her eyebrows. I’ll explain when we’re back home. Right now, I’m just grateful I’ll get to eat a piece of fucking pie and forget this encounter.
Yolanda stands close to Hannah’s crutches to pose, which I’m glad are stopping Yolanda from touching her. It’s hard enough seeing Yolanda this close to Hannah.
I take the photo and hand the phone back. “We really must get going.”
“It looks like you just went to The Pointed Kettle,” Yolanda says, eyeing our bags.
“Yes, it’s great,” Hannah says. “This whole town is honestly the best.”
Yolanda’s smile stretches wider, showing too many teeth. “It is, isn’t it? Everyone’s just so lovely here.”
Fucking hell, I’ve got to get out of here before I vomit. Hannah’s got no idea this woman is performing.
Whereas Hannah is just real, completely herself.
“Yes, well, we have to go,” I say, shifting the bags in my arms. “Hannah’s a bit tired, and she really wants to try this tea before she falls asleep.”
Hannah laughs. “That’s true.”
Yolanda giggles, but again, it’s just so fucking high-pitched and fake.
I turn and start moving. Hannah adjusts her crutches and walks beside me, and it isn’t until we’re a little ways down the block, out of earshot, that she asks, “What’s going on?”
I glance over my shoulder at Yolanda, who’s still standing there, watching us go, a smirk sitting on her face, knowing exactly what she’s doing.
“Unfortunately, that was my ex.”
Hannah’s eyes go wide. “What? She’s your ex, and I just took a photo with her? I’m so sorry.” Genuine distress seeps into her tone and, God, that fucking crushes me.
“Don’t be sorry,” I say harshly. So I soften my next words. “None of that is on you. She knew exactly what she was doing, and you were just being yourself.” I shift the bags in my hand. “Let’s just go home. I’m really feeling like a lot of pie right now.”
She lets out a breath, the tension breaking. “All right. I’ll let you have a bigger slice.”
We walk to my car in silence, but the moment I’m about to drive off, she asks, “Can I see your place?”
I twist to glance at her.
“Before you take me home,” she rushes out. “Just for a bit. I just—You’ve seen my life for the past week, and I don’t know anything about yours. Especially now.” She tips her head back in the direction of Yolanda.
I stare at her for a long moment. She’s right.
I haven’t opened up about my life. Not really.
Moments ago, with Yolanda, was the first crack in that wall, and instead of shutting down the way I usually do, I find myself wanting to let her in a little further.
To show her something that’s actually mine.
“Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”