Chapter 10 #2
“I mean it, bitch,” he snapped. “A man like Waylon— too much of a dumb shit to even see the real you—could never be right about who you are.” His gaze darted to the window.
“You are never defined by a man. But you can grow and bloom under the gaze of the right one, if you choose. If not, you have plenty of your own sunshine to do it yourself.” He kissed me on the mouth.
“You’re coming to New York,” he declared.
“And I’ll be back here to help you move into your apartment for school.
The offer still stands if you want to transfer to New York. ”
“I may take you up on that,” I replied, meaning it.
It wasn’t smart to transfer schools for my last semester, but I could make it work. Being with Cole reminded me of who I used to be.
I had forgotten about the benefits of good friendships, how they made the world brighter, caused me to feel more secure. And I’d denied myself that for what? All I’d done was give Waylon more power over me.
Not anymore, I decided. I would not give Waylon anything else. I wouldn’t give any other man the ability to change how I lived my life. How I talked to myself.
And that included Beau.
BEAU
Hannah seemed different since her friend’s visit. Brighter. Larger. More radiant, if that was even possible. I’d been so intent on ignoring her, not letting myself see her, but it became impossible not to see her. The change was unmistakable. Hannah thrived in the company of people.
That, I’d come to understand. Watching her with the women at the birthday party, seeing her face flushed and eyes alight when she’d stumbled in the front door drunk.
My mind was not allowed to go to the vision of her crawling on all fours. Somehow, I found the image adorably amusing and fucking hot at the same time.
I’d pumped my cock to the image of her, on all fours, naked, crawling to me.
And I was going to pay for being such a pervy bastard, but I couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t temper the need I had for her.
Not just her body, but her smile. I wanted to make her happy. Wanted to see her surrounded by people who loved her, lifted her up.
The change in Clara was unmistakable too. She had never been bereft of love in her short life, but the lack of a constant female presence was something I hadn’t recognized until Hannah.
I watched them sometimes.
Often.
As much as I could.
When it felt like my brain was starting to bleed from looking at schedules, orders for the restaurant, creating specials, and pretending to go over financials, Calliope essentially took over that section of the restaurant, and I was not too proud to let her.
I trusted her implicitly, but it was my business and my responsibility to know what was going on with every single facet of the restaurant.
It was technically my father and brother’s too, but Elliot took charge of the daily catch, my father working with him more often than not.
My father had carried the burden of running the restaurant and raising two boys for decades.
He and Elliot scrimped, saved, and borrowed every ounce they could to pay for Clara’s care.
Then in came Calliope, our fucking guardian angel dressed in black, wearing heels that no one should be able to walk in, cursing more than any fisherman I’d ever encountered.
This was the family business. One we’d built from the ground, that our mother had helped create until the day she died. It was sacred to us. Precious. So I was happy to accept help from Calliope if it meant that Clara grew up in that restaurant and that it would be hers one day if she wanted it.
Thanks to Calliope, the weight of the bills and the debt were no longer bone-breaking. I only had a slight headache by the time I left my office.
I walked toward my guaranteed pain relief—the murmured voices in the living room.
“Banana?” My daughter’s sweet voice addressed Hannah in the name she’d had for her since she moved in.
“Yes, my angel?” The tenderness in Hannah’s reply made my chest pinch.
They were under the same blanket, Hannah stroking Clara’s hair while they watched a musical. Hannah loved them, old musicals. Ones made before her time. Long before. And she was teaching Clara to love them.
I leaned against the doorframe, grateful they hadn’t seen me yet.
“Do you have a mother?”
My breath caught. I knew a time would come when Clara would start asking questions about her mother, especially after seeing all the women and the families at her birthday party.
The past couple of years were so focused on keeping her alive that I’d forgotten about all the other things I had to protect her from.
I tried to give her everything I could, all of me, but I knew there was no way I could be everything for her. But Hannah… Hannah gave her everything I couldn’t. And more.
“I do have a mother,” Hannah replied evenly. I knew Hannah, though, so I noted the way her hand paused stroking Clara’s hair, the tightening of her shoulders, the forced casualness of her tone.
My gut clenched. I didn’t know about Hannah’s family, her past. On purpose. I couldn’t know anything more about her or I’d be fucking ruined.
Cole had alluded to pain in her past.
I already knew she barely woke up before stumbling in search of coffee. I knew she liked fresh flowers, that she drank tea every night, she laughed easily, loved reading, and was perfect for my daughter.
Perfect for me.
But I was not perfect for her.
I couldn’t keep collecting facts about her because the more I knew, the harder she was to resist. And she was already pretty fucking hard to resist.
Walk away. That would be the prudent option. Or clearing my throat loudly to interrupt the moment, sending Hannah scurrying to her room with an expression that shredded my insides and would send me to hell for marring that flawless face.
But I waited.
“Where is she? Your mother?” Clara asked. “Do you see her much?”
As Hannah kept stroking, I watched her profile, the purse of her lips. She was chewing the inside of her cheek, debating over what to tell Clara, if I had to guess. She likely understood why she was asking and knew to tread carefully.
Because the last thing in the world Hannah wanted to do was hurt my daughter. She lived for her.
“I don’t see her much, Blueberry,” she murmured.
“Why not?” Clara asked with a frown.
Hannah sucked in a breath. I could feel the pain in the simple exhale, which made me ball my fists at my sides.
“Because she wasn’t a very good mother to me, my darling. She wasn’t … equipped to give me the things a mother should give a little girl.” Hannah didn’t continue right away, gazing down at the hair between her fingers. “She … hurt me. So I had to go away.”
That was a lot to tell a five-year-old. Any other five-year-old.
But like me, Hannah didn’t shy away from the truth with Clara.
I’d always told her a version of the truth when she asked about her own mother.
I’d softened the edges, kept out my fury, but Clara knew her mother was not around because she couldn’t be a mother.
“She hurt you?” Clara asked. “Mothers do that?” My throat closed at that innocent question.
Hannah smiled the saddest fucking smile I’d ever seen. “Sometimes, Blueberry. Because they’re in pain themselves, and they don’t know how to heal.”
My pulse quickened as my breathing shallowed. Fucking Hannah. Giving her mother the grace I suspected she didn’t deserve while gifting my daughter with a perspective that was priceless.
Clara straightened, a serious expression on her face as she shifted to face Hannah fully. “Do you think that’s what’s wrong with my mom? Daddy said she wasn’t ready to be a mother.”
Hannah frowned, so much love in her hazel eyes it hurt to look at her.
“Some people aren’t meant to be mothers, but she was meant to bring you into this world, to your Daddy, to Elliot, to your grandpa, to Calliope and…
” She cupped her cheek, kissing her forehead.
“And to me.” She spoke so softly, it was almost too quiet for me to hear.
My throat felt drier than sandpaper.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Clara whispered.
“You can tell me anything,” Hannah replied without hesitation.
Clara leaned in. “I wish you were my mom.”
Knife. To the fucking heart.
Hannah’s eyes widened a little, then she smiled again. “Can I tell you a secret? I do too.”
On what felt like wooden fucking legs, I walked away. Because my heart couldn’t handle a second more.
Because I wished, more than anything, that Hannah was Clara’s mother too.