Chapter 41
you are not a mess
Rowan
Dubs
Hey, man. All’s well here. Sorry I missed your texts yesterday.
Me
Bri and Mom didn’t reply either.
Dubs
Weird.
Me
***
I think YOUR pants are on fire.
I look up from my phone at the sound of heels clacking on tile, loud and fast. Hannah rushes into my line of sight a few aisles ahead. My stomach sinks.
She rounds the corner and runs the opposite direction. Away from…something.
Half a heartbeat—that’s all it takes before I abandon the cart and move after her. Then someone else appears. A man running out of the same aisle.
Daniel, the asshole who assaulted her in that dark parking lot, comes into view. And he’s shouting her name. Chasing after her.
I see red.
My voice is an earthquake, loud like thunder. “The fuck did I tell you?!”
It gets his attention in an instant and he freezes in his tracks.
He spins around, immediately regretting every choice he’s made that brought him to this spot where my fist flies clean across his face.
The bones of his nose crack under the force of my punch, and he crumples to the ground like the dead weight he is.
One quick glance confirms Hannah’s sealed herself safely inside the bathroom. I haul Daniel up by the collar, blood gushes down his face.
“I just wanted to make sure she was okay, I swear!” I ignore his pleas as I drag him through the store and out into the parking lot.
“Which one’s yours?” I demand. He’s disoriented, trying to stop the bleeding. “Car! Which one’s yours?”
A weak finger pointed across the way and I’m moving again, yanking him along with me.
“Fuck, man. I think you broke my nose.”
“I definitely broke your nose.” I slam him against the driver’s side door. “Should I do it again?”
One hand cupped over his face, he shakes his head in a panic.
I want to stay and beat him into a bloody pulp, break a dozen more bones in his body. But I want to get back to Hannah more.
“Get the hell out of here. I’ll deal with you later!” I shove him hard into the metal and back off a step. Fists poised at my side in case he decides to do something stupid, I stand at the ready until he climbs into his car and drives off.
Back inside, I run through the aisles, dutifully ignoring every curious stare. My focus is singular: find her.
Outside the bathroom a crowd has formed, concerned looks and hushed whispers shared among them.
“Did you see what happened?”
“She’s crying.”
“Should we call someone?”
“Excuse me,” I say. A dozen synchronized eyes turn toward me.
Silence falls over the tight hallway. My patience wanes as I shoulder my way through the trench of bodies until I’m at the door to the ladies’ room.
One middle-aged woman stops me before I can push my way inside. I meet her gaze. A fierce protectiveness stares back at me—maybe a mom, or a grandmother. My face remains sharp with anger, so I soften my expression as best as the rush of adrenaline coursing through my limbs will let me.
I place my hand gently on top of the one she has on my forearm. “It’s alright. I’ve got her.”
What she sees in my eyes—that desperate, hopeless kind of love—must be enough because she lets go. And with one terse nod, she steps away, taking the rest of the onlookers with her.
On a deep breath, I ease the door forward. “Hannah?” No answer. “It’s just me, okay?”
I step inside quietly, dragging the trash can over to prop the door open. Soft cries echo through the tiny space. Beneath the door of the handicap stall, I see her crouched onto her haunches. I mirror her position outside the stall door, leaning against the wall.
“He’s gone, I promise.” Another muffled sob. “Let’s go home.”
She cries again, and it hurts more than any battle wound I’ve ever gotten. I wasn’t there. I’m never there. Three aisles away, but still not close enough to be there when she needed me the most. I press my head against the wall, hard enough to feel the drywall buckle.
For long minutes, we sit in silence, nothing but a metal partition and a thousand unspoken words between us. She sobs, a tear falls down my cheek. She sniffs, a piece of my heart fractures.
I wait and I wait, my legs numb and heart pounding.
Then, a hand. No, not a hand. Her pinky finger stretches out under the door, reaching for me.
I link mine with hers. “Talk to me, baby.”
Her heels shuffle and she lets go. I stand to my feet with her, wait for the door to open. It finally does and everything about her hits me straight in the chest. Mascara tracks, puffy eyes, red nose, and a spirit-crushing set to her frame.
She inches toward me, feet timid, arms curling under mine to clutch my shoulders. Her chest hiccups on her fading sobs, and all I can do is wrap myself around her. Run a soothing hand over her spine. Kiss her brow.
Hannah doesn’t speak as I lead her through the market and out to my truck. She doesn’t say a word for the hour drive back to the lake house either. And when we step inside, she closes herself in the bathroom and cranks on the shower without once looking back.
I abandoned our groceries at the store, so I set about warming up the half-eaten chicken pot pie in the oven.
Thirty minutes later, dinner is cooling on the counter and the shower still blasts on the other side of the bathroom door.
I knock softly, but she doesn’t respond. I knock again, firmer this time. “Hannah?” Still no answer.
On a thick swallow, I try the knob and find it unlocked. A wall of steam slams into me the moment I push into the small space. Mirror fogged over and with an oppressive heat filling the room, I ease in, carefully avoiding the pile of clothes on the floor. I say her name a few times.
Still nothing.
I come up to the shower curtain, eyes pinched as I debate what to do next. The sound of the water is constant, no ebbs or flows, no sloshing. She’s not moving. Nerves threaten to invade the last fortresses of my self-control.
“Hannah,” I say one last time, begging. When she doesn’t reply, I tug the curtain over a few inches to peek inside.
She sits naked on the tub floor, legs tucked tightly into her chest. Her head rests between the dip of her knees as the shower beats down upon her back.
There’s no thinking or weighing pros and cons. Only action.
I peel off my shirt. “Hannah, it’s me.” Shorts, gone. “I’m here.” I toss my socks aside. “You’re safe.” I set the door fully open to let some of the heat escape the cramped room. “Nothing bad is gonna to happen to you.”
Stripped down to my boxers, I pull a fresh towel from the cabinet and step back up to the curtain. “I’m coming in, okay?”
I take her silence as permission and climb into the tub. Standing behind her, I flap the towel open and lay it across her bare back. The water soaks it through in a matter of seconds, causing it to cling to her body like a second skin.
Her chest rises on a shaky breath as I lower to a seated position. My boxers are saturated with water but I don’t care. I stretch my legs out on either side of her, bracketing her between my knees.
Water ricochets off the wet towel onto my face as I scoot closer. “Baby, can I hold you?”
A small nod. I stack my arms atop her own around her shins, gently settling my chest against her back. My embrace takes the place of the hot water over her skin as I curl my torso around her shoulders.
The persistent jet stream pelts my spine and the steam makes it hard to breathe, but I feel none of it. All I feel is the weight of her lungs inflating beneath me until our breaths are in sync.
Her voice cuts through the echo of water bouncing off porcelain. “I’m sorry.”
I squeeze her harder, kiss the back of her head. “Don’t do that.”
“I told you I was a mess.”
“You don’t get to do that either.” I collect some of the wet hair stuck to her face and clear it away.
The silence is heavy, burdened by her disbelief at my words.
Thirteen years of military service has my need to fix it, to protect, to neutralize threats, rearing its ugly head. I want to barge into Daniel’s house and finish him with my fists. Destroy his career. Run him out of town. Put him behind bars.
I’d throw myself between her and danger every second of every day for the rest of my life if I could. Fall on a sword, leap in front of a bullet, run into traffic—anything. I’d do anything to protect her from pain.
But, in five days, I won’t be here. The reality burns like bile in my stomach.
“Baby, I need to say this because I’m gonna spend the rest of my life regretting it if I don’t.
” A pause as I push past the pain in my chest. “I think you need to report it. What happened to you wasn’t nothing.
” Her shoulders tremble. “Something did happen to you, Hannah, and you shouldn’t carry the weight of it by yourself. ”
A quiet sob spills out of her, and I can’t discern my tears from the water streaming down my face. This girl’s forgotten she’s a fighter. It’s in her blood. Her bones.
“Admitting it happened doesn’t make you weak. Talking about it doesn’t make you weak. Telling your story doesn’t make you weak.”
She cries in earnest now, hiccups of breath rushing in and out.
I bring my lips to her ear. “You are not broken. And you are not a mess.”
And I love you.