Chapter 52 Promise Me
promise me
Rowan
“My first walk of shame and the audience is your mother?” Hannah sinks low into the leather, hiding her eyes behind the seat belt while I pull into her driveway.
Dubs hitches Bri’s U-Haul to Mom’s van on the curb, my stepsister emerges from the front door with two suitcases. And my mother, bless her, observes everything from her seat on the porch like a queen surveying her kingdom.
And she’s waving. Not a hello wave as much as a here I am smoke signal you could spot a mile away.
I flash my teeth and speak out the side of my mouth. “Just smile and wave back.”
“I am mortified,” she says through a ventriloquist-doll grin that makes my own cheeks hurt.
She’s not wrong. We look a mess. I’m in my tuxedo, shirt barely buttoned, jacket wrinkled into oblivion, and she’s in her gala dress, last night’s makeup hanging on by a thread, rocking a wild head of all-night sex hair.
Because I’m an idiot who didn’t think through the logistics of heading straight to the cabin after the fundraiser.
Mom and Bri keep their inside thoughts to themselves as we make our way across the yard. Can’t say the same for my best friend.
“Sooo…” Dubs drawls, pumping his brows. “How was your night?”
“Fly’s open, man.”
“Oh no, I’m not falling for that old trick ag—”
“No, it’s actually open,” Bri interrupts, expression bored.
His wide eyes dart to his jeans. I give Bri a passing high-five. Without looking back, I add, “Made ya look.”
Closed up in Hannah’s room, we fix our faces, our hair, and change clothes. She sits on the edge of the mattress, watching me pack up my things. I collect a pile of shirts strewn over a chair in the corner. One by one, I fold and stuff them in my bag.
Near the bottom of the stack, I find my Army hoodie mixed in with everything else. She runs a hand over the fabric, tracing the letters. I can’t see her eyes, but she sniffs and my heart cracks down the middle when she whispers, “Please don’t take this one.”
She already has my heart so what does a damn sweatshirt matter?
I want everything of mine to be hers anyway.
I offer it to her and she puts it on, pulling the sleeves down over her hands.
Hem stretched as far as it can go, she tucks her legs inside and wraps her arms around them, resting a cheek on her knee.
The longer I look at her, the heavier my legs feel. I don’t think I can do this.
But I have to.
Thirty minutes later, Mom, Bri, and Dubs say their goodbyes in Hannah’s entryway. They thank her for the hospitality, reminisce fondly over her speech last night. After final hugs are exchanged, they head to the car to give us a few minutes alone.
The door shuts behind them, taking all the air with it.
“How long of a drive do you have?”
“We’re dropping Dubs at the airport in Denver to fly back to post, then down to Dallas to get Bri moved into her new apartment. And then,” I clear my throat, “Mom and I will drive the rest of the way. Probably spread it out over a few days to give her back a break.”
She nods at the ground, mask slipping as she paws at her cheeks.
I fold her into my arms. Love is the only thought in my mind, the only words on the tip of my tongue. But we’re already in quicksand—stuck and sinking deeper with no way out.
For the first time in my life, I don’t know how to fix it. It’s not a leaky faucet or an enemy target in the scope of my rifle. We’re two hearts intertwined, split across thousands of miles and a cruel world that won’t stop turning, not even for a second, to let us get our feet underneath us.
But I refuse to give up.
“You should go,” Hannah says, not meeting my eyes.
I cup her cheek and bring her gaze to mine. “Not until you understand something. We’re not over. I don’t know when or how, but I’m gonna find a way back here. To you.”
She just stares at me like I’m her entire world and dammit, a look like that isn’t supposed to hurt this much.
“I met a woman once who told me to not lose hope,” she says. “Six years later, a wise man told me hope is an anchor for the soul. He said when bad things happen, we can hold on to the hope of what’s to come because there’s joy for us now if we can see beyond the stuff that hurts.”
I should smile at the memory of our conversation under the stars all those years ago. Only it doesn’t sound so good when I’m headed a thousand miles in the opposite direction of the only woman I’ve ever loved.
Moisture builds in the corner of my eyes. I clear them with my thumb and forefinger. “It’s hard to see the joy right now.”
“I know. But fate brought us together twice already. Maybe the third time’s the charm.”
“I’m not gonna stop fighting for this.” I clasp her hand in mine. “Please don’t ask me to sit back and do nothing.”
She plants one firm peck on my lips. “Even if you were capable of doing nothing, which you’re not”—her chin dips in chastisement, eyes blinking—“that’s not what I’m asking.”
Silence stretches, her eyes fill with tears. They roll down her cheeks and I swipe them away, one after the other. “Hannah.”
“I believe you’ll find a way back to me, Rowan. But please, please don’t rush it. Be present. Cherish every second you have with her. She needs you, and if you have one foot out the door, I’ll never forgive myself if something were to happ—”
A violent sob breaks through her words, and I pull her against my chest. “Breathe, baby.”
I hold her through her cries, running my hand over her back until her lungs find a steady rhythm.
Then we’re kissing. Frantic and aching, our mouths collide like it’s the first and last time. She pushes up on her toes, curls her arms around my neck. My hat is thrown to the ground as she tunnels rough fingers through my hair.
We channel every bit of frustration into the way we devour each other. And love—so much love it’s maddening. With our lips, our tongues, our hands, we take what the world won’t let us have without a single regret.
I pick her up by her thighs and set her on the edge of the small entry table. She palms me through my jeans, and I groan. My mouth claims hers again while I reach behind me and turn the deadbolt on the front door on impulse.
“One more time,” she breathes. My pants are undone and she’s freed me from my boxers a second later.
The hem of my sweatshirt nearly covers her shorts. I find the waistband, yanking them off along with her panties in one hurried tug.
We’re panting, racing to feel each other, but the moment I’m back inside her, time slows down. A chorus of sighs and groans escape us both when I push all the way in and hold there. Her eyes tether mine, diving deep for long seconds. Our last opportunity to commit the feel of home to memory.
I pull out slowly, thrust back in even slower. Her mouth falls open on a whimper. I thrust in once, twice more, whisper a nearly silent “I love you” along the column of her throat.
Glimpses of the bride I met five years ago flash in my mind when our gazes find each other again. Long honeycomb hair in the breeze, show-stopping white gown. Except this time there are no mustard stains, no ripped seams, no other man. This time, it’s us—her and me—and my ring on her finger.
I’m gonna marry this girl.
“Again,” she moans, nails crooked in the neck of my shirt.
The table beats against the wall while I pump into her at her demand. It doesn’t take long—we’re both too desperate and too in sync.
I pick up speed to match the manic thump in my chest, her hips pushing to keep pace. All of her clenches around me at once—her thighs, her core, her heart—and we come on a quiet cry a moment later.
Still riding out her climax, Hannah stills me with a sorrow-filled kiss.
Tears mar her lips. I take every single one as the gift they are—unconfined, undiluted love spilling over.
And I’m not sure she means to give them voice, but when she says the words, so soft they’re but a breath on the final second of her release, my soul shatters and puts itself back together at the same time.
I’m gonna love her for the rest of my life.
Silently, I help her back into her shorts, right myself in my jeans and put on my hat. My phone buzzes with a text from Dubs reminding me he has to be at the airport in half an hour. Followed up with another a second later…
Dubs
I swear to god, if you smell like sex when you get in this car…
Hannah chuckles when I show her the screen. “That’s your cue.”
I take her face in my hands. “Promise me something, Hannah.” Her throat bobs.
“Don’t stop fighting. For us or for yourself.
You’re so capable and this”—I place a hand over her heart—“is perfect. And this”—I tap her temple—“is stronger than you realize. And this”—I tuck her hand in mine—“isn’t over.
” She nods, the greens of her eyes muted behind a wall of unshed tears.
“And if things get dark, feel everything you need to feel, talk to somebody about it. Don’t stop fighting. Do you hear me?”
My best friend honks the horn from the driveway, but I ignore it.
“Baby, look at me.” One deep breath, her gaze lifts. “You. Are not. Broken. Promise me.”
Her mom’s cancer won’t break her. Daniel won’t break her. Hannah James is unbreakable.
She bobs her head once and I shake mine. “No. Say it. Not for me, for yourself. Say the words.”
A ragged breath. “I promise.”
“Promise what?
“I promise I won’t stop fighting.”
I kiss her for the last time. “That’s my girl.”