Chapter 61 Bigger Than Us
bigger than us
Hannah
Kristen
Is today the day?
Me
Yes, but please don’t make it a thing.
Kristen
I promise I won’t. I’m just proud of you.
Me
You’re already doing it.
Kristen
Fine. No more proud bestie talk. Got it.
I’ll see you tonight?
Me
…
My phone rings the second my ellipses goes on read.
I bypass a peppy greeting and cut to the chase. “I’m not saying I won’t be there, I’m just—”
“Making your discontent clear. Yeah, I know,” she says monotone.
“Exactly,” I snap. She laughs a little. “Remind me why I have to go to this thing again?”
“Because it’s New Year’s Eve, Hannah. Tell your boy toy he can go one night without draining his phone battery so you can ring in the new year with your best friend. I’m not letting you wallow alone at home or Rowan’s cabin tonight.”
My eyes roll to the sky as I slow my stride. I crane my neck to inspect the address above the door then check the time. Since I’m a few minutes early I circle back on the sidewalk, pacing in front of the entrance.
“First of all, I don’t wallow. Secondly, I was already banished from the cabin two days ago—”
“Damn rodents,” she interjects.
A shiver runs through me at the thought. I surge ahead. “And thirdly, shouldn’t you be celebrating New Year’s with your husband?”
“Oh, John’s coming. But I got tickets for your VFW guys too. There’ll be plenty of familiar faces there.”
“How you got those guys to agree to an invite-only party at some bar on New Year’s Eve is beyond me.”
She preens over the line. “I have my ways.”
I hum my amusement, halting my steps to lean against the front window of the office, worrying my lip between my teeth. After a stretch of silence, she senses the shift.
“Therapy’s nothing to be afraid of, Han.”
My wool coat jostles in the wind and I pull it tighter across my chest. “I know,” I say, though I wish there was more conviction in my voice.
When I got word from Officer Montgomery that Daniel would be detained for upwards of a year, I was struck with both relief and disappointment.
Conflicting feelings I haven’t determined the source of quite yet.
There’s a peace in knowing I won’t run into him around town, but there was a part of me—a very naive part—that hoped justice being served meant all my sensitivities and mental hang-ups would finally be behind me.
That I’d be able to sleep alone in my house without the hall light and television on.
If I’m honest, my most stubborn bit wants to push everything down the way I always have, revert to my well-versed mantra of I’m fine.
Vulnerability is hard.
Therapy will be good for me; the logical side of my brain knows it.
But I can’t lie and say it was a one woman effort to get me here.
I may have dug the card out of my purse and dialed the number to schedule the appointment, but the truth is, the promise I made to Mom—that I’d be okay—is the reason I’m here.
Perhaps it’s not the most ideal entry point, but it’s a start.
“What is it?” Kristen’s question forces my wandering thoughts to center.
I suck in a breath, the cold December air hitting the back of my throat in a sharp blast. When I still can’t manage a reply, she adds, “You’ve been through a lot the past few months, babe.
One step at a time, alright? You go in, you sit down, you talk.
That’s it. Then you show up again next week and talk a little more. You’re in a marathon, not a sprint.”
I feel lighter hearing her words. “Can I just hire you to be my therapist?”
“My god, can you imagine the wine we’d consume?”
“So much wine.” I check the time again. “I should go.”
“Okay, you got this. And remember, no matter what happens, we’re gonna celebrate big and have fun tonight. Tomorrow’s the start of a new year.”
We hang up and I step inside. As I settle onto the couch in the waiting area, my phone buzzes consecutively from my purse. Once for the pin Kristen sent over for the location of the New Year’s Eve party which I tell myself to check later. But the other is a message from Rowan.
Rowan
Call me after? I love you.
I manage a small smile against the nerves pulsing through my veins. I have a village and I have a Rowan in my corner.
February feels like an eternity away before I can see him next.
The past couple months have been one obstacle after another.
Mom’s house had to be cleared out to prepare to go on the market.
I returned to Hawkley in mid-November after my extended bereavement leave to wrap up my client work before my official last day earlier this week.
The Santa’s Workshop event at the children’s hospital consumed most of my free time around the holiday which meant I couldn’t get to North Carolina to celebrate Christmas with Rowan and his mom.
Tess is doing well, but without her doctors’ clearance for travel and nobody available to help, Rowan hasn’t been able to get away.
February looks promising though, he’s said. In the meantime, I cling to every phone call, love letter, and care package with my hope-filled fist.
Me
Will do. Love you too.
“You must be Hannah?”
I quickly tuck my phone away and stand to greet the woman walking over. “That’s me.”
I shake the middle-aged therapist’s hand. She’s a few inches shorter than me, gray hair coiled in tight ringlets framing her face. And her smile is kind. “Dr. Miranda Ferguson. It’s lovely to meet you. Come on back and we’ll get started.”
Snow is falling by the time my session ends. Dry winter air scorches my lungs as I step out on to the sidewalk. It’s oddly refreshing after an hour of talking about Mom.
Dr. Ferguson knows about the assault—I alluded to it when I inquired about the appointment.
Therapy novice that I am thought we’d jump right into it when I sat down.
Instead, she gently prodded me with questions about my job which led to a line of falling dominos.
Boulder Children’s Hospital. Maddy and Gwyn.
Mom’s cancer. My failed engagement. Mom’s death.
Every attempt I made to circle to the night of the assault was kindly thwarted, steering me in another direction. “We’ll get there, Hannah. Let’s take it one session at a time,” she’d said. It may not have been what I expected, but it wasn’t awful either. I suppose that counts for something.
Marathon, not a sprint.
Gloved hands fisted inside my pockets, my feet carry me to the nearest coffee shop. It’s not my go-to joint, nothing on this side of town is, but something hot and chocolatey beckons me before I make the trek to my car to call Rowan.
“Grande hot chocolate with whip for Hannah,” the barista calls out.
I swipe my drink clutched between both palms and make for the exit. Spinning around, I put my back to the glass and push out onto the sidewalk. The door whips open on a blistery gust of wind and I whirl around to catch it, but not fast enough.
The lid on my cup dislodges, foamy hot cocoa spilling everywhere. Down the front of my coat, my boots and, most embarrassingly, all over the oak tree of a man chest I just collided with in the commotion.
“Oh my god!” I thrust a hand at his jacket currently covered in chocolate and whipped cream. “I’m so sorry.”
Everything happens in the span of a second. Without his permission or even looking this poor man in the eye, I drench my gloves in a pathetic attempt to wipe the hot liquid away while stealing glances at the state of my ruined boots.
“Hey, baby.”
I screech to a halt. Three heartbeats is all it takes.
One. That voice, deep and smooth. I’d recognize it in my sleep.
Two. The hand folded around my wrist, holding me steady like an anchor.
My gaze drifts up.
Three. Those two dimples splitting his cheeks.
I stare straight into the face of my soldier. Rowan smiles down at me, blue eyes bright under thick lashes.
For a split second I’m frozen, mouth agape. Then everything I’m holding drops to the ground. The remnants of my cocoa, cup and all. My purse. My dignity. I lunge forward and throw my arms around his neck. “You’re here.”
He snickers into my hair. I pull back and shove him in the sternum. “What the hell, Rowan?”
His hand grips my coat, pulls me flush against him, head dipping low.
“What are you doing here?” I yelp before his lips make contact, giving him another shove.
“I was trying to surprise you.”
“Surprise me?”
He yanks me close again. “Yeah, sunshine. I should’ve known it wouldn’t work out the way I’d planned.”
A scruffy jaw tickles my chin as his mouth hovers above mine. I smirk and shove him back again, slap my hands on either side of my face. “I’m so confused.”
Rowan just laughs as he ambles forward, entirely too entertained by our little game of push and pull. I need answers, dammit.
“Who’s with your mom?”
He grins. “Nobody. She’s here with me.”
My forehead crinkles and I shake my head. “But you said she wasn’t cleared for travel.”
“I lied,” he whispers, sweeping hair off my face.
Jaw unhinged, I shove him again. His smile is mischievous and way too smug. “Rowan Shaw!”
“Hannah James!”
I curl my fingers in the lapel of his coat and lug him close. “Stop smirking and start talking.”
“I was going to—”
“There are no mice are there?” I cut in, nostrils flaring.
A guilty pause. “Gotta be honest, I’m shocked you fell for the annual pest control bit. I told Kristen it wouldn’t work, but…” He shrugs.
“Wait! You and Kristen have been—”
Rowan silences me with a firm hand around my neck, thumb cupping my jaw. “Hannah.” I swallow, his palm curling around to fist the hair at my nape. “Shut the hell up.”
Our mouths collide and I sink into him. The air makes our lips cold to the touch but we settle into the kiss, reacquainting ourselves, tongues warm and seeking. Snow falls, people pass by all around, but we’re oblivious. He’s kissing me, and I feel his hands on my face and in my hair and…he’s here.