Chapter 18
HANNAH
The stylist tilts my head forward and works the comb through my wet hair while my mother sits in the chair beside me, foil strips poking out from her highlights like tiny silver flags.
She's watching me in the mirror with prying eyes, trying to read me, and I hate it.
I know she's trying to show she's concerned, but I also know how her mind works.
I'm not eager to get the lecture she's already rehearsing.
"You look tired," she says, and it's not the judgmental tone she normally uses. But I'm not being lulled into the safety of confession. If I tell her why I'm looking so tired, it'll be everywhere by tomorrow morning.
"I'm fine, Mom."
"Mmhmm." She adjusts her salon cape and keeps her eyes on my reflection. "You're running on fumes, sweetheart. I can see it around your eyes."
"I'm fine, please don’t do this." So far, our salon visit has been fine. I've mostly been able to put out of my head the constant swirl of anxious tension under the surface. I was hoping to keep her nosiness to a minimum, but it appears I'm not getting what I hoped for.
"Hannah Marie, I have been looking at your face for twenty-seven years. I know when something is bothering you. Why aren't you talking to me?"
I let out a breath and stare at the row of shampoo bottles on the counter.
She's right. Every time I close my eyes, my brain cycles through the same loop of panic and indecision that's been eating me alive since I saw those two lines on the test. And when I do manage to fall asleep, I dream about Luke finding out about the baby and being upset with me.
I fold my hands together under the salon cape and look anywhere but at my mother.
If I tell her about the baby, she'll not only insist on knowing who the father is, but she'll make a fuss over it and tell all her gossip buddies.
I hate that this is my life, but it's better if I don't rely on comfort and encouragement from my mother right now. I have to figure out what’s best for me first before I bring her into this.
"Is it the festival?" she asks, folding her hands in her lap. Her stylist has stepped away to mix more color, and it's just us now. But I’m still not budging. The sting of shame feels too hot to open up.
"Partly."
"And the rest?"
I glance at her reflection. My mother has always been better at listening than most people are at talking. She leaves the door open and waits to see if you walk through it. The problem is it doesn't stop with her.
"I just feel like everything is piling up and I'm drowning under all of it." My white lie isn't entirely false. That is how I feel.
She hums softly and tips her head to one side, careful with the foils. "You've always done that. Taken on more than your share and then been surprised when it gets heavy."
"It just sort of happened, Mom."
"Things just happen to you, huh? You reach for them with both hands and then act like they fell out of the sky."
I want to be mad at her but she's not wrong. Every stressor I'm carrying now is a result of my making choices that bring consequences into my life that I'm not fully equipped to handle. I did this to myself, so I can't act like I'm shocked that it's difficult.
"I feel like I'm losing control of things," I tell her, and it's the realest thing I can say.
"Like I had a plan and now the plan is falling apart.
" I won't tell her that it’s the festival when it isn't. That would be more than a white lie.
But I won't tell her it's my whole life plan, either.
She'll worry that I'm suicidal or something when I'm not.
I'm just sad and fearful about my future.
My mother leans across the gap between our chairs and puts her hand on my arm. "You listen to me," she says quietly. "You are allowed to let the people who care about you help carry it. You hear me? You are allowed."
"I just keep thinking I should be able to handle it."
"I know you do." She squeezes my arm. "That's exactly why I'm telling you to stop. You need to let others in, Hannah. You’re not a one-man wonder. You're part of a community and these people love you. You're Bandon's golden girl, don’t you know that?"
I blink hard and look down at my lap. The tears are right there, burning the backs of my eyes, and I focus on the weave of the salon cape, blinking my eyes rapidly until the need to cry passes.
Mom settles back in her chair and changes the subject, talking about Mrs. Finnegan's knee surgery.
She must realize I'm emotional and wants to spare me from the embarrassment of breaking down in public.
But I know this conversation will circle back and I'm not sure what to say when it does.
The truth is right there in my throat, lodged behind the lump I keep swallowing down. I'm pregnant, Mom. I'm pregnant with Luke Maddox's baby and I'm scared. But opening up seems scarier than just swallowing it down a little longer and keeping it to myself.
When both our stylists finish, we stand and she pulls me into a hug that catches me off guard.
Her arms are strong and I press my face into her shoulder.
Mom isn't usually the type to offer physical displays of affection, especially not in public, but I’m not shying away from it.
I miss her comfort, and being a grownup is hard enough without tough situations like the one I'm going through.
"Stop trying to carry it all alone," she murmurs, "whatever it is."
I pull back and give her the best smile I can manage. "I'll try. Thank you, Mom."
She studies me for a second, her eyes tracing my face, and then she lets me go. She says her goodbyes and turns toward the counter to pay, and I slip out before I break down crying again, thankful for mothers who foot the bill for mother-daughter salon days.
The bell above the salon door chimes as I step out into the bright May afternoon.
The air is warm and salty and I take a deep breath, trying to settle my nerves.
I got really close to opening up about this baby because carrying it alone is too much for me.
But If I'm going to tell anyone, it really should be Luke, not my mom.
Imagine him hearing from someone in town and not me.
If that happened, he'd never forgive me.
I turn toward my car a block up the street and I pass by the town council office, where Calvin Dorsey is leaning on the hood of his Mercedes with his arms crossed. It’s the first time I've seen him not wearing a suit jacket. It's too hot, which explains why he's got it draped over his arm.
"Hannah, just the person I was hoping to catch." He pushes off the car and straightens his tie. Navy blue today, with a silver tie pin that catches the sunlight.
"Mr. Dorsey." I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and blink against the sun, shading my eyes as I look up at him. I'd rather not do this right now, but I won't be rude.
"I need to talk to you about the permits for the main stage area and the vendor corridor. We're running up against the deadline and I need your signatures on the applications before end of week."
"End of week? I thought we had until the twentieth."
"The city clerk moved the timeline up. Something about overlap with another event permit." He pulls a folder from inside the car and holds it out to me. "I've already filled in what I can, but there are a few sections that need your authorization as the event chair."
I take the folder and flip it open. There are more pages than I expected, and half of them reference budget lines and vendor agreements I still need to review.
My stomach tightens as I scan the numbers.
Some of these figures run higher than what I approved, and new line items appear that I've never seen before.
Something inside my chest feels tangled up, like he's trying to slip something past me. I don’t like it.
"I'll need to look these over before I sign anything." I close the folder and tuck it under my arm. If he thinks I'm just going to blindly get behind whatever he's doing, he's wrong. I'm no fool.
"Of course, but Hannah, time's a factor here. If we miss the window, we lose the permits entirely and that sets the whole festival back weeks."
His tone is polite but there's pressure underneath it.
He's smiling, but his eyes are locked on mine, and I feel the walls of my carefully maintained control crumbling.
I've been more than patient. I let him have as much control as he wanted, then I even gave him more.
And it creeped me out when he tried to act overly friendly at the Easter parade.
I'm not sure what his game is, but I’m pulling back until I do know.
He's a nice man, and his money for the festival is helping me do something I could never do alone, but red flags are waving everywhere for me.
"I'll get them back to you by Thursday," I say, and I turn toward my car.
"Thursday would be cutting it close."
"Thursday, Mr. Dorsey."
I don't look at him, but I can imagine the scowl on his face as I walk away. "Thursday it is." He opens his car door and pauses. "And Hannah, take care of yourself. You're looking a little peckish."
I watch him pull away from the curb and stand there on the sidewalk holding that folder against my chest. I'm one hundred percent certain that when my mother said to let others help me carry my load, she was not talking about that creepy man.
What did I ever see in him that was so charming, I got instantly swept off my feet and charmed into letting him have his way with my festival?
As I climb into my car and head home, I find myself grateful that Calvin Dorsey isn't fifteen years younger and hitting on me, or I'd have made a much stupider mistake than having sex with Luke Maddox.
The rest of my day goes by in a whirlwind, working from home, signing the persistent Mr. Dorsey's contracts, and avoiding my emotions. And by the time I collapse into bed, the entire day's worth of worrying about Luke and this baby all catch up with me.
Exhaustion pulls me under almost immediately. My eyes close, my body sinks into the mattress, and everything fades until I'm sound asleep being bombarded by a dream again.
I stand on the shoreline where the festival grounds will take shape in a few weeks.
The sea grass stretches out around me, and Luke walks toward me.
His shoulders are set and his gaze locks on mine.
When he reaches me, he stops close enough that I feel the warmth of his body.
He lifts one hand and cups the side of my face, his thumb brushing slowly across my cheekbone.
"God, you're beautiful," he says, and I believe him. God, I believe so much that I want more with him, so much more.
"I'm afraid," I whisper, and a tear slips down my cheek which he brushes away.
"Don't be afraid, sweetheart. I'll take care of you," he whispers before his lips brush mine. "You don't have to cry. I can help you."
I whimper against his lips because I need to hear him say those words. I'm desperate to feel safe with him, but I just don't. Flashes of Nick's face appear in my mind, pulling at me, but I choose Luke. I cling to him as he pulls me against his body and I won't look anywhere but his eyes.
He kisses me harder this time. His tongue slides against mine and I stop thinking.
My hands push under his shirt. His skin is warm and I feel the muscle move under my palms. He yanks his shirt off, then mine.
The air hits my bare skin as he lowers me down onto the sea grass and his mouth goes straight to my breast. When he sucks on my nipple I groan, and he keeps going, using his teeth just enough to make me squirm.
“You’re making me want you,” I tell him, and in the dream, somehow, I’m totally naked now, open to him and so vulnerable. I want it to be this way. I want to be exposed to him and safe at the same time.
“Good,” he says against my skin. “Because you’ve been making me want you for months.”
He moves lower and kisses my stomach where it’s just starting to curve. Both of his hands rest there. “This is mine too,” he says. “You and me and this kid. We're family now."
Part of me wants to believe him so badly, it hurts.
The other part is still scared. “What if this is a mistake?” I ask.
“What if I tell you everything and you leave anyway?” The dream snaps to some strange room where half the town is watching and I'm feeling exposed.
They are angry with Luke, and Nick is sitting in the corner weeping.
But Luke looks up at me. “I could never leave you, Hannah. You're everything I want, and no one can take you from me."
I pull him back up and kiss him while the rest of the world fades away again, and we're back on the sand, lying in the surf as he settles between my legs, kissing me. I hear the crash of the water, it's so loud. And his lips make me feel like I'm drowning.
“Look at me,” he says as he moves between my thighs.
His eyes stay on mine the whole time. "I'm in love with you, Hannah Marie Brooks.
" He pushes inside me in one slow thrust. I gasp and dig my nails into his back. He feels so good it almost hurts. It makes me forget why I’ve been running from him.
His hand slips between us and his fingers rub right where I need it.
I hear him speak muffled words, but this time when I try to speak, nothing comes out. I moan and gasp and grunt, but I can't tell him I love him. It's like the words are tangled in my throat, unable to escape because fear of his being angry and fear of the town judging me force them back.
One minute, he's so gentle and the next, my body is coiling around him, spasming and jerking, and I am lost to any sensation but the release I feel rippling through my body.
The pleasure of the dream fades a little, but I stay locked in the throes of it, wrapped in his arms as he dotes on me, pushing hair out of my face.
“I love you,” he says. “I’ve been in love with you. I was just waiting for you to stop running.”
I feel tears in my eyes even though it’s a dream. “I’m scared I’ll screw this up. I’m scared of what people will say, Luke. What Nick would think…"
I'm reaching for him, pulling him against my body, when I snap awake and realize it was all a dream. I feel the tingling of arousal between my legs and realize I’m holding my pillow in my arms, not Luke’s body.
But the tears are very real.
I lie there crying softly into my pillow, thinking of how incredible it felt to have Luke holding me.
I'm not supposed to want him. He's the one who let Nick die.
He's the man I've hated for twelve years.
I never wanted to see him again in my life, and now he's back and things happened.
I'm pregnant with his baby and I have no idea how to deal with any of this.
This shouldn't be this way. I shouldn’t want him, and I definitely shouldn’t need him.
But it is this way, and I do want him.
In fact, I think I love him. And it terrifies me.