Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters)

Fox stopped and listened, as if she might somehow answer and reassure him like she always did, then hung up with dread curdling in his stomach. Looked up to find the women in various states of crying, from dabbing away tears to openly weeping.

“I have to go.”

No one tried to stop Fox as he ran out the door and sprinted to his truck, throwing himself into the driver’s seat and peeling out. He hit a stoplight on the way to the highway and cursed, slamming on the brakes. Restless without being in motion, he took out his phone again and called Brendan.

“Fox,” the captain said, answering on the first ring. “I’ve been meaning to call you, actually. I want to apologize again—”

“Good. Do it another time, though.” The light turned green, and he floored it, merging onto the highway, thanking God there didn’t seem to be any rush hour traffic. “Is Hannah with you guys? Did she stay there last night?”

A brief pause. “No. She didn’t stay with you?”

“No.” Knowing he could have spent the night with Hannah—and didn’t—was a bitter pill to swallow. It was a world that didn’t make sense, and he never wanted to live in it again. Where would she have gone? There were a couple of inns in Westport, but she wouldn’t check in somewhere, would she? Maybe she’d gone to the house where the crew was staying. All of them would have gotten on the bus an hour ago. She went with them. She’s gone. “No, she’s not with me,” he rasped, misery washing over him. “Look. It’s complicated. Predictably, I fucked everything up. I need a chance to fix it.”

“Hey. Whatever you did, I’m sure you can repair it.”

No accusations. No knowing sighs or disappointment.

Just faith.

Fox ached just above his collarbone. Maybe, like the ocean, he could evolve.

Maybe the crew would realize they were wrong about him after some time passed. After all, they were just following his lead, treating him like he asked them to. Like the cheap version of himself he’d presented. Demanding respect from Brendan one time was all it took to change his best friend’s tune. What if that was all it took to do the same with everyone else?

And if it didn’t work? The hell with them. His relationship with Hannah belonged to him and her. No one else.

Either way, he was going to do everything in his power to keep Hannah.

That was a given.

Imagining a future without her had his hands shaking on the wheel.

For the first time since he’d left for college, he was eager to find out how far his potential could reach. He was ready to take chances again. Maybe because he now knew, after speaking frankly with Charlene, that he’d been guided incorrectly. Or maybe because he was no longer so afraid of being judged. He was driving blindly, pretty sure Hannah had gone back to LA. This was pain. This was self-loathing. Losing the love of his life—his future—because he’d let the past win. He could endure and overcome anything but this.

Cradling the phone between his cheek and shoulder, he ripped off the leather bracelet and threw it out the window of his car. “I want the boat, Brendan.”

Even without seeing his best friend’s face, he could imagine the raised eyebrow, the thoughtful stroking of his jaw. “You sure?”

“Positive. And I’m putting in a new chair. Your ass grooves are in the old one.” He waited for his friend to stop chuckling. “Is Piper there? Has she spoken to Hannah?”

“She’s out on her run. I can call her—”

Fox’s phone died.

The breath hissed out of him, and he threw the device onto the dashboard, heart slamming in his ears as he wove in and out of traffic. She couldn’t be gone. All right, they hadn’t agreed on a timeline for him to come and find her. Perhaps she thought she’d go back to LA and he’d take a few weeks or even months to figure out he’d die without her? Maybe he should have assumed she would leave this morning? Well, he hadn’t. He’d been thinking about it for weeks, and when the moment finally came, his heart had blocked the painful possibility.

Too late. He was too late.

God, she could have changed her mind. Maybe she wasn’t giving him time to pull his head out of his stubborn ass at all. That would explain why she wasn’t answering her phone. She’d deemed Fox more trouble than he was worth. If that was the case, it wouldn’t matter if he flew to LA. Or drove like a bat out of hell and caught up with the bus. If she was done with him . . .

No.

No, please. He couldn’t think like that.

With his skin somehow icy and sweating at the same time, Fox took the exit to Westport an hour and a half later, searching the streets for members of the cast or crew. Would he even recognize any of them? At that moment, he would have been grateful to see the fucking director and his yuppie turtleneck. None of the people waving as he passed were non-locals, though. None of them. No bus idling on the harbor.