Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters)

“Christ, Ma. You couldn’t have picked something a little more uplifting?”

“I haven’t finished yet,” she said patiently, enjoying herself. “Earl professed his love to Georgette and moved in, nursed her back to health. Now they sit in the front row every time I host bingo in Aberdeen. Can’t pry them apart with a butter knife. And you know what? Everyone is happy for them. You can’t live life worrying about what people will think. You’ll wake up one day, look at a calendar, and count the days you could have spent being happy. With her. And no one else, especially the ones wagging their tongues, are going to be there to console you.”

Fox thought of waking up in fifteen years and having spent none of it with Hannah, and he got dizzy, his mother’s kitchen spinning around him, his lungs on fire. Crossing to the living room, he fell back on the couch and counted off his breaths, trying to fight through the sudden nausea.

Exhaustion crashed down on him unexpectedly, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was having his long-standing issues unraveled, explained, and the subsequent weightless feeling in his stomach. Maybe it was the emotional excess or the utter depression of losing Hannah and making her cry, plus knowing his mother didn’t secretly hate him. All of it wrapping around his head like a thick, fuzzy bandage, blurring his thoughts until they were nothing more than a fading echo. His head dropped back against the cushion, and his roundabout worries eventually sent him into a deep sleep. The last thing he remembered was his mother laying a blanket over him and the promise he made to himself. As soon as he woke up, he’d go get her.

Hang on. I’ll be right there, Freckles.

* * *

Fox woke up in the sunlight to the chatter of voices.

He sat up and looked around, piecing together the night before, trying to clear the cobwebs that clung harder than usual. Tchotchkes on every surface, the lingering smell of Marlboro Reds. This was his mother’s living room. He knew that much. And then their conversation came back in precise detail, followed by a sinking feeling in his stomach.

It was morning. Eight in the morning.

The bus . . . the bus back to LA left at seven.

“No.” Fox almost got sick. “No, no, no.”

He was off the couch like a shot, his stomach pitching violently. Several pairs of eyes stared back at him from the kitchen, belonging to the senior ladies who’d apparently congregated in Charlene’s kitchen for coffee and donuts.

“Morning, honey,” his mother sang from the table, in the same place she’d sat last night. Same mug in her hands. “Got a bear claw over here with your name on it. Come meet the lady gang.”

“I can’t. I . . . She’s leaving. She’s . . . left?” He patted the pocket of his jeans and found his phone, the battery at 6 percent, and quickly tapped Hannah’s number, raking a hand through his hair and pacing while it rang. No way. No way he let her get on a bus back to California. He didn’t have a plan yet, didn’t have a strategy for keeping Hannah. He only knew that the fear of God was rattling his bones. That—the reality of her actually being gone—along with what his mother had said to him last night, had damn well put Fox’s priorities in order.

My head is out of my ass, Hannah. Answer the phone.

Voicemail.

Of course it was the opening bars to “Me and Bobby McGee,” followed by the husky efficiency of her greeting.

Fox stopped pacing, the sound of her voice against his ear washing over him like warmth from a fireplace. Oh God, oh God, he’d been such a jackass. This girl, this one-in-a-billion angel of a girl, loved him. He loved her back in a wild, desperate, uncontrollable way. And he didn’t know how to build a home with her, but they would figure it out together. That he was positive about.

Hannah gave him faith. She was his faith.

The beep sounded in his ear. “Hannah, it’s me. Please, please, get off the bus. I’m coming home right now. I’m . . .” His voice lost power. “Just get off the bus somewhere safe and wait for me, all right? I fucking love you. I love you. And I’m sorry you fell in love with an idiot. I’m . . .” Find the words. Find the right words. “Remember in Seattle, you said we’ve been trying this whole time. Since last summer. To be in a relationship. I didn’t fully understand at the time, but I do now. There was never going to be a life away from you, because, Jesus, that’s no life at all. You, Hannah. Are my life. I love you and I’m coming home, so please, babe. Please. Will you just wait for me? I’m sorry.”