Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters)

When he threw the car into park, she realized they were already outside his building, the ocean whitecaps appearing and disappearing across the road.

Silence dropped like a knife in the car, nothing to fill it except the lap of waves on the rocks and their accelerated breathing.

“Even if we weren’t interrupted tonight, we’d still be having this conversation,” Hannah said.

He was already shaking his head. “Why? What are you trying to get out of this little chat?” His mouth twisted, and she saw something in his face she’d never seen before. Something she couldn’t quite name. “Anyway, you’ve obviously got the director hooked now.” His swallow was loud enough to drown out the waves. “Maybe . . . maybe you should focus on that. Him.”

“I turned him down,” Hannah said. “When he asked if we could go out once we’re back in LA, I said no.”

It was blatantly obvious how hard he tried to hide his relief, but she saw it. She saw it blare through him like a siren, tension melting from his muscles, his eyes, his jaw. And she knew that unnamed emotion she’d seen before had been jealousy. “Well,” he said, stiffly, after a few seconds had ticked by. “Maybe you shouldn’t have done that. Sex is the only satisfaction you can get from me.”

“No. It’s not.” Her voice shook. “I get satisfaction from holding your hand. Hearing you sing. Being your friend—”

“Being my friend?” He scoffed. “Then it’s a good thing we’re not going to fuck, because you’d just be another hookup to me afterward.”

Hannah recoiled like she’d been slapped, shock and hurt punching a hole in her throat. Blindly, she reached for the passenger-side door handle and pulled, throwing herself out of the car. Ignoring his panicked call of her name, she took the outside stairs leading to his second-floor apartment two at a time, accelerating when she heard his steps pounding behind her.

She reached his door, her hands shaking as she tried to locate the apartment key in her pocket. She found it but never got the chance to slide it into the lock, because Fox was behind her, wrapping her tightly in his arms, drawing her back against his chest. Hard. “I didn’t mean that,” he said into her hair, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. “Please, Freckles. You need to know I didn’t mean that.”

Thing was, she did know.

There was the pink Himalayan salt lamp, hidden record player, introducing her to his mother, singing the shanty for her, offering to drive her to Seattle. The Fleetwood Mac record. Seven months’ worth of texts. Even the way he was holding her now, his breath racing in and out, like he’d break down if she stayed mad. She knew he didn’t mean the hurtful thing he’d said. She knew. But that didn’t mean his dismissive words didn’t sting.

Hannah realized in that moment that she could run away from the potential hurt that would come from fighting for Fox. Or she could hold her ground. Refuse to back down. Which would it be?

Fight. Like a leading lady.

He was worth it.

Even if a relationship between them wasn’t possible or couldn’t work out, she wasn’t going to let the hideous beliefs inside him fester forever. She refused.

There wasn’t a label for what they were to each other. Friends who burned to sleep together didn’t quite communicate the gravity of what existed between them, waiting to be unearthed. But she knew this wasn’t about curing him or being the best supporting actress. She wasn’t falling into a pattern. Being supportive, as she’d done so many times in the past, was easy. So easy. As was being on the periphery and not an active part of the narrative. But this time, the consequences of her actions in this story could determine her future. Not a friend’s and not her sister’s.

Hers. And Fox’s.

Did they continue their story together or apart?

She couldn’t imagine the latter. Not for the life of her. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean he felt the same. Even if he did, a relationship could be too much to hope for at this stage. They could end up friends only—that was a real possibility. One that made her stomach sink to the floor. Making the decision to be the one who pushed for a future together was scary. Terrifying. It made failure and rejection a possibility. He was worth fighting for, though. If anything forced Hannah to dig in and remain strong, it was the need to prove that to Fox. To make him believe in himself.

Even if it benefitted some other girl someday—and not her. She was unselfish enough to show him what was possible. That letting someone else in didn’t have to be scary. She could do that, couldn’t she?

Hannah took a deep breath for courage and turned in Fox’s arms. She only caught a fleeting glimpse of his tortured eyes before lifting up on her toes and molding their lips together. Kissing him.