Page 16

Chapter 16

Hannah

The fresh air and bright sunlight that hits my face as I throw open the double doors of the law school feels like pure freedom. That test was grueling, easily one of the most difficult ones I’ve ever had to take, and that’s saying something. Everyone warned me going into it that law school is no joke, but I still underestimated just how hard this was going to be. And this wasn’t even a final exam or anything.

“Hannah, wait up!” Stevie calls, and I stop on the big staircase to wait for her. When she catches up with me, she blows out a breath and brushes her long, curly hair over her head. “Jesus, that was intense, but I think I nailed it. How do you think you did?”

I shrug. “I did the best I could. I guess we’ll see.”

“We should go celebrate or something. I mean, I know it wasn’t the most consequential test we’ll ever take or anything, but I’m still excited.”

I smile at her and mentally thank the universe I have an excuse not to go. Stevie is a good friend, but I’ve never had the same enthusiasm for the law that she has, and it’s getting harder every day to keep faking it, especially when she’s clearly doing better at all of this than I am. The gap between who I’m supposed to be and who I actually am feels wider every day.

But I don’t have the guts to tell her—or anyone—that.

We initially hit it off because we were both fresh on campus and thought we were going to change the world with our law degrees, but lately, I’m not even sure I’m going to make it to graduation, much less the bar exam.

“I’d love to, but I have to teach a couple of yoga classes tonight and I don’t even have time to get something to eat,” I tell her, and she frowns at me. “I know, I’m sorry. Can I take a rain check?”

“Maybe I should take some classes at your yoga studio. I’d see you more often.”

“I have spots open if you’re serious.”

Stevie smiles at me. “I was kidding. No offense, but yoga’s not my thing. But don’t let me keep you from your eager students. We can hang out some other time.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. I’ll text you later,” I tell her and keep moving down the stairs to get to my car in a hurry.

“Get something to eat!” she calls after me, and I wave to acknowledge her, even though I wasn’t kidding when I told her I don’t have time.

My first yoga class is in thirty minutes, and it’s going to take me almost that long to get to my car and drive across town to the studio. I don’t even have time to stop at a fast-food place or a convenience store for something quick, so it’ll just have to wait until after.

For what feels like the first time in my life, traffic actually cooperates, and somehow I make it to the studio with about ten minutes to spare before class starts. Several of my students are already on their mats waiting for me, and I wave to them on my way to the locker room to change.

But when I step back out, there’s a delivery person hanging out by the front desk.

“Can I help you?” I ask, and he holds up a small white paper bag from a local restaurant.

“Are you Hannah Dunaway?”

“Yeah, why?”

“This is for you,” the guy says and hands the bag to me.

As I take it from him, my first thought is that Stevie must have sent it since she knew I wouldn’t have time to get food, but when I glance at the receipt taped to the outside of the bag, I spot a little note printed at the bottom of it.

You can’t burn calories you don’t eat. Hope this makes your day better!

– D.M.

My heart does a little flip as I read and then re-read the note. I laugh and shake my head as the delivery guy leaves the studio. Part of me can’t believe Declan really remembered what I said yesterday about forgetting to eat and thought ahead to send me a fresh Mediterranean grain bowl with grilled chicken from the health-focused café near campus. But another part of me isn’t surprised. He remembered my favorite drink, after all.

Still, the fact that he thought to order me food at all just because he wanted to make my day better sends warmth spreading through my chest. It’s such a small gesture, but it feels enormous.

When was the last time someone paid such close attention to my needs?

And he didn’t just send any food—he somehow guessed exactly the kind of thing I’d actually eat. Clean protein, healthy grains, nothing that would leave me feeling sluggish before teaching back-to-back yoga classes. Either he’s incredibly observant or we’re more in sync than I want to admit.

When the fresh, herbal scent reaches my nose, my stomach growls immediately. I take the food back to the little office so that I can scarf it down in the time I have left before class starts.

While I’m there, I can’t stop myself from pulling my phone out of my purse.

His text from last night is still on my lock screen. I haven’t dismissed it because I’ve been wanting to reply, but I haven’t been sure what to say. Reading the text again now, a smile curves my lips.

DECLAN: I meant what I said. Nothing that’s happened between us has been a mistake.

The words still make my pulse quicken, just like they did last night when they first appeared on my screen.

When I finish eating, I use the hand sanitizer in my purse to clean up my hands and tap on his message to answer, then hit the camera button and snap a picture of the nearly clean bowl with a few quinoa grains and a cucumber slice remaining.

ME: Calories acquired. Now time to burn them. *fire emoji* Thank you!

The message switches over to read almost as soon as I send it, and the three dots animation appears on the screen as Declan types out a reply.

DECLAN: Anytime. Was it cold by the time it got there?

ME: Nope, nice and fresh. So make sure you tip the delivery guy well.

DECLAN: I always do. So how did your test go?

I chew on my lip while I debate what to tell him. I don’t want him to think I’m flunking or anything, but I don’t want to lie either.

ME: It went okay. I probably could’ve done better, but I gave it what I had.

DECLAN: Even after all that studying?

ME: I guess it wasn’t enough. The test covered a lot more material than I was prepared for.

DECLAN: Well, I’m sure there will be other chances to make up for it.

DECLAN: But speaking of being a bad student, I tried some of the poses you showed me this morning to stretch out my hips.

The unbidden image of Declan in workout clothes, his powerful body moving through yoga poses, sends heat rushing to my cheeks.

ME: Sounds like it didn’t go well?

DECLAN: Jury’s out. But do I at least get a gold star for being a good student?

ME: *star emoji*

DECLAN: Thanks, teach.

ME: So he’s goal-oriented on and off the ice…

DECLAN: Yeah. But you already know how determined I can get. *winking emoji*

My body responds to his words with an immediate flash of heat. Memories of his focused intensity that night at the club, the way his eyes never left mine even in our most intimate moments, flood back uninvited.

I pause, tapping my finger against the side of my phone and fighting the urge to say something back that’s just as flirty. But my phone buzzes with another message before I can think of anything to say.

DECLAN: I’d better go. I’ve gotta go get ready for the game tonight.

ME: Me too, my class is waiting for me. Thanks again for the food.

DECLAN: My pleasure. Have a good class.

I tuck my phone back in my purse and throw away the food container, then hurry back out to the main room of the studio. Most of the people in the session have been coming for a long time, and a good portion of them saw the surprise food delivery, so no one sweats me about starting a few minutes late while I ate.

This is a more advanced class, so I launch right into my usual stretch routine for them, and the rest of the hour passes quickly. But every time I try to get quiet and listen to my body, all I can hear is Declan’s voice and words repeating in my ear. All I can feel is the phantom pressure of his lips against mine, his body pinning me against the cold, hard metal of his bike.

And the boiling tension between us that bubbled right over the edge in that moment.

My body refuses to forget what my mind keeps trying to deny.

Thankfully, I have a class change to take my mind off it. I thank everyone for coming and give some last-minute feedback to a few people on their way out, then reset the room for the next class before they start trickling in. I’m almost done when the first of my students for the second class arrives, an early retiree named Gwen.

“Looks like you’ve already gotten a good workout today,” she says as she lays out a mat in her usual place by the wall, shifting her gray-streaked braid over one shoulder.

I chuckle ruefully. “You’re my second class in a row, so yeah, I’m feeling the burn a little bit. But it’s good for me.”

Honestly, it’s not really the calories I’m trying to burn off, although that’s a nice bonus. It’s the restless energy Declan stirs in me, the way thinking about him makes my skin feel too hot. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.

My second class is more beginner-oriented, so I’m a little worried my mind’s going to wander more than in the last one, but because I have to give so much more individual attention and feedback to the participants, I manage to stay out of my own head for most of the class. And probably for similar reasons, it passes even faster than the last one did.

By the time we’re cleaning up and putting all the materials away for the night, I’m exhausted. Most of my days are long between school and yoga, but with everything else going on and the test taking it out of me earlier, I’m more worn down than usual at this point in the day.

I can’t wait to get home and curl up with Ralph, so I tell everyone good night and wait for them all to leave before I do one final sanitation pass and lock up the building to start going through my nightly closing routine. I’m double checking the following day’s class schedule on the computer in the office when my phone rings in my purse.

I reach for it absently and hold it up to check who’s calling—and my stomach knots when I see my mother’s name and face on the screen. I know why she’s calling, and I’ve been dreading it all day long even as I’ve been expecting it. Still, I swipe to answer and cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, keeping my voice light.

“Hi, sweetheart. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Just closing up at the yoga studio. How are things with you?”

My mother sighs, and my stomach clenches. Here it comes. “I’m as okay as I can be, given what day it is.”

I nod, my throat tight. It’s been ten years to the day since we lost Casey, my twin brother, but it still feels so fresh that I honestly don’t think any words will ever be enough to take the sting out of this anniversary for any of us.

Mom, Dad, and I have all found our own ways to cope or distract ourselves over the years, but I feel like it’s been the hardest on them. I usually just throw myself into work or school, so I don’t have to think or talk about it—and that’s a big part of the reason why I’ve been going nonstop today.

The familiar weight of loss settles over me like a shroud. Ten years, and it still feels like yesterday. A part of me was severed the day Casey died, and I’ve never quite figured out how to function without it.

My father isn’t much of a talker when it comes to his feelings in general, and he gets particularly quiet every year around this day. But my mother is different. She wants, maybe even needs , to talk about it, to remember and memorialize Casey. I get that, and why it’s important to her, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me to do. But after what my parents went through losing Casey so young, I’m the only kid they have left, so I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize our relationship.

Especially not today.

“Anyway,” my mother continues, breaking the long silence. “I was thinking it might be nice if you could come over for dinner next Tuesday or something. It would be great to spend the evening together as a family. I know you’re busy with school, but your father and I miss you.”

“Of course.”

“Great,” she says, her voice cracking slightly, although I can’t tell if it’s with relief that I said yes or something else. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. It feels like just yesterday.”

“I know. Sometimes I swear I can hear him calling after me on campus, like he came to visit or something.”

My mother sniffles, and it breaks my heart wide open. “My sweet Casey. I don’t know why, but it never occurred to me that he’d be out of college by now too.”

“Probably not in law school though,” I say, and she laughs.

“No, I don’t think he had the same brain for that line of work that you do. But now that you mention it, I wonder what he would’ve studied?”

“Knowing Casey, I’m gonna guess engineering. He was always tearing his toys and stuff apart just to see how they worked.”

She laughs, but this time it’s laced with joy as she reminisces. “That reminds me, do you remember the one Christmas he broke the brand-new video game controller we bought him and tried to fix it himself?”

“How could I forget? He broke it by slamming it against the floor when I beat him at the game.”

“That’s right!” My mother chuckles. “He was always so competitive. He must have gotten that from your father.”

“Maybe, but I guess that means he also got your brains, because he fixed the thing somehow, and Dad has never been good with that stuff.”

“Oh god, no. It still surprises me when your dad manages to correctly change the batteries in the TV remote,” she says, and we share a laugh before the line goes quiet for a few moments. Then she sighs contentedly. “It’s good to hear your voice and your laughter today, sweetheart. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I needed a little levity myself.”

She takes a deep breath and sniffles again. I hear a rustling on the line, and I can imagine her wiping at her eyes. “Well, in lighter news, guess who I ran into at the store earlier today?”

“Who?”

“Aaron! I was trying to get something down from one of the top shelves, and he snuck up behind me to offer his help. I don’t think he knew it was me at first, but he gave me a big hug when he realized it. He’s such a sweet man.”

My throat tightens. The mention of Aaron after the day I’ve had—the test, the unexpected and thoughtful gift from Declan, our brief but charged text exchange—feels jarring, like being dumped into cold water.

My mother isn’t wrong. Aaron can be sweet sometimes, when he wants to be, but she doesn’t know what the rest of him is like. I know where this conversation is going though, and I don’t like it.

“We started catching up, and he told me that the two of you have been talking again lately. I think that’s wonderful. You two always seemed so good together. Does this mean what I think it does?”

There it is, the million-dollar question I saw coming a mile away. Something tells me that Aaron running into her probably wasn’t as much of an accident as she thinks it was, although I don’t have any way to prove that. I don’t have the heart to disappoint my mom by telling her it isn’t happening, especially not on a day like today, but I don’t want to lie to her either, so I hesitate.

How do I explain that the mere thought of going back to Aaron makes me feel like I’m settling? That I’ve had a glimpse of something more electric, more alive—even if it’s complicated and maybe impossible?

“We’ve been talking, yeah. I don’t know what’s going to happen. We’ll see.” It isn’t a lie, but it isn’t quite the truth, either.

“Well, you could always try just to see if there’s still a spark. You never know until you try.”

“Like I said, we’ll see. I’m not trying to force anything.”

“Fair enough. For what it’s worth, he’s got my stamp of approval, but you already knew that.”

“I know. Thanks, Mom.” I feel a pang of guilt for wanting this conversation to end. On any other day, I might make an excuse and end the call, but today of all days, she needs to feel connected to the child she still has. But she must pick up on my exhaustion because she clears her throat.

“I should probably let you go. I need to finish dinner before your father gets home after the game. You know how hungry he gets when he’s been coaching.”

“And cranky, yeah,” I say, and she chuckles. “I’m looking forward to Tuesday. It’ll be nice to spend time together.”

“I can’t wait. I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up the phone and stare down at the black screen, my mother’s comments about Aaron swirling in my head alongside thoughts of Declan’s thoughtfulness and our undeniable chemistry. I feel like I’m being pulled in two diametrically opposed directions.

My parents want the perfect daughter with the perfect boyfriend and the perfect job. But what do I want?

And why does the answer to that question terrify me so much?