Page 34 of Just My Type (The Boston Hearts #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

NOAH

S omething is wrong. Horribly, terribly wrong.

Below me, Hannah goes stiff, wheezing out a breath, her eyes wide and filled with terror.

“My wrists,” she manages through stuttered breaths. “Let go. Please .”

Her wrists. The bruises. Three years ago. Six months ago. The fear in her eyes.

Fuck .

My heart leaps into my throat as I let go of her wrists immediately, pulling out of her and pulling her up and into my arms. I turn so my back is against the headboard, and I slide Hannah between my legs, her back to my chest, locking my arms around her torso, careful to leave her hands untouched.

She circles her wrists over and over again, like she’s reminding herself that she can move them freely, and my mind races with the implications of this panic attack.

My stomach churns as I consider all the different ways she may have been hurt.

What he may have done to her. But I shove it away for the time being, forcing my focus to Hannah and Hannah alone.

She is the only thing that matters right now.

“Breathe for me, Gorgeous.” I murmur in her ear, laying one of my hands flat against her heart. It thunders under my palm so fast. Too fast.

“I…can’t.” Hannah gasps, her entire body trembling in my hold.

“You can. I know you can. Feel my chest against you, sweetheart. Breathe with me. Do what I do.”

I take slow, exaggerated breaths, curling my body around hers so she can feel my chest rising and falling against her back and tapping my thumb on her chest three times.

“I know you’re scared,” I say against her ear.

“Panic attacks are fucking terrifying. But I swear I won’t let anything happen to you.

You’re safe here with me, Hannah. I promise you are, and you always will be. You’re safe, baby.”

When I repeat the word safe , Hannah’s breath whooshes out and then she takes a slow, shaky inhale.

“Good girl,” I murmur, thumb stroking her chest as she breathes again.

We keep breathing together, and I feel her heartrate slow, her skin turning clammy.

When she shivers, I reach down with one hand and pull the comforter up, tucking it around her, stroking her hair back from her face, keeping my other arm locked around her body until her breathing evens out.

The muffled sob has me turning Hannah to face me, gathering her up against my chest. And with my arms back around her, her face buried in my neck, she breaks.

Her tears come hot and fast, dripping down my chest, her body-wracking sobs shattering my heart into a million pieces.

I wish I could take whatever is hurting her and carry it myself.

Absorb all her fear so she never has to feel it again.

But since I can’t, I do what I can. I hold her tightly and stroke a hand up and down her back. Murmur words into her ear, telling her over and over again that she’s safe.

When her sobs quiet and her tears slow, she sits up in my hold. She looks at me, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed, her face red and blotchy from the crying jag.

She is the most beautiful girl in the world.

Mine .

The wave of possession that grips me is strong and fierce. It makes me want to leave this bed and hunt down whoever hurt her. Make sure they never, ever get the chance again. They won’t. He won’t. I’ll make sure of it.

Cupping Hannah’s face in both my hands, I wipe away the remaining tears with my thumbs, leaning in to kiss her forehead. When my lips meet her skin, Hannah leans into me, letting out a shuddery breath that sounds a lot like relief.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters.

“No, baby.” I pull back so I can look her in the eyes. “Don’t ever apologize. Not for this. Never for this. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. I did something that scared you. I’m so, so sorry, Hannah.”

She shakes her head, turning to press a kiss to the inside of my palm.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t know.

I didn’t tell you.” Her voice drops to a whisper when she says that last thing and she pauses, looking almost like she’s arguing with herself, before speaking again.

“I want to tell you. I want you to know everything.”

I bite back my protest. My instinct to tell her she doesn’t have to explain everything right now.

Or ever. That no one is entitled to anything she would rather keep to herself.

Because another part of me, a bigger part, understands that Hannah has had more than enough of men telling her what’s best for her.

Instead, I drop my hands from her face and take her hands in mine, tangling our fingers together.

“If you want to tell me, then I want to know.”

Hannah breathes a sigh of relief. “Do you think I could have some water first?”

Lifting our joint hands, I kiss her knuckles. “Anything. Everything. ”

Understanding that the request is a way to give herself a minute alone, I climb right out of bed and pull a pair of shorts from my dresser, tugging them on and heading to the kitchen.

I grab a glass and fill it with ice and water and pull a Sprite from the fridge and a bag of Twizzlers from the cabinet.

Biting the ends off one, I stick it in the Sprite can the way she likes.

When I return to my room, Hannah is sitting cross-legged against the pillows, wearing my T-shirt, her hair pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head. When she sees what I’m carrying, she gives me a small smile. “My hero.”

I hand her the water, setting the Sprite on the nightstand and keeping the Twizzlers as I slide back onto the bed, turning so I’m facing her. “I thought emotional support Twizzlers were in order.”

Hannah takes them from me, pulling one out of the bag. “You thought right.” She takes a bite, silence falling between us as she chews. “I’m not sure where to start,” she says when she swallows, taking a long sip of the water and handing it to me to put back on the nightstand.

I run a thumb down her cheek, needing to touch her. To remind myself that she’s here and she’s safe. She’ll stay that way; I’ll make sure of it. I would burn down the entire world for her. “Take your time, Han. I’m ready to listen to whatever you want to tell me.”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, her eyes meeting mine.

“Obviously you know Brett was…not a good guy. I didn’t realize it at first. When we got together, things were good.

Really good, even. We had fun, met each other’s families, moved in together, and I thought he was my future.

But then I started writing. At first, it was just a fun hobby.

An outlet for me and an escape from my boring as hell corporate job.

But I realized pretty quickly that I was good at it, and I loved it.

It took me practically no time to write my first book, and then the stars aligned in exactly the right way, and I went viral. Like, major, mega viral. ”

I almost tell her I know, but that’s for another time. This is about her. I just give her an encouraging smile, my heart thudding when she takes my hand and squeezes, like it’s my comfort she needs to get through this story.

I’ll give it to her. I would give her anything. All of me is hers.

Hannah laughs a little, almost like she still can’t believe it happened to her.

“It happened so fast—practically overnight—and it was batshit crazy. I loved every minute of it. Having people read my words, talk about my book on social media, message me how much it meant to them…it was incredible. It is incredible. But as more people read my first book, and then the ones that came later, my relationship started cracking. It was such a slow progression that I almost didn’t notice it at first. Brett would make little comments about how I never had time for him, how I was always so busy.

He belittled romance. But he did it all so…

slyly almost. Always with a smile, so it was hard for me to even convince myself that he was actually being an asshole.

Classic gaslighter behavior. Then came the day of Allie’s funeral. What you saw at the bar.”

Hannah’s hand tightens around mine and I take her other hand too, rubbing a thumb over her palm.

“That was the first time he was outwardly cruel. The first time he ever…touched me like that.” She swallows hard and shakes her head.

“I should have told him to go to hell that night and never spoken to him again. You must have wondered why I didn’t.

I wonder all the time why I didn’t, and honestly, I don’t have a good answer.

Looking back, that’s a giant, waving red flag, but I hung in there. For years.”

“Han, you don’t owe me or anyone an explanation. When I saw you that night at the bar, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. You took a swipe at me and told me you didn’t need saving, and I was a goner. That’s what I was thinking about that night.”

She laughs a little. “You were not.”

I lean in and kiss her neck, breathing her in.

“I was. There you were, all swinging ponytail and narrowed eyes and spine of steel. There wasn’t a single day after that I didn’t think of you, and now here you are, in my bed, wearing my T-shirt and looking like mine, and no person on earth has ever been luckier than I am. ”

Hannah looks away, shifting like that made her uncomfortable. “I couldn’t even have sex with you without freaking out.”

I put a hand on her cheek, turning her head so she’s looking at me again. “Don’t hide from me, Han. There’s no part of you that you ever have to hide from me. We’ll figure it out. All of it. I swear we will. If you want to be mine, for real, there’s nothing we can’t fix.”

Hannah leans into my hand. “I do,” she whispers. “Want to be yours. For real.”

My heart charges right out of my chest at her words, and I have to stop myself from tackling her to the bed and kissing every inch of her body. “Really?” I ask, needing to hear her say the words again.