Page 17 of Living for Truth (Broken Shelves #2)

Hannah

I shut the front door and slump against it, heart beating wildly.

I thought he was going to kiss me.

I think I wanted him to.

But at the same time, that would make things too complicated, and I don’t have my heart or head in the right place to handle the complexities that are Morgan Fowler and my feelings.

I toe off my shoes and put my purse on the hook by the door then go to make my way downstairs when my mom startles me.

“Have a good time?” she asks callously, and my skin prickles with awareness. Something’s off.

“I did. It was really good,” I say carefully.

She makes some noise of affirmation. “See anyone you know?”

My stomach plummets—right out of my body and onto the floor, ready to be trampled.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“That’s not what Liam said.” She pauses whatever show she’s watching and stands, crossing her arms across her chest.

Shit. What did that asshole say?

“Why were you speaking to Liam?” I try to keep my voice steady and brace myself for the blow about to come. Where my ex is involved, it can’t be anything good.

It shouldn’t surprise me my mother keeps in contact with him, she always thought he was the best part about me. They used to team up with each other to get me to do whatever they wanted.

“He called me.” Mom watches my every little expression for a tell, but she won’t find one because I perfected my mask of indifference years ago. “He said he saw you out with your boyfriend, and he was worried you were becoming an alcoholic.”

I just barely hold back an eye roll. I had one drink, but of course they think it means I have a problem.

“I’m not becoming an alcoholic. He’s not worried about me, Mom; he’s being petty because he’s upset his ex-wife is dating his new girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend.”

My mom’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline, obviously Liam didn’t mention that piece of gossip to her.

Good.

“Well, I’m concerned. Is Morgan forcing you to drink alcohol? What if he had drugged your drink, Hannah? Taken advantage of you?”

Imagine that. She’s never been concerned that one of the many strangers I went out with would drug my drink because they were all active Mormons. The one guy I choose to go out with for myself, who isn’t Mormon, she decides is trying to drug me.

She continues before I can reply, “I looked him up since Dad seemed to be obsessed with him. He’s thirty-six, Hannah! He has a child. He’s a millionaire from his time playing professionally. What could he possibly want with you?”

My mouth physically drops open at that, and to my utter horror, tears brim in my eyes. “I cannot believe you just said that. I’m not having this conversation with you. I’m going to bed.”

“Hannah, no, wait. That came out wrong. I—”

“No, Mother. I think it came out just as you intended. I’m ending this conversation before we say something else we can’t take back,” I grit out, practically running down the stairs.

Jake is downstairs on the couch with two of his friends, playing a video game in the family room when I rush past toward my bedroom.

“Why is your sister still living at home?” I hear one of his friends ask.

“She just got divorced,” Jake says blandly.

“I don’t blame the guy, who would want to be with such a—”

“Watch what you say about my sister, or I’ll knock your teeth out. She’s gone through a lot of crap, and she doesn’t need judgments from you jerkoffs,” Jake barks, effectively shutting up his friends.

More tears flow down my cheeks at his act of protectiveness. We’ve never been particularly close, but I always hoped he knew I’d have his back if he needed it, and it seems he has mine.

I go quickly through my shower and skincare and slip into some pajamas before I settle into bed and decide to scroll through social media.

When I pick up my phone, there’s a text from Morgan.

Morgan: I got home safe and sound.

Morgan: I also want you to know it means a lot to me you said that. I hope the rest of your night is good.

Hannah: I’m glad you got home safely. Do people not usually want to know their friends get home okay?

I frown when I type the word “friends.” It feels… wrong. It feels like too small of a word for what we are, but what other word would I use?

Morgan: Some people just don’t show it in little ways like that.

Hannah: Huh. Interesting.

Hannah: What are your big plans while Aly’s not there?

Morgan: Lol no big plans. It’s not like I need extra sleep since she’s almost ten and sleeps through the night. I usually use nights like this to catch up on work without feeling like I’m ignoring her, maybe go on a date.

Jealousy stirs in my gut at the thought of him going out with other people. I have no reason to be jealous. He has every right to go out on dates. I have no claim on him. Before I can say anything, another text comes in.

Morgan: I haven’t gone out with anyone since the night I first texted you, and I have no interest in doing so while I’m in a relationship. Fake or not.

Hannah: Now I just feel like I’m making you lose out on something with this fake dating stuff.

Morgan: Hannah, I promise I’m not missing out on anything.

Hannah: If you start feeling that way will you tell me please?

Morgan: I promise, I won’t feel that way.

Hannah: Please.

Morgan: UGH. Pushy woman. FINE. I’ll tell you if it happens.

Morgan: But it won’t.

Hannah: Thank you.

Hannah: In other news, Liam called my mom tonight.

Morgan: WHAT?! What did he say?

Hannah: That he’s “worried” about me because he thinks I’m an alcoholic.

Morgan: … you had ONE drink. How does that make you an alcoholic?

Hannah: That’s Mormons for ya. One sip of alcohol makes you an alcoholic, and apparently, you were trying to drug my drink to take advantage of me.

The three dots appear, disappear, reappear, and disappear again before Morgan’s name is lighting up my phone with a phone call.

“Um, hello?” I answer.

“You know I’d never, ever drug you, right?” his voice sounds almost panicked.

“Of course I know that. My mom is just dramatic and judgmental.”

He sighs in relief. “Good. I want you to feel safe with me, Hannah. I would remove my own pinkie if I ever made you feel uncomfortable.”

“That feels a little dramatic.” I giggle.

“I’m dead serious, Butterfly.” Fuck, my heart stutters at the use of the nickname. I love it.

“I feel safe with you, Morgan. I promise.”

“What else happened with your mom?” he asks, and I hear the creak of what must be a chair or something on his end of the phone.

I sigh, settling into my own bed. “Same old things. She looked you up, apparently, and thinks that because you’re rich, ten years older than me, and have a kid you couldn’t possibly have any interest in me.”

“What exactly is she implying?” Morgan sounds annoyed, which makes me feel better because I always feel like I'm being dramatic in regards to my mom.

“That I’m a gold digger? Or you’re a human trafficking mastermind? I don’t know because I didn’t stick around for that conversation.”

“Well I’m not a human trafficking mastermind. Are you a gold digger?” Though his voice conveys he’s teasing, I feel the need to make sure he knows I'm not.

“I know nothing about football, so it never occurred to me that you’d be wealthy because that stuff isn’t important to me. Obviously, you and Aly have a stable income to live off of, and that’s all that really matters in my opinion.”

“I know you’re not a gold digger, Han. I was just teasing. I’m sorry your mom is being that way.” He pauses. “Is the age thing starting to bug you? Or the fact I have a kid?”

I pause to truly think about it because I want to answer him honestly. This feels like a pivotal moment in our non-relationship.

“Honestly? No, it doesn’t bother me. It’s like you said at brunch: we aren’t sixteen and twenty-six.

You haven’t known me as a child. It’s not weird for me.

It also doesn’t bother me that you have a kid.

I haven’t seen you interact with Aly, but I've heard you talk about her. It’s obvious she’s your world, and you’re an amazing father. ”

Morgan lets out a long breath, like he was holding it the whole time I was talking. “I’m relieved to hear that, Butterfly, because I don’t think I could walk away now.”

My heart starts beating rapidly. “Walk away from what?”

“From us. Our… friendship.” It sounds like he forces the word “friendship” out like it physically pains him.

I can relate.

“Right. Me either. It feels like I’ve known you forever but not long enough at the same time,” I say. It’s easier to admit these things when he’s not staring at me with his gorgeous green eyes.

“I feel the same way, Butterfly. I should probably get some sleep, gotta work at the shop tomorrow.”

I glance at the clock and see it’s almost midnight.

“Right. Have a good sleep, Morgan.”

“Goodnight, Han. I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Goodnight.”

Then, he hangs up, and I’m left with a lot more questions about what the hell is happening inside my heart.