Page 24

I can’t breathe; I shouldn’t be driving. I can’t see with the tears that are escaping. I’m playing Russian roulette with my life right now, and I can’t find a single part of me that cares. I’m numb, broken.

My biggest fear with letting someone in is they’d see me the way my dad did. Not worth the effort. It wasn’t so much his words that hurt but the dismissal. Like I was nothing, he all but confirmed that he was ignoring me. What a freakin fool I am. I somehow end up at the lighthouse, but I don’t get out of the car. Breathing deeply, I work to calm myself down. I can’t go home. Abby will ask questions that I don’t have answers to.

It’s then I realize it’s time. It’s time to go home. “Hey Siri, call Eli.”

“Hey, sis, what's up?” The sound that leaves me at the sound of his voice is violent. “Snap, crackle, pop... Han, what happened?” I let out a broken sob at the term he used to use when he found me crying in my bedroom, but it didn’t do me any good.

“I think I need to come home for a bit.” The pain that lances through my chest at the words is shocking. The yearning for comfort that I’ve only ever found in the backwoods of rural Alabama. The homesickness I haven’t let myself feel since I left. The urge to hug my brother and let him know how much he means to me.

It feels like my world is crumbling down, and I don’t know how to stop it. Like a slap to the face, realization dawns. My mom and Abby were right. I was running a rat race and not for myself. I was running myself into the ground, missing ou t on the beauty that life had to offer. And look where it landed me—broken and alone.

No. I let my father control my life for almost a decade after his death. This is where it ends. I’m going home; I’m reclaiming what he stole from me.

Standing on the front steps of my childhood home should feel haunting; it should feel strange, but it doesn’t. The front door swings open, and my mom comes running out crying, “Do you know how many times Abby called me last night? What were you thinking, driving almost nine hours in the dead of night? And without letting anyone know where you were.”

Eli knew where I was; I texted him every time I stopped. But I won’t throw him under the bus. “Sorry, Mom.”

Her arms circle my shoulders, and I finally let myself go. My knees give out, and we both fall to the ground. She doesn’t let me go; we just sit in the dirt and cry.

Finally, when I make it through the threshold, I get a good look at what she’s done with the place. The big fireplace in the middle of the living room is now an accent wall; from floor to ceiling, it’s covered in brick that matches the exterior of the house. The ceilings are exposed wooden beams, like what you’d find in a hunting cabin. She’s redone the kitchen since I moved out. The cabinets are white with matte black handles, the kitchen island is dark brown with white bar stools, and the nook whe re the stove sits is now brick that matches the fireplace.

“What do you think?” She asks hesitantly, like she thinks I’ll hate it.

“It looks great, Mom; you did a really good job.” I turn and lean my head against her shoulder. “I didn’t bring anything with me; Harley is still with Abby. I guess I should call her, huh?” My mom gives me a look that brings me back to being a high school kid. I walk towards my childhood bedroom, pulling my phone out of my back pocket, taking it out of airplane mode, cringing when an onslaught of texts came through over the past twelve-ish hours.

Greyson: Hannah, please, I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry.

Greyson: Please. Please talk to me.

Greyson: Can you at least let me know you made it home safely?

Greyson: Hannah, it’s been two hours, and Abby said you haven’t been home yet. Where are you? Are you okay?

Greyson: I’m going to go out and look for you if you don’t respond. Please, Kitten. I need to know you’re okay. I’m so, so sorry.

Greyson: Please...

Greyson: Fine. I’m calling the police.

Abby: Greyson called and said you left his house over an hour ago, and he hasn’t he ard from you.

Abby: Han? Are you okay?

Abby: Uhh, hello? Why are you ignoring me?

Abby: Listen here. If you don’t respond and let me know you’re okay, I’m sending out a search party.

Abby: Don’t make me call your mom, Hannah Lowery.

Abby: Dang it, Han. What the heck happened?

Amy: Hannah, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he’d lash out like that. He didn’t mean it.

Tate: Can you let us know you’re okay?

Amy: Sweetheart, are you there?

Amy: Hannah, I know you’re upset, but please let us know you’re okay.

William: Please let us know you’re okay.

Cheese and rice. Even Tatum reached out? I texted Amy to let her know I’m fine but would appreciate some space. My phone rings almost immediately; it’s Greyson’s name that pops up, bringing me face to face with the picture of us by the lighthouse. Quickly declining the call, I dial Abby instead, hoping he’ll get the hint and I won’t lose my nerve.

“HANNAH LOWERY! WHERE ARE YOU?!” Welp, y ou’ve reached the voicemail of Hannah Marie; I can’t come to the phone right now because my bestie murdered me.

“I’m at home.”

“No, you are not, considering Harley has been watching me pace back and forth since two very worried Wilder brothers showed up here at 3 AM looking for you.” I can hear the exhaustion in her voice; I feel bad for not letting her in on what was going on. Truly, last night felt like an out-of-body experience, and I needed time to sort my thoughts out.

“I’m home, home. Like, Bama home.” The silence is deafening. If anyone knows my aversion to the state of Alabama, it’s Abby. I don’t think there’s anything in my life I’ve trash-talked more than my home state. At one point, my response to everything I thought was stupid was “roll tide.”

“Can you take care of my nugget while I’m gone? Please?” She cracks her knuckles and takes a deep breath. I’m not sure what she’s waiting for or if she’s pausing for dramatic effect, but it’s unsettling.

“Of course, I will; I just don’t understand why you ran. And ran so far.”

Because that’s what I do, it’s who I am. A runner. She scoffs at my silence, “You’re really something else, Han. Want to tell me what happened and why Greyson showed up looking like he’d been drug behind a Zamboni all night?”

“I need to talk through it with Megan first. I don’t know what to think of it, but some things were said, and I feel like a fool. I thought he was different.”

“Hannah, I don’t know what he said, but if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have shown up here at 3 in the morning after he and Tate had been driving around looking for you for two hou rs. You’ve both been through some stuff the past few weeks; give yourself and him a little grace. Okay?”

Nodding like she can see me, I barely croak out an “Okay.” I hung up, knowing that I needed to call Megan. Luckily, she takes Zoom calls, and I texted her at 1 AM asking if she could squeeze in a virtual session later today. But first and foremost, I need liquid courage.

I decided to go get coffee; there’s no Beautiful Pour here. But there’s a quaint little coffee shop that I used to frequent in high school called “Songbird Cafe.” It’s cute; two of the four walls are covered in brick, and the front and back walls are painted white with music notes and songbirds decorating them. The counter is a showcase of their delicious treats, baked goods, and my personal favorite, banana pudding.

Grabbing myself an iced coffee and a cup of pudding, I find a table in the corner, popping my headphones in and leaning my phone against the napkin holder. I jump on my video call with Megan.

“Our first order of business is, are you okay?” I tip my chin up slightly and roll my eyes, earning me a look from my clearly unhappy therapist. “Moving on then... Why did I get a crisis call from Abby at midnight?” I cringe and flick a piece of non-existent lint off my leggings.

“Remember when I told you I thought I had found the guy who would prove all my fears wrong?” I focus my eyes on the store across the street, counting the number of people who walk by so I can keep the tears at bay.

“Oh, Hannah. Let’s hear it.” I ran through the last few weeks, starting with Greyson taking me to his parent’s house, to him showing up at my house mid-panic attack, then from his injur y to his ex showing up at the carnival. And finally, what broke me.

I finally mustered up the courage to look at her through the phone, only to see her nodding her head and writing on her notepad. “Meg?” Her head shoots up, eyes widening as she takes in my crumpled face. “Why am I still not enough?”

She blows out a breath so long I feel lightheaded. “I’m going to need you to throw that thought out of the window right now. Abby is right; you’ve both been through the wringer for the past few weeks. Now, that does not excuse his behavior, but I want you to think about him and how he conducts himself when he’s not under duress.” I pull my feet up into the chair I’m sitting in and lay my head across my knees.

The coffee shop is quiet; there are not many people here at this time of the day. The smell of coffee is strong, and it brings me back to our mornings at Beautiful Pour. I smile as I relive those moments that were just for us. The first time he showed up after running in the rain, the numerous planning sessions, and the ex-harassment situation. I miss him, damn it. “Hannah, I know this is big for you. But think of it this way: would your dad have ever been caught driving around looking for you in the middle of the night? Would he be blowing up your phone trying to make sure you’re safe?”

I feel my cheeks heat because the answer to that is a resounding no. Of course, he wouldn’t. The day he checked on me would be the day the world ended. “No, he wouldn’t. But what he said...”

“I know, Hannah. You said he told you when he was feeling overwhelmed that he sometimes snaps, right? It’s not uncommon. It could have been his way of releasing tension th at he didn’t know how to get out otherwise. You just happened to be the subject that made him snap, and that could also very well be because you matter to him, and he knew he was already in the wrong with you.”

“But she showed up at the carnival, and she knew who I was even though I’d never met her. Had they talked about me? What am I supposed to think?”

“The easiest way to figure out how to go about this is to talk to him. As scary and as hurtful as it may be.”

Ugh. I hate it when she’s right.