Page 30

Leo

I’m sitting in the car outside Dylan’s place when he finally answers the phone.

I half expected him not to pick up, siding with his sister, who I’m pretty sure is at his place right now, over me.

God knows what she’s told him, and honestly, I don’t give a fuck.

I just need him to put her on the phone for me, convince her to talk to me so I can start fixing this.

“Hey, Leo,” he says, exhaling.

“Is she there?” I ask, not bothering with a hello. “She’s not answering her phone and she’s not at her place, so—”

“Yeah, she’s here,” he replies, before he mumbles something I don’t catch.

“Is that her you’re talking to?” I snap. “Can you put her on? She’s not answering her phone.”

“I’m talking to Tessa, dude,” he says with a sigh. “Look, Han is here, but she’s kind of a mess. I think today really threw her and—”

“Threw her?” I shout. “Fuck, Dylan, her leaving has fucking thrown me. Please can you put her on? If you don’t, I’m coming up and you better fucking let me in.”

“Leo,” he says, his voice weirdly calm and making him sound much older than his twenty-four years.

“Look, I get this is a bit of a clusterfuck, but she doesn’t want to deal with it right now.

She can’t deal with it right now. I think it’s really messed with her, and I know you want to see her, and I’ve told her that she needs to talk to you, but I don’t think it’s happening tonight, okay? ”

My head falls back against the seat as I glance up at the windows of his apartment, hoping to see Hannah, but knowing there’s probably not a chance in hell she’s going to be there watching me.

She clearly doesn’t want to see or speak to me and as much as it pisses me off, deep down, I know I have to respect her wishes.

“Leo?” Dylan prompts when I don’t respond.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I say, scrubbing a hand down my face.

“You okay?” he now asks, genuine concern in his voice.

“No, Dylan, I’m not okay. Today was a total shit fight and the woman I love is now not speaking to me. So yeah, I’m pretty fucking far from okay right now.”

Dylan chuckles a little. “You really love her, huh?”

My eyes close as my mind drifts back to earlier, to the look on Hannah’s face when she walked in and saw my dad.

The look on his face when he realized exactly who my girlfriend was.

I’d heard the stories about his sous chef that quit, and the way it happened, just like I’d heard Hannah’s stories about the asshole boss she’d had.

I’d just never in my wildest dreams expected it to all turn out like this.

But even though it had, it doesn’t lessen how I feel about her. Nothing is ever going to change that and while I know it’s going to be weird moving forward, letting Hannah go because of this isn’t an option for me.

Not now, not ever.

“Yeah, I really do. And I want to fix this, badly.”

Dylan exhales in a way that tells me he gets it, which given the shit he went through with Tessa, I don’t doubt he does. “I know, dude. Look, why don’t you go home and try and get some rest? Tomorrow is a new day and I promise I’ll make Hannah talk to you.”

It’s not what I want to hear or how I want this day to end, but I also know I have no choice. I know today wasn’t easy on Hannah and I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s thinking right now. God knows I never told her who my dad was. I mean fuck, we don’t even share the same last name.

I use my middle name because when I was first starting out, I deliberately wanted to distance myself from him. I always wanted to make a name for myself based off my own cooking skills.

Not because I was the son of Roy Langston.

Although apparently being that can come back to bite me in the ass in other ways.

“Leo?” Dylan prompts, in a way that suggests it’s not the first time he’s said my name,

Exhaling, I glance up at his place one last time. “Yeah, I hear what you’re saying. Please just make sure she’s okay. For me.”

“I will, dude, I promise. She’s here and she’s safe,” he says and while I know his words are meant to be comforting, they’re not.

We say our goodbyes and even though I should leave, because sitting outside like a fucking stalker is not going to get me anywhere at this point, I don’t just yet.

Instead, I type out one last text to Hannah, knowing she’s not going to answer if I try calling her, the dozen or so unanswered calls I’ve already made are proof of that.

Me: I know you’re freaking out in there, babe, but please talk to me. Please. This isn’t a deal breaker ok. I love you and I’m not letting what happened before ruin what we have now. Please Han, I really need to talk to you.

My text goes unanswered and reluctantly, I throw my phone onto the passenger seat and start the car. I give the apartment one more glance, hoping like hell that she somehow sees me and comes down to talk to me, but no such luck and I have no choice but to head home.

When I get back to my place, I’m surprised to find my parents are still there. Waiting in the kitchen with worried looks on their faces.

“You couldn’t find her?” Mom asks as I come up the stairs.

“She’s at her brother’s,” I reply, heading into the kitchen and grabbing a beer. “She doesn’t want to see me.”

I don’t miss the worried look my parents share before Dad walks over and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I feel like this is all my fault.”

Twisting the cap off the bottle, I throw it into the sink before taking a long pull. “It’s not your fault,” I say, even if a tiny part of me thinks it is. “I never even told her who you were. I should’ve, so maybe this wouldn’t have been such a fucking disaster.”

My words sound bitter, and I don’t miss the way my dad flinches as I finish the rest of my beer. Right now, I just want them both to leave so I can wallow in my own regret and anger. And maybe drink enough that I pass out and tomorrow somehow gets here sooner.

Dad exhales, squeezing once before removing his hand from my shoulder as he now leans back against the counter. “I know I’m harsh on them,” he says, his words quiet, almost as though he doesn’t want to admit these words out loud. “It’s meant to make them stronger, make them better—”

“Look, Dad, I really don’t want to hear this right now,” I say, holding up a hand.

“Hannah is an amazing chef. And she’s strong and feisty and I know she can handle your shit in the kitchen.

So yeah, I don’t want to talk about how you run things.

I’ve never questioned the way you do things, even though it’s not how I run my kitchen.

But in this case…” I trail off, knowing if I continue, I’m only going to say things that make both of us angry.

Dad meets my gaze, his eyes filled with worry and perhaps a tiny amount of regret.

It’s no secret that he and I run our kitchens in totally different ways, polar opposites, really.

And while I don’t agree with his methods, I have never once questioned him about them or even suggested he change them.

I know it’s not my place to do that and if he ever tried that with me, I wouldn’t want to hear it.

Even if right now, all I want to do is scream at him and question how the fuck he could treat the woman I love the way he did.

“Tell me how I can fix this?” he asks, his words barely audible.

I grab another beer from the fridge before I turn to him. “Honestly, I have no fucking clue.”

Later that night, I’m sitting on the couch, about eight beers deep and staring at my phone, willing it to ring.

My parents have gone, driven back to San Fran when it became clear that the whole meeting my girlfriend thing had completely gone to shit and that I was in no mood to try and hash it out with them.

I’d spent the time since they left doing what any rational guy in my situation would do. Getting shit-faced drunk.

I take another swig of my beer as I slide down the couch, my bare feet resting on the large wooden coffee table. Waking up my phone, I go straight to the photo app, scrolling through the shots I have of Hannah, alone, with me, in the kitchen with the rest of the crew.

In every single one of them she’s smiling or laughing, and just so fucking happy it makes my heart ache. Makes me wish she was here with me right now, that I could hold her or just speak to her. Promise her that everything will be alright.

It fucking hurts like hell not having her here and before I can question whether I should be doing this or talk myself out what I’m sure is a really stupid move, I move to my contacts and hit redial on her number.

It rings and rings and when I pull the phone from my ear to check the time, I can see it’s almost midnight. I know it’s probably on silent and when her voicemail eventually cuts in, I don’t do the smart thing and hang up. Instead, I ramble like the drunken idiot I surely am.

“Hannah, baby,” I slur, my eyes closing as the empty beer bottle slips from my hand. “Please come home,” I beg. “Please, I miss you and I need to talk to you. Need to see you, hold you. Please, Hannah…”

Even I can tell I sound drunk right now and I’m surely going to regret this phone call in the morning, but right now, I just don’t give a shit.

“I love you and I don’t care what happened. We can get past this, we can—”

The beep of her voicemail cutting me off sounds in my ear and I’m forced to hang up. With a groan, I throw my phone onto the coffee table, sinking further into the couch as I do the smartest thing I can do at this point and pass the fuck out.

The next morning, the sound of an incoming text message wakes me.

I sit up, my eyes blinking as I try to focus and figure out where the fuck my phone is.

My head feels a little fuzzy thanks to the copious amount of beer I had on an empty stomach, and I have a crick in my neck from sleeping on the couch.

When I reach for my phone though, all of that disappears as the words on the screen slowly register.

Ellen: Hey Leo, Hannah messaged last night to say she needed today off. That’s all cool of course and for the record, we are happy for you guys to run this stuff past each other. No need to get our permission. Have a good day!

“What. The. Fuck?” I shout, suddenly feeling a lot more awake. “She fucking texted, Ellen?” I say to my empty loft. “What the hell?”

I flick back to her number, once again hitting redial as the ring tone sounds in my ear. Pushing up from the couch, I pace the large open plan living room as I wait for her to answer. Or her voicemail, anyway.

But the second her automated message kicks in, I stop, knowing I have no right to be angry with her for needing a day off.

For needing some time to deal with the fact that her boyfriend’s father is the asshole chef who left her with no choice but to walk out without any notice because she was so fucking unhappy in her job.

I hang up without leaving a message, wondering how the hell I am supposed to fix this. How the hell I’m supposed to unfuck the fact that my girlfriend and my dad hate each other.

I have no fucking clue, because as much as I understand what happened between them, I also know it’s an impossible situation, trying to take sides. I don’t want to be forced to choose, because deep down, I know exactly whose side I’ll be on.

And I hate what that says about me.

That I’ll choose my girlfriend over my father, because she is everything to me.

And because I can totally understand why she did what she did when she quit working for him.

My dad does have a reputation for being an asshole. And yeah, while I can try to pretend that the only reason I changed my name was because I wanted to make a name for myself without riding on his coattails, I’d be lying if I didn’t also admit that the way he runs his kitchen was a part of it.

It’s why I’ve never been able to work for him.

God knows how my mom ever did and fuck, they ended up married with three kids. But I could never do it and as much as it probably makes me an asshole too, I fully understand why Hannah told him to get fucked and walked out.

It’s probably what I would have done if I was in her situation.

“Shit,” I exhale, as I head into the bedroom to take a shower, knowing that as much as I wish I could blow today off and go and see Hannah, I can’t. We have a function booked for lunch and with Hannah now out, there’s no way I can bail too.

I strip off my clothes, leaving them on the bedroom floor as I walk into the bathroom, my phone still in my hand, just in case.

When I step into the bathroom though, I’m hit with a million reminders of the woman who, for all intents and purposes, practically lives here.

But whose absence I am feeling everywhere.

Her toothbrush, that sits in the cup with mine. Her hairbrush on the counter and the second towel that now permanently hangs beside mine.

Fucking hell, I miss her. I miss her so bad and it’s only been a day.

Reaching in to turn on the water, I stare at my phone as I wait for the shower to heat up. Just before I step into the stall, I type out one last text to her.

One last text that I hope tells her I understand. That I get it and that I’m not going anywhere. No matter what.

Me: Hannah, I need you to know something and I need you to believe me when I say this.

I get it. I get why you quit and I get why you did it the way you did.

He IS an asshole in the kitchen. It’s why I can’t work for him either.

It’s partly why I don’t use his name too.

I wish I’d told you who he was earlier so we could have avoided all this.

I can’t change that he’s my dad, but I can promise you that I will do everything I can to make this right.

I love you, Hannah. You are everything to me and I’m not giving up on us. I love you.

I hit send, waiting till the message goes through, before I leave my phone on the counter and step into the shower, hoping to fuck that when I step back out, I’ve figured out how the hell I can fix this.