Page 91 of Whenever You Call

Those thoughts had my thumbs flying across the phone screen, and hitting send before I could stop them.

Me: I’ve missed you.

Hannah: Don’t, Logan.

Me: I have.

Hannah: I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I ever will be.

Me: I’ll never ask you for anything more than you’re willing to give ever again. That doesn’t mean I don’t want it, though, because I do.

Hannah: What does that even mean?

Me: You know, Hannah. It’s why you kissed me.

No response came. Not that I should have expected one. This wasn’t some dumb fucking movie where the guy messed up, said the right thing a couple of times, and the woman fell dopily into his arms. This was real life—her life, Bella’s life—and she had no reason to ever take me back now that she knew everything we’d had was based upon half-truths and a rotten fucking secret I should never have kept from her. I had nothing to give. No money. No grand gestures. No Hollywood lifestyle. No Beverly Hills mansion or six-car garage with spare SUVs inside. Even though Cole had been a bastard, at least he’d left her with the security of knowing she’d be able to provide for Bella her entire life.

All I had was a shitty condo in an area of LA I didn’t particularly like, and a few years’ worth of savings that could take us on a couple of nice vacations.

But no sooner had those thoughts rattled around in my brain than I pushed them aside. Money, things… they didn’t matter to Hannah. The only thing she’d ever asked of anyone was to see her, hear her, and be truthful with her.

Whoever said two out of three wasn’t bad was a goddamn liar.

I growled, running a hand over my forehead before I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed it tightly, punishing myself with any kind of pain I could find in any given moment these days.

“So, Hannah in Beverly Hills, huh?”

I turned to see Jerry standing beside me, looking over my shoulder yet again, not at all ashamed of the fact that he’d been watching me sitting in the driver’s seat of my car, lost in my phone like a total loser.

Folding his arms over his chest, he raised a brow. “The woman you left the bar for. It’s her, isn’t it?”

“Who?”

“You know who, Logan. We both know.”

Turned out Jerry had put two and two together and come up with four after all.

I sighed heavily, dropping my cell into my lap, and my head back against the headrest as I lifted both hands to cover my face.

I groaned into my palms. “Fuck.”

“I guess that confirms it.”

“Go away, Jerry,” I mumbled.

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“Nope.”

“C’mon, man.”

“Nope.”

“Jesus Christ.” Dropping my hands into my lap, I turned to look at him, too strung out and fed up to lie anymore. “It’s not what you think.”

“No?” Moving closer, he rested his arms on the window ledge. “And what am I thinking, LT? Tell me.”

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