Page 95 of Whenever You Call

The mention of Logan had my smile falling and my chest tightening as a thousand unwanted butterflies came to life in the very depths of my stomach. My lips parted to say something, but nothing came out as the memory of his face came back to me, bright and powerful, making me miss him, despite desperately wanting to forget he’d ever existed.

Bella smiled up at me. “Mr. Logan told me that whenever something feels so bad that you start to feel sad about it, you can tell your brain to think about something good instead. I told him I’d try it next time I saw you sad… so I did.” Reaching over, Bella ran her thumb over the apple of my cheek. “See. It’s working. Your cheeks are turning pink now. That means you feel warm inside again. He was right, wasn’t he? Bad things really can be swapped for good things if we just tell our brains to choose to be happy instead.”

Chapter37

LOGAN

It had been the slowest week of my life. Hannah hadn’t responded to my last message, and I didn’t send her any more, no matter how much I had to say.

Jerry had listened to me confess everything, and even though he had his opinions on how I should have dealt with it, he told me that he couldn’t turn the clock back any more than I could, and the only thing to do now was to make things right, being sure to tread lightly as I went, too.

That last part would be the biggest struggle.

Since losing her, I’d been a nightmare to all those around me, but I’d been even worse on myself. Every time I lay in bed, I became tortured with the memory of her kiss, going even further by slipping my hand beneath the comforter to find myself hard before I’d slowly stroke the mental images of Hannah lying beneath me out of my body, coming hard and painfully each and every time.

Her face was my punishment. My pleasure became my own pain.

I didn’t deserve to jerk off to thoughts of her, but I did it anyway.

Her messages of wanting to talk had given me the faintest drop of hope… and hope was a dangerous thing to a guy who’d finally fallen in love for the first time in thirty years.

My frustrations only grew on Thursday when the entire day went by without hearing from her. I’d marked this day down as the one when we’d finally be able to talk. One where I could confess all my sins, nothing held back. But when it reached ten o’clock that night, I gave in to my own insanity, needing to get out of the damn condo.

I took a quick shower before I threw on a pair of black jeans and a white T-shirt. Once ready, I ran a hand through my damp hair, grabbed my keys, and I got the hell out of there.

My cell sat in the back pocket of my jeans, taunting me, telling me to text Hannah and ask her if she’d changed her mind, but I’d promised never to ask for more than she was willing to give again, and I intended to stick to that promise.

It didn’t take long to find a bar to step into on the streets of Van Nuys, but it was the first time I stepped into this particular one, normally choosing the silence of my own home over the chaotic noise of a bunch of drunken assholes I saw and saved every other day.

Tonight, though, I needed that noise. I needed to drown in other people’s problems instead of sitting in that home of mine like some neurotic asshole, watching every minute tick by without so much as a word from her.

If this was what love did to a man, I wanted no part of it.

The barman took one look at me slipping onto the stool in front of him and must have seen my misery.

He was a tall guy, probably in his mid-thirties, with flecks of gray already running through his dark hair. Resting one hand on the bar while the other held onto a beer pump, he raised his brow. “You look like you need a whisky.”

“Will it quieten my head for a bit?”

“Probably until morning. Then things might get extra loud again.”

“Tomorrow is tomorrow’s problem,” I said, repeating the words I’d said to Hannah.

“Whisky shot, coming right up.”

It turned out I didn’t particularly even like whisky, but it did the job, quieting the wild thoughts of Hannah that raced through my mind and dulling the ache in my chest to something more manageable.

Two women tried to sit next to me on separate occasions, but my arrogance and ignorance soon gave them the message my voice couldn’t deliver. I was too afraid to speak in case I told them to fuck off and got myself thrown out of the bar. I’d become attached to the seat beneath my ass, as well as the barman who asked no questions but somehow saw everything, anyway.

When he offered me my third refill, I beckoned him closer. He leaned toward me as he poured my drink, his wrist eventually twisting the bottle at a certain angle to tail it off before he brought it back down to the bar with a thud.

“Do you think,” I said, raising my voice over the loud music, “that I’m a sad bastard for drinking here alone on a Thursday night?”

“No,” he laughed, “but I think you’re a sad bastard for worrying about what a stranger like me thinks of you.”

“Good point.” I nodded, bringing my glass up to my lips and taking a small sip as the few ice cubes inside it clinked together. “Very good point.”

“Not a big drinker, are you?”

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