Page 24 of Whenever You Call

Or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part. A wishful thought I quickly suffocated, refusing to give life.

I made my way over to the breakfast bar and picked up my fork to tuck into my sad little pancake dinner when my cell vibrated against the countertop.

Spinning it around to face me, I looked at the number, recognizing it instantly. Maybe I hadn’t suffocated that thought quite enough. Maybe I’d manifested it instead because my heart started beating faster as I watched my phone ring over and over again.

I swiped right to accept it without much thought.

“You’re meant to hide your number from me,” I answered, my voice a little gruffer than I intended.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Bella didn’t hide caller ID earlier.”

“Shit, I never thought about that.”

“I deleted the number straight after, don’t worry.”

“You must have one of those photographic memories then.”

“Not usually,” I said, clearing my throat, not wanting to sound like a total stalker. “Everything okay?”

She sighed, and I thought I heard her fall back against something soft. “Do me a favor, will you? Don’t ask me how I am or if everything is okay when I call. It forces me to answer honestly, and then the conversation becomes depressing—about how we’re finding things hard but trying not to let it show. How we’re surrounded by this shitty thing called grief every day. And right now, all those things—the things that kill me slowly—are the very things I’m trying to avoid thinking about.”

“What would you like me to say instead?” I asked, pushing my half-eaten food aside and making my way over to the bed. I laid back against the pillows, my feet crossed at the ankles.

“How about… talk to me, Hannah?”

“Okay. Talk to me, Hannah.”

“I like that.” I heard the smile in her voice before she drifted off into some thought that kept her quiet for a while. The two of us didn’t fill the silence. While I couldn’t be sure of her reason, I didn’t feel the need to. She’d been the one to call me. This conversation was on her terms, despite hoping to hear her voice again soon. It was hard to believe it had come to this. That she was calling me of all people.

“Is there love in your life, Logan?”

The question caught me off guard, and I had to clear my throat. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, do you have a wife or a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“A boyfriend or husband?”

“I’m straight.”

“Good news for the women of LA,” she said, aiming for humor that had my lips twitching on one side. “Ever had a relationship?”

“A few,” I said, wondering why the hell she wanted to talk about my love life.

“Tell me about them.”

I opened my mouth to protest, quickly thinking better of it and blowing all the air out of my lungs instead. “There isn’t much to tell.”

“Am I making you uncomfortable? I didn’t mean to, I just…”

“Just what?”

“I guess I find you intriguing, and I want to know more. Talking about you keeps my mind busy, but if you don’t want to go there, just tell me to shut up, and I’ll go.” Her embarrassment and awkwardness shouldn’t have been as endearing as they were.

“My first serious relationship was over twelve years ago. I’d just turned eighteen,” I answered, refusing to overthink things. I never talked about my fucking past, let alone to someone I barely knew. “Her name was Melody.”

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