Page 33 of Until Hanna

“I only know, because Gigi brought it up our last night in Ibiza, joking that she could be his baby mama. I asked him about it later, and he told me. He knew you’d be pissed, because you’ve been on him for years about making sure he wraps up.”

“I hope for his sake that she isn’t pregnant.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing. It might slow his ass down.”

I make a noise in the back of my throat, not in agreement but in annoyance. A kid isn’t going to be the thing to slow Otto down, not that I doubt he’d step up to take care of his responsibilities. He will. Ham and I both will make sure he does. But before he slows down, he’s going to have to find someone or something that he feels is worth slowing down for.

“I guess we’ll see what happens.”

“That we will,” he mutters, and I let out a breath.

“I’m gonna grab something to eat, then I’ll be back out to help put everything away.”

“Sounds good.” He walks off toward Otto, while I head for the interior of the boat.

Since Lindsey always leaves lunch out in the small kitchen, I grab a sandwich and a bag of chips, then take a seat at the table where my computer is. Opening the screen, I pull up the text thread with Hanna.

Me: We’re heading back to shore for a week, so I should be to you by tomorrow

I press Send, not expecting her to reply, since she’s working. But then a message appears.

Hanna: Oh, okay. Awesome. I kind of got talked into plans for Saturday, since I didn’t know you’d be here.

Me: What kind of plans?

I take a bite of my sandwich as I wait for her to respond, and half my sandwich is gone before her next message appears.

Hanna: I’ll explain things to you in person when you get here.

Me: Sounds good. I’ll let you know what time my train is getting in.

Hanna: LOL! Don’t you need my address?

Me: You have my cell, baby. I can track you anywhere.

I press Send, then text again.

Me: Gotta go help the boys get our shit put up. Talk to you this evening.

I start to close my laptop, when an e-mail comes in from my mom. Shoving the last of my sandwich in my mouth, I open it, and my chest gets tight when I read the message about my sister.

“Fuck,” I bite out and head for the upper deck, where Toni was going the last time I saw him.

When I find him, I ask to use his satellite phone to call home, and he instantly pulls it from his back pocket. Taking it with me downstairs, I dial Miranda and listen to it ring.

“Hello?” she finally answers.

“What the fuck?” I snap.

“Walker?” she asks as the boat starts up.

“Yeah, Miranda, it’s me. What the fuck?”

“You keep saying that, but I don’t understand what answer you’re looking for, because unfortunately, that’s not an actual question.” If this were any other time, I would think she’s funny.

“You and Bowie got divorced?” I repeat what our mom said in the email she sent. Something my sister never mentioned the last time we spoke.

“Yes.”

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