Page 24 of Until Hanna

As I rush through my shower, I refuse to give in to the urge to cry. When I get home, I’ll take some time to feel sorry for myself, and after, I’ll add another five years onto my no-dating rule. With the addition of no vacation flings, because this situation just proves I have no business getting intoanykind of relationship with a man.

Once I’m done, I quickly dry off and get dressed, then pack my suitcase. I gather my purse, tossing in my useless cell phone—although I swear I put it on its charger last night.

Somehow, I manage to get downstairs and in a cab by seven twenty, and I arrive at the airport to make it through security and to my gate with minutes to spare. The moment I step onto the plane, I go through the motions, more than thankful that the crew I’m working with doesn’t know me well. So no one realizes something is off or that the smile I wear most of the day is fake.

I arrive in London a little after five in the evening, after a day of flying from Ibiza to Paris and then catching the train back to the city, with my suitcase dragging behind me. I’m emotionally and physically exhausted.

All day, I’ve gone over and over my time with Walker in my head, replaying every moment and everything I said. I thought by not agreeing to see him again that I was protecting myself, but this pain in my chest feels worse than when I found out what a piece of garbage Ben was. So, the joke’s on me.

Taking my cell out of my purse as I walk toward the subway—known in London as the Tube—that will take me home, I turn it on. I need to call my mom and let her know I’m okay. I’m sure she’s worried, since I didn’t call her back last night. And I didn’t have a chance to call her earlier, with my phone being dead this morning, then with the layover between flights being so short.

When my phone comes to life, I freeze in the middle of the walkway and stare down at the device in my hand in disbelief, while everyone continues to rush by me. I try to convince myself that I’m seeing things, but I’m not. Somehow, I ended up with Walker’s phone, and I know it’s his, since the screensaver is a photo of him in his diving gear. One of him sitting on the deck of a ship with Ham and Otto each of them holding a gold bar, with the sun shining bright above their handsome heads. Dropping my purse to the top of my suitcase, I start to frantically dig through it for my own cell phone, which I already know is not there.

Startling when the phone in my hand begins to ring, I stare at the nameLindseyon the screen, and my stomach twists into a knot, while those familiar tendrils of jealousy make me feel nauseous. I don’t answer it; I press the side button, sending Lindsey to voicemail, then drop the phone into my purse like it’s on fire.

I get off the train at my stop forty-five minutes later and lug my suitcase up the million stairs to the sidewalk, then drag it with me to my apartment two blocks away, trying to figure out what I’m going to do. Obviously, I need my phone back, and Walker needs his, so we’re going to have to talk. But after waking up and feeling like I did when he wasn’t there, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.

When I reach the tiled stairs that lead to the main door of the three-story apartment house I live in, it takes a couple of minutes to get through the two heavy doors that lead into the main entryway, because they’re both original and should have been replaced about a hundred years ago. But after I’m in, I pass the staircase to the second and third-floor apartments and unlock the three locks of my door.

Pushing it open, I see the hall light is on to greet me, and Mizzy stares at me with her green eyes unblinking before she jumps down from where she was perched on the side table that holds the ceramic bowl where I keep my keys and random things I pull from my pockets from time to time.

“Hello to you too,” I mutter to her back, as she flounces off with her orange tail flipping in the air. Her attitude doesn’t surprise me. She’s always mad when I’m gone for any length of time, even with my landlord Mrs. Lewis coming downstairs from her apartment to feed her and give her treats daily while I’m away.

After dropping my suitcase in the spare room next to the laundry, I take Walker’s phone with me to the kitchen and place it on the counter. As I move around my kitchen, looking for something to eat, I continuously glance over at it like I expect it to come to life and give me whatever answer it is I’m looking for.

That doesn’t happen, so with no other choice, I pick it up and slide my finger across the screen, finding it odd that it unlocks without me having to use a code. I don’t look through his contacts or text messages; instead, I pull up the keypad and type in my number, a funny feeling landing in my gut when the name Teeny pulls up in his contacts.

“Hanna,” his deep, familiar voice greets me after the second ring, and I lean against the counter.

“Umm… you have my phone.”

“I do,” he agrees, and my brows dart together. He doesn’t sound surprised by this news. Then again, he probably figured out way before I did that there was a mix-up. “Are you home?”

I look around my apartment like I need confirmation of where I am. “Yes.”

“How was your day?”

“Exhausting.” I pull out one of the stools from the high counter in my kitchen and climb up onto it to sit. “I…. You were gone this morning when I woke up.”

“Did you want me to be there when you woke up?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes, but I don’t.

“If you had been, I wouldn’t have your phone, and you wouldn’t have mine.”

“Then I’m glad I wasn’t there,” he mutters, and I bite the inside of my cheek. “Your mom called.”

“You didn’t answer it, did you?”

“I wasn’t going to, but she started calling about every thirty minutes, and I didn’t want her to worry.”

“Oh no.”

“I told her you’d call from my number.”

“She’s going to think I’ve been kidnapped.”

“She did until I talked to your dad and explained things.”

“Explained things?” I repeat, not sure I even want to know what that means.

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