Hanna couldn’t have stopped the bitter snort if she wanted to.
“Everything, huh? You invent glioblastomas, Sloane?”
Sloane twisted her lips and fumbled with the phone in her hand.
“I just, I feel bad. About the timing of it all. Logan is such a great guy?—”
“Yeah. Super.”
“He never wanted to hurt you. We were so careful about not letting anything happen between us.”
Hanna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Very noble.”
“And I guess I just wanted to clear the air between us. Since we’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together this year. Logan was so heartbroken when your mom?—”
All of the buzzing in Hanna’s ears condensed with so much force that it ignited a fire at the base of her skull.
“Oh my fucking god, no.”
Sloane shut up.
Hanna tried to breathe through the rising firestorm in her chest, but it was too late. Her anger was driving a bus heading for a cliff, and Sloane had just cut the brakes.
“Listen, Sloane. It’s one thing to feel the need to defend Logan. I get it. He’s a good guy. He didn’t cheat on me. Yay!” Hanna slapped her thighs, rising from the bed and knotting her fists against her hem. “But what we’re not going to do is talk about the literal worst thing that’s ever happened to me with the close second. We are strangers. Actually? We’re worse than strangers. We’re before and after. I fully understand that there are many, many painful nights ahead for us, and I will be civil. I’m a grown woman. But you don’t get to come in here and try to force me to feel bad for not including Logan in my mother’s death.”
Sloane’s eyes widened, the implications of her comment registering. She held up her hands. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“No one ever does.” Hanna was sick of comforting people who offended her. “Just please, please drop this. Logan is welcome to grieve my mother however he needs to, but he has to do it without me. He gave up that right when he dumped me and he has to live with that. I will not be taking on his guilt.”
“Hanna—”
“That was a dismissal,” Hanna hissed. Sloane shook her perfect fucking hair and slipped out of the door, her cheeks red.
Hanna pushed against her chest, the box of bad feelings she harbored there cracking open and leaking all over her lungs.
Fuck Sloane. Fuck Logan. Fuck brain cancer. Fuck weddings.
It became a mantra as her breathing spiraled out of control, her lips quivering as she tried to quell the misery crashing against her.
“What the hell,” she whispered to herself, her head swimming. It was bad enough having to see them, but a coordinated attack? Diabolical.
She sat back on the edge of the bed, her knees giving out as the panic fully took over, a year’s worth of rage spilling into her veins and rushing from head to toe.
Her nails dug into her palms. Sometimes she just needed to feel something to bring herself back to reality, but even the sting in her flesh didn’t cut above the noise in her head.
Somewhere in her lizard brain, she registered the door opening, but she was beyond seeing through the static. Two bags of ice hit the floor on either side of her as a hand pressed against her chest.
“What are you?—”
“Relax,” Milo said. “I’m not making a move. Just trying to help. Count to ten for me.”
Hanna attempted to grasp the number one, but it was just out of reach. Her hands came up, pushing away from him, but he kneeled on the carpet and leaned into her.
“Milo—”
“Don’t waste breath being stubborn. Breathe into your stomach, not your throat.” Milo pressed harder on her chest, applying a steady pressure. The touch grounded her as she inhaled, a wobble in the breath threatening to undo any progress it made.
“Another,” he said, his voice soft.
