She’d hate herself in the morning if she didn’t go. The guilt always ate her alive when she passed on something for no reason other than “ugh.”
Hanna slipped out of the tub and toweled off, chugging water as her head began to tighten. A pair of well-worn black jeans and a tank top with a messy bun, and she didn’t look half bad—at least not for a half-drunk, pathetic mess.
She downed a third glass of water before venturing from her little bungalow, rotting just like she was, and took the light rail downtown.
The hotel rose above the hot streets, teeming with post-Suns game-goers. Sara waited beneath the hotel awning, eyes glued to her phone, likely watching Hanna's location as she weaved through the city.
“Hanna!” Sara wrapped her arms around her friend, her sweet vanilla honey scent warming Hanna. “I’m so sorry I barely got to see you at the party! Thanks for coming back out.”
Hanna shrugged. “I’ll put pants on for very few people in this life, but you’re one of ‘em, babe.”
Sara laughed, the sound soothing Hanna’s aching ribs, and she held the door open to the hotel lobby, scanning a key at the elevator. The doors had hardly closed before she attacked.
“Mom saw you getting ice with Milo.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Hanna muttered. Sara pulled her eyes away from the rows of elevator buttons and arched her brows. “I’m kidding. He asked for a hand.”
“Because Milo can’t lift two bags of ice?”
Hanna sighed. “It was nothing.”
“Right.” Sara rocked forward on her heels. “He’s hot, though. I wasn’t lying.”
“You were not,” Hanna allowed. “But nothing is going to happen.”
“Okay!” Sara chirped. The sing-songy quality implied she didn’t buy Hanna’s resolve. She was much too confident.
The elevator doors scrolled back, depositing them into the chic bar in the middle of the city, surrounded by glassy buildings and the distant mountain ranges. The bar buzzed with a late-night crowd scattered between lush white lounge chairs and billowing curtains.
“Logan told me about Sloane,” Sara said quietly as they weaved between patrons toward the bar.
“Yeah. That was… something,” Hanna said, sliding onto a barstool. Sara ordered without having to ask. One whiskey ginger, one gin and tonic. Two limes.
“She felt bad,” Sara said and pushed her card across the bar. “She thought she was being a girl’s girl or whatever.”
Hanna snorted. “Uh huh.”
“Logan was pissed.”
Hanna nodded.
“They had a huge fight after.”
“Bummer, I missed it,” Hanna said as a cocktail landed in front of her. She lifted the glass to cheers her best friend who watched her face with careful eyes.
“You’re a good friend to put up with them for all of these stupid wedding events.”
Dammit, there were those public tears again.
The thought that Hanna had been a good anything to anyone over that last year struck her in the chest. Sara—who had been on the first flight out when her mother got sick, who sent flowers weekly while she was in treatment, who cooked meals and held hands and wiped tears—thought Hanna, who hadn’t returned a single call to anyone except Sara, was a good friend?
“I owe you,” Hanna said. It was all she could say.
“Shit,” Sara mumbled over her straw and pointed to Hanna’s phone as it lit up with DO NOT ANSWER once again.
“Logan’s been blowing me up for hours.”
Sara closed her eyes and sighed. “He has a lot of feelings about your mom. Matty and I tried to tell him repeatedly not to involve you in them… but you know how he is.”
