“Yeah, I hear you. In my defense, I don’t consider last night minor.” Though I’m not going to say it out loud, I know it was reckless to reach for a bottle, and I need to do better. Let’s just say, Riot answered a lot of drunken phone calls the first year after I broke up with Hannah.
Ignoring me, he continues, “Next thing, what the fuck was that last night between you and Jackson?”
“How is that my fault? He showed up here to cause shit,” I argue, crossing my arms as I lean back in my chair.
“So, you thought you would fix it by breaking his fucking nose?” He rolls his eyes to the ceiling.
“He called Hannah a bitch!” I shout.
The rage I felt when Jackson yelled at Hannah is indescribable. I acted on instinct. One moment, I was on the veranda, and the next, I was on the ground with my fist in his face. Do I regret breaking his nose? Not a bit. Do I regret not telling Hannah everything before Jackson had a chance to open his big mouth? Absolutely, I will never forget the look of betrayal on her face when I told her the truth.
“I would have broken his nose too.” Carson reaches across the table to fist bump me but then reconsiders when he remembers my wrapped hand.
“Fair,” Riot concedes with a tilt of his head, “but the entire thing didn’t need to go down that way. You could have just talked to him, seen what he wanted, and sent him away. But no, you had to antagonize each other and now you must deal with the consequences.”
Hanging my head low, I take a big breath before meeting Riot’s eyes again. “How is she?”
“What the fuck, dude, you haven’t called her yet?” Carson narrows his eyes and scrunches up his nose.
My shoulders sag. “Nah, I knew she was upset, and I didn’t want to make it worse. I hid my phone from myself, so I wouldn’t drunk dial her again. I think I put it in a cereal box in the pantry.”
“Okay, that was smart.” Carson jumps up and starts rummaging through the boxes. “Found it in the Lucky Charms, good choice.” Nodding, he grins as he hands me my phone.
Turning it on, I find one message from Hannah from earlier this morning.
Hannah
I’m just leaving my mom's. I found out information that I don't think you know. I just need time alone to think. Text you later xoxo
I type out a response and hit send as soon as I read her message. It’s only been a couple of hours, hopefully she doesn’t think I’m ignoring her. I don’t know what to do not to make this any worse.
I’m so sorry. xoxoxo
Thrusting my phone in Riot and Carson’s faces, I ask them, “What should I do? Should I go out to the cabin?”
“No, dipshit. She specifically said she needs to be alone. She will reach out when she’s ready.” Riot pushes his chair back and stands. Walking to the fridge, he starts pulling out everything he will need to make hangover breakfast. It’s like they knew.
“She didn’t have to text you at all, you know?” Carson says, stepping into the kitchen and setting a frying pan on the stove for bacon.
Fair point, maybe there is hope, after all. Getting up, I start emptying the dish washer mindful of my bandaged hand. Pausing, I turn to Riot and ask, “Why did you stay and wait for her last night? How did you know?”
“I just did,” he says, dropping bread into the toaster.
“Thank you,” I say with a weak smile. I hope someday I can repay Riot for all the times he’s had my back.
“I didn’t do it for you, I did it for her. Plus, I knew she would want her girls – they were waiting for her.”
“How was she on the way back to the lake?”
“Hurt, angry, confused. Take your pick.” He looks up and meets my eyes. “No more secrets, Logan. You will only get one chance to fix this.”
Waiting for Hannah to text me back is torture. I have checked my phone at least 100 times since Riot and Carson left earlier. I know I promised to give her space, but maybe we could negotiate being in separate rooms not separate houses while she thinks.
I was very tempted to crawl into bed and rot until I heard from her, but I decided raking the yard was a better use my time and anxious energy. Not the best thing for my hand but whatever, I deserve the discomfort. Morgan was endlesslyentertained as he ran back and forth through the piles of leaves I created. At least one of us is having a good day.
Now showered and dressed in clean sweats, I’ve thrown myself onto the couch to watch something mind-numbing on the TV when a soft knock at the front door catches my attention. I spring up, sliding across the hardwood floor toward the sound. Skidding to a halt, I fling the door open, only to find my mother standing there. Honestly, the past 24 hours have felt like the worst family reunion ever.
“What are you doing here?” It has been years since I last saw my mom. The sale of the house was taken care of by real estate agents and lawyers so there was no need.
