It was morning. Eight in the morning.
The bus . . . the bus back to LA left at seven.
“No.” Fox almost got sick. “No, no, no.”
He was off the couch like a shot, his stomach pitching violently. Several pairs of eyes stared back at him from the kitchen, belonging to the senior ladies who’d apparently congregated in Charlene’s kitchen for coffee and donuts.
“Morning, honey,” his mother sang from the table, in the same place she’d sat last night. Same mug in her hands. “Got a bear claw over here with your name on it. Come meet the lady gang.”
“I can’t. I . . . She’s leaving. She’s . . . left?” He patted the pocket of his jeans and found his phone, the battery at 6 percent, and quickly tapped Hannah’s number, raking a hand through his hair and pacing while it rang. No way. No way he let her get on a bus back to California. He didn’t have a plan yet, didn’t have a strategy for keeping Hannah. He only knew that the fear of God was rattling his bones. That—the reality of her actually being gone—along with what his mother had said to him last night, had damn well put Fox’s priorities in order.
My head is out of my ass, Hannah. Answer the phone.
Voicemail.
Of course it was the opening bars to “Me and Bobby McGee,” followed by the husky efficiency of her greeting.
Fox stopped pacing, the sound of her voice against his ear washing over him like warmth from a fireplace. Oh God, oh God, he’d been such a jackass. This girl, this one-in-a-billion angel of a girl, loved him. He loved her back in a wild, desperate, uncontrollable way. And he didn’t know how to build a home with her, but they would figure it out together. That he was positive about.
Hannah gave him faith. She was his faith.
The beep sounded in his ear. “Hannah, it’s me. Please, please, get off the bus. I’m coming home right now. I’m . . .” His voice lost power. “Just get off the bus somewhere safe and wait for me, all right? I fucking love you. I love you. And I’m sorry you fell in love with an idiot. I’m . . .” Find the words. Find the right words. “Remember in Seattle, you said we’ve been trying this whole time. Since last summer. To be in a relationship. I didn’t fully understand at the time, but I do now. There was never going to be a life away from you, because, Jesus, that’s no life at all. You, Hannah. Are my life. I love you and I’m coming home, so please, babe. Please. Will you just wait for me? I’m sorry.”
Fox stopped and listened, as if she might somehow answer and reassure him like she always did, then hung up with dread curdling in his stomach. Looked up to find the women in various states of crying, from dabbing away tears to openly weeping.
“I have to go.”
No one tried to stop Fox as he ran out the door and sprinted to his truck, throwing himself into the driver’s seat and peeling out. He hit a stoplight on the way to the highway and cursed, slamming on the brakes. Restless without being in motion, he took out his phone again and called Brendan.
“Fox,” the captain said, answering on the first ring. “I’ve been meaning to call you, actually. I want to apologize again—”
“Good. Do it another time, though.” The light turned green, and he floored it, merging onto the highway, thanking God there didn’t seem to be any rush hour traffic. “Is Hannah with you guys? Did she stay there last night?”
A brief pause. “No. She didn’t stay with you?”
“No.” Knowing he could have spent the night with Hannah—and didn’t—was a bitter pill to swallow. It was a world that didn’t make sense, and he never wanted to live in it again. Where would she have gone? There were a couple of inns in Westport, but she wouldn’t check in somewhere, would she? Maybe she’d gone to the house where the crew was staying. All of them would have gotten on the bus an hour ago. She went with them. She’s gone. “No, she’s not with me,” he rasped, misery washing over him. “Look. It’s complicated. Predictably, I fucked everything up. I need a chance to fix it.”
“Hey. Whatever you did, I’m sure you can repair it.”
No accusations. No knowing sighs or disappointment.
Just faith.
Fox ached just above his collarbone. Maybe, like the ocean, he could evolve.
Maybe the crew would realize they were wrong about him after some time passed. After all, they were just following his lead, treating him like he asked them to. Like the cheap version of himself he’d presented. Demanding respect from Brendan one time was all it took to change his best friend’s tune. What if that was all it took to do the same with everyone else?