Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters, #2)(46)

She was Hannah. That’s who.

This girl who didn’t want to have sex with him—and yet was still interested. Lying there in his bed wanting to know more about him. No sign of judgment. No impatience. No movements at all. And as much as he resented the intrusion into his inner hell, Jesus, he fucking adored her, wanted to give her anything she wanted. So badly that it burned.

I wear this to remind myself I’m exactly like him and that will never change.

With his words hanging in the atmosphere, he stuffed his hand under the pillow, putting the bracelet out of sight. “I never made a conscious choice to be like him, I just was. Even before I’d ever been with a girl, it was like . . . everyone treated me like being . . . experienced was inevitable. There is something in my personality, the way I look, I guess. The parents of my schoolmates were always saying, Look out for that one. He’s got the devil in his eyes. Or, He’s the one your mama warns you about. It didn’t make sense when I was younger, but as I got older and started to recognize my father’s behavior with women, I figured it out. My sixth-grade teacher used to say, He’s going to be a heartbreaker. Everyone laughed and agreed and . . . Look, I don’t remember exactly when it started, only that I eventually embraced that image once I was in high school until there was a blur. Just a fucking blur of bodies and faces and hands.”

He breathed in and out through his nose, locating the courage to keep going. To completely unwrap himself in front of this girl whose opinion mattered so much to him.

“When I was a senior, my mom sent me to visit my father for a weekend. He’d been trying to reach out, sending cards and whatnot. They didn’t have a formal arrangement, she just thought he deserved a shot. And . . . after a couple of days at his place, I knew. I knew I didn’t want to be like him, Hannah.”

Some details he kept to himself.

Already he felt like this whole seedy explanation of his lifestyle was corrupting Hannah. This sweetheart with all the fucking promise in the world and a head full of songs didn’t need his past taking up space in her mind. They were on opposite ends of the bed, like two sides of the moon—one dark, one light—so he wouldn’t tell her about the revolving door of women he’d witnessed coming in and out of his father’s apartment that weekend. Or the sounds he’d heard. The flirting and fighting and cloying smell of pot.

Fox swallowed hard, begging the pace of his pulse to slow. “Anyway.”

A full minute passed while he tried to get it together. He wasn’t sure he could explain the rest until Hannah slid her hand across the bed and threaded their fingers together. He flinched, but she held on.

“Anyway,” he continued, trying not to acknowledge the warmth spreading up his arm. “I always had decent grades, believe it or not. Probably have Brendan to thank for that. He was always roping me into study groups and forcing me to do flash cards with him.”

“Flash cards are so Brendan,” she murmured. “I bet they were color-coded.”

“And alphabetized.” He couldn’t help pressing the pad of his thumb to her pulse, rubbing the sensitive spot once before forcing his touch back to platonic. There was no distracting her with sex—she didn’t want it. As much as that disappointed him, he was starting to find there was something freeing in not having to perform physically. In not having to fulfill an expectation. “Most of my friends stayed close for college, but I got out of here. I wanted to get rid of this image. This . . . label as the local stud. I’d earned it, fine, but I didn’t want it anymore. So I left. I went to Minnesota and I found new people. I was a new person. The first two years of college, I dated occasionally, but nothing like what I was doing in high school. Not even close. And then I met Melinda. We didn’t go to the same school, but she lived close by and . . . I thought it was serious. I’d never been in a real relationship before, but it felt like one. We went to the movies, out of town. I stopped seeing other people. It was like, shit . . . I can do this. I don’t have to fit into the mold anymore.”

A sharp object slid between his ribs, preparing to skewer.

“At the same time, I had this friend, right? Kirk. He was the one who introduced me to Melinda. As his family friend. Kirk and I shared a dorm room, both of us majoring in business. Sophomore year, we decided to work together on a start-up. We had this idea for an online stock footage company that would specialize in aerial shots. From drones.” He shook his head. “There are companies now that do this. Your production company has probably used one. But back then, there wasn’t anything like it. And we worked on it hard. We were going to be business partners. I was, like, a million fucking miles from who and what I’d been in Westport, you know?”

Was he really going to tell her the next part and humiliate himself on purpose? It was bad enough that he had to live with the embarrassment of what happened back then, let alone watch Hannah register it. But her grip was firm on his hand, her eyes unwavering, and he just kept going, like he’d been given an invisible push, no idea where he would land but knowing he couldn’t stop now.

“One holiday weekend, Melinda was home visiting her parents. I’d lied, saying I was going home, too. I didn’t, though. I never went home back then. I wanted to pretend Westport didn’t even exist. No one knew who I’d been, and I wanted to keep it that way.” He let out a long breath. “That weekend, I came back from finishing a paper in the library, and they were in our dorm. Together. Watching a movie in Kirk’s bed.” He tried to pull his hand free of Hannah’s, because he was starting to feel dirty over what was coming and he didn’t want that filthiness touching her, but she held on, tightening her hold. “So I confronted them. Explained that Melinda and I had been seeing each other for months. Kirk was livid, but Melinda . . . she just laughed.”