Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters, #2)(48)

Hannah’s thoughts scattered like the head of a dandelion when Fox’s blue eyes opened, spearing her from the other side of the pillow. They were warm, a little relieved. And then he blinked and up went his guard.

“Hey,” he said slowly, studying her closely. “You slept here all night.”

Words crammed into her chest. Phrases she’d learned from her therapists over the years. Things she wanted to say to Fox that would explain why he felt so terrible over what happened in college. Suggestions for adjusting his outlook, and assurances that none of it was his fault.

For once, all the fancy supportive language in the world felt inadequate, though. Somehow, over the course of the night, she’d entered the fray with Fox without making a conscious decision. She was in it, this battle for his soul. Now that she was here, however, it was beginning to seem unlikely that she could remain too long without . . . falling for him.

God. She was. Falling fast.

“Yeah,” she murmured finally, sitting up and brushing some static-charged strands of hair out of her face. “Sorry, I must have really passed out.”

He pushed up onto an elbow. “Wasn’t looking for a sorry. It’s fine.”

Hannah nodded. She looked over at him and . . . oh boy, there it was. An overwhelming urge to touch him. To push him down onto the mattress, climb on top, and tell him in between kisses that he was way more than a hall pass. Way more than he gave himself credit for. But that went beyond supportive friend. Those were the actions of a supportive girlfriend—and she couldn’t be that for him.

“I have to be at work early,” Hannah managed.

“Right.” He pushed a hand through his hair, visibly at a loss. “Huh.”

“What?”

His big shoulder shrugged, the laughter not quite reaching his eyes. “It feels like I’m sending you off with nothing.”

The chasm that had formed down the center of her heart last night widened, and she barely managed to swallow a sound of distress. And then the anger flooded in. How dare his teachers and full-grown adults sexualize him at such a young age? How could his father bring women over while his eighteen-year-old son was visiting? Who were those monsters he’d befriended in college? They probably worked for the IRS now. And yes, a fair bit of rage was directed squarely at herself, because she’d definitely called him a pretty-boy sidekick the first time they’d met. Peacock after that. She wanted to bang her head against the wall now for being like everyone else.

Before Hannah could stop herself, she’d turned and walked on her knees across the bed, wrapping her arms around Fox’s neck, hugging him in a manner that was freakishly tight, but she couldn’t seem to make herself stop. Especially when his arms crept up and surrounded her, pulling Hannah to his chest, his face dropping into the slope of her neck.

“You sang for me last night,” she said. “You brought me as close as I’ll ever get to Henry. That wasn’t nothing.”

“Hannah . . .”

“And after what you told me last night, I could sit here for hours and rant about toxic masculinity and undervaluing yourself, but I’m not going to do that. I’m just going to tell you that . . . I’ll be back tonight and that you’re really important to me.”

His swallow was audible. “We sail for five nights on Wednesday. Two days from now. Kind of a longer trip than usual. I just . . . If you were curious or wanted to know when I’d be gone.”

“Of course I want to know.” She pressed her lips together. “That means you’ll come home the day we wrap on Glory Daze.”

They looked at each other hard, neither of them seeming to know what to do with that information. Timelines, schedules, leaving, coming back. How it related to them as two people who’d just slept in the same bed.

So she kissed his coarse cheek and gave him a final squeeze, trying not to notice the way his hips shifted, his mouth breathing hard against her neck. “Just this, Hannah?” His long fingers slid up into her hair to cradle the back of her head, subtly tilting it to the left and brushing his lips along her pulse. “Just hugging for us?”

With one word of encouragement, Hannah knew she would be flat on her back and would love every second. But maybe . . . maybe her mission here wasn’t to be the supportive friend, but to prove to Fox that he could be one. That his presence and personality were enough without any of the physical trappings. “Just like this.”

Was she asking a lot of Fox to try seeing himself in a new light? Wasn’t she in the process of doing that herself—and not finding it very easy? Maybe if she wanted this man to believe he could captain a ship and rely on his wit and humor and spirit alone, then she had to believe in herself first. She couldn’t ask him to reach for a higher summit if she wasn’t willing to reach herself.

The opening notes of “I Say a Little Prayer” by Aretha Franklin tumbled through Hannah’s head, and her eyes flew open, a grateful smile curving her lips. Hallelujah. The songs were back. Sure, the lyrics were a little alarming, considering she was lying in Fox’s bed, but maybe the whole song didn’t have to pertain to their relationship. Just some of it? Just the prayer parts, maybe?

Hannah swallowed. Why had the songs returned now? Had listening to Fox sing Henry’s shanties last night shaken them loose? The beckoning of a new direction for her career? Or did the return of her music-minded thinking mean something else?