Whiskey Lullaby(36)

I didn’t say a word, and I’m sure my face gave everything I wanted to keep secret away. “He’s nice.”

She laughed. “Nice? Yeah, he’s too nice. He has a way of making you feel like you are the only thing in the world that exists. God, the lines he could spin, and even when I knew it was all a fucking lie, I believed it. He’s that good.” She pushed up and grabbed something from the printer. “Look, it’s none of my business, babe, and my experience with him, well,” she shrugged, “it was my experience, but just tread carefully. He’s fucked up and I don’t think he realizes what he does to girls.” She patted my back as she passed by and walked into the one occupied room.

I tried to ignore her words. I closed my eyes. I drummed my fingers on the counter. I straightened the workstation. Dear friends. He called me a dear friend after he promised we’d get through everything together. God, how stupid could I have been? I snatched my phone up on my way to the restroom, dialing his number and pressing the phone to my ear when I closed the bathroom door.

“The Verizon Wireless number you were trying to reach has calling restrictions which has prevented the completion of your call.” The line went dead.

I pulled the phone away and stared at the screen with Noah’s name still on display. “What?” I whispered, my pulse slowly picking up pace. I tried the number again. “The Verizon Wireless number you were trying to reach has calling restrictions which has—”

When I hung up, I slipped the phone into the front pocket of my scrubs and braced my palms against the porcelain sink. I stared at my reflection, telling myself there was a logical explanation. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was the way his chin dropped to his chest when he was on top of me. The way his lips closed when he said, “Fuck… Hannah.”

My chest tensed.

Meg warned me.

My brother warned me.

My father.

The damn lady at the beauty shop...

But my mother told me no regrets, and yet, I already regretted it. Not even twenty-four hours later while I was still sore and every step I took reminded me he’d been there.

How the hell are you supposed to know what you will regret? Not taking a chance, sure? But that’s a sugar-laced lie, isn’t it? You can always regret not doing something, but that regret must be different from actually going through with something and realizing you were inevitably wrong in doing so?

I yanked open the door to the bathroom and went back to the nurses’ station, filling out the paperwork I had left on Mr. Smith. Laceration to the left cheek. Two stitches.

My phone dinged with a text.

Meg: I’m going to kill the little shit! Where the fuck is he?!!!!





Attached was a screenshot of a selfie from Daisy Benson’s Facebook page. Behind her was a wooden door with the number 33 on it. She was on Noah’s porch. The caption said: Big things ahead for my dear friend, Noah Greyson. Can’t wait to tell the world, babe. <3 <3 I swallowed around the lump in my throat when I looked at the date. Yesterday, an hour before he came to get me.

Meg: Call me!





Dear friend. I laughed not to cry, then I took a breath. Regrets?

Jesus, I may have regretted not sleeping with him until I was ninety. I may have regretted living out some stupid fantasy. Fine. But the way it feels to know I was foolish enough to love him, that’s a regret that cuts in a way I don’t think I’ll ever get over.

I allowed him to become everything to me when I was nothing to him.

The alarm on my watch buzzed and I shut it off. I fought back the wave of anger, then the disgust as I stormed toward the time clock. I swiped my badge, choking on my emotions.

“You out?” Rachel said.

All I did was nod even though I wanted to shout at her, asking why the hell she was talking to me now. After twelve years of school, two months of work. Why now? Because she knew, that’s why. She felt sorry for me because I was that cliché idiot from love stories: the good girl who fell for the bad boy. Well, I didn’t want to be her!

_





Jeopardy went off and I glanced over at Momma asleep on her bed. Even in her sleep, you could see pain wrinkling her face. I kissed her cheek, grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, then went to my room.

I laid in the bed, like always, staring up at the ceiling. My mind wouldn’t stop long enough to let me rest. Back and forth it went between Momma and Noah. Finally, I picked up my phone from the nightstand and went to Facebook Messenger, staring at his latest message. Lost my phone which means I lost all my contacts. Long story, I’m out of town. I’ll be back on Thursday, I didn’t want you to think I just up and left. I don’t know how to handle this shit, but I miss you. You mean a lot to me, Hannah.

I stared at that message for a good ten minutes before I clicked on his profile picture. It’s strange how you can hear someone’s voice in your head, how memories can flood your mind like some unwanted ghost. I rested my head against my headboard before dropping the phone to the bed.

I knew Noah—didn’t I?

The Noah I knew didn’t seem like he could be the guy Meg warned me about, the guy the ladies at Judy’s gossiped about, the guy that made empty promises to Rachel Thomas. But, maybe I didn’t really know him after all.





34





Hannah





I had worked three twelves back to back. Momma took one look at my nails last night and told me to go to Judy’s and get a manicure. She said no one wanted a nurse with unkempt nails. Going to Judy’s was the last thing I wanted to do, but to make Momma happy, I called Meg and there I stood staring at the wall of nail polish.

“Be My Valentine,” Meg said, picking the bottle up. I glanced down at the chipped Diva Mermaid on my nails. All I could see was my fingers splayed out over Noah’s bare chest while he sank between my thighs. Swallowing, I snatched the polish from Meg’s hand and sat down in the waiting area. Be My Valentine it was.

“Testy,” she said, grabbing a bottle of purple polish before she took a seat next to me. “You ready to talk about it yet?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Daisy Benson posted a picture outside his house. She knew he was going somewhere”—she waved her hand around—“wherever he went. You still don’t know. It’s been four days, Hannah. And, I don’t care what you say, I know you slept with him.”

I glared at her.

“Tell me you didn’t.”

I exhaled and grabbed one of the magazines from the table. She huffed and settled back in the seat. A few minutes passed by before she finally sighed. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s dying, Meg.”

I felt her bristle next to me. “I’m gonna kill him,” she mumbled. “Fucking around with you when you have all this shit on your shoulders.”

Ignoring her, I flipped open to the article: How to Know if He’s a Player.

Sad truth: There are crappy people out there and some people will waste your time to get what they want: sex, affection, validation. I’d like to say these guys are oblivious to what they are doing, but, most of the time, they are completely aware. They know just what to say, just what to do to make you fall hard.





My eyes skimmed the column, hitting the key points.

Warning signs you may be dealing with a player:

He texts you late.

You don’t go on public dates.

He compliments you. A lot.

He doesn’t introduce you to his friends.

He’s vague about where he is.

He has a bad reputation.





I rolled my eyes at that one and shut the magazine, tossing it onto the table before sinking down in the chair. We didn’t go on public dates, he complimented me a lot, I had no idea who his friends were aside from Trevor, and I didn’t even know where he was, but Daisy did…

“I’ll be right with you girls,” Judy called from the counter. “Let me just finish up with Patty.”

“Okay,” Meg said.

The door swung open, the bell jingled, and Daisy strutted in. I looked away just as she glanced at me.

“Hey, Daisy,” Judy said.

“Hey.” She plopped down in the chair across from Meg. I grabbed the magazine again, flipping through the pages just to occupy my hands.

“So, Daisy,” Meridith called from across the salon. “I hear there’s some big news about your friend, Noah?”

I peeked over the top of the magazine, watching Meridith tease Martha’s hair.

“Oh, yes,” Daisy said, I could hear the smile in her voice.

“That boy’s nasty,” Martha said. “He comes in the Bait and Tackle, buying up all the condoms.”

“We know, Martha,” Meridith patted her shoulder. “Well, you made a vague post about it. I checked his profile and nothing. Come on and spill already, would you?”

“Okay, so, get this. Brice Taylor saw one of my videos of Noah singing and contacted him. He’s in Nashville recording with him.”

Meridith stopped teasing Martha’s poufy hair. Her eyes went wide. “Are you kidding me?”

“What… the… fuck…” Meg muttered then glanced at me.

Why did she know? Why wouldn’t he have told me something like that?

“It’s so exciting,” Daisy swooned. “I’m so proud of him, he absolutely deserves it.”