penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (23 page)

“I can see that
,” I said as I flipped through the book and saw more images that I liked. I paused on an image of a man in a derby hat with an apple levitating in front of his face. “I love these paintings,” I said in a quiet voice as I continued to take in the images in the book.

He studied me for a moment, “I’m privileged to be with you the first time you saw them. You should view one in person sometime
.” He smiled as he ran his hand across his leg. “I’m sorry I left you hanging for weeks. I needed to figure shit out in my head.”

“When you figure it out, let me know please. No need to apologize
,” I said with a smile.

“My doctor instructed me on making my thoughts my bitch
,” he said as he turned with slight embarrassment. He ran his other hand through his hair with nervous tension. “It sounds shitty, but the premise is what is important.” I shrugged and laughed, as he dropped his hand from his hair which left him looking wild. “And every time I say it, I see a miniature chauvinistic version of myself in my mind. But I have been trying it and it works for the most part. When you have the thought you grab hold of it and don't let it pass.”

“That is funny,” I said. “I do that though and it’s my downfall. I think too much and I
 analyze my thoughts. I think on why I am thinking my thoughts. Every thought and action scrutinized to find a truth in myself. I wonder if I ever will,” I said as I followed him toward the kitchen.

He looked deep in his head as he toyed with the beer bottle in his hands. “Can I ask you something, Hannah? You don’t have to respond if you want.” I nodded
for him to continue. “You and I have something in common.” He gave me a sad tilt of his head. “I know you aren't ready to speak of this something. I understand that need, because I have my own something. I was hoping we could agree to not speak of those
somethings
, until we are ready. And I won’t pressure you and I hope you won’t pressure me. When we’re ready or if we ever are ready we could say our somethings. Is that okay?” He gave me a shy smile before taking a long swig of his beer.

“Okay
,” I said and took his hand in mine again. “Not speaking of our somethings together sounds divine.” I heard him inhaling as I held his hand and I knew we shared the same emotions as our palms pressed together.
I don’t want this moment to mean something.
“I’m tired of people looking at me and seeing my pain and expecting me to share every detail with them,” I began as I squeezed my hand around his. “I don’t want everyone to know my issues. It’s as if they think if you get every bloody detail out there, you’re going to be okay. I’m scared shitless of putting it into words, and giving it life. If I keep it inside, it didn’t happen and it’s only my imagination. I have this notion that when I tell you though, you’ll get it. Maybe today, maybe two weeks from now or maybe ten years from now, I don’t know, but you’ll get it.”

He looked at me as he let go of my hand and ran his finger across the tattoo on his neck
. “I get that,” he said, looking toward his window, going deeper into his thoughts. I leaned against the counter next to him and we both stared out the window together in silence. Our shoulders were the only part that touched now. It was the most peaceful I felt in years.

“My walls are dropping around you Wynn
,” I said without looking toward him. He responded with a simple nod.

Time continued to pass that way until Blake and a red haired girl stepped out of the elevator.
 A loud giggle came from her and as she stepped farther into the room, she grabbed onto Blake’s arm, noticing my presence. She gave me a huge smile, but her eyes held the opposite expression. They took me in and made me uncomfortable as she assessed me. Most girls gave the false excitement while they checked the vaginal threat level of the other female. I laughed to myself as I imagined this girl weighing in on me as if we were preparing to box. I had more important things to occupy my thoughts with today.

My quiet laughter brought Blake’s attention to me. His surprise at seeing me slammed the memory of the last time I saw him
to the forefront of my mind making my cheeks and neck inflame.

“Hannah? I didn’t realize you’d be here
.” He looked toward Wynn with a questioning raise of an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I invited her
,” Wynn said as he looked at me with a smile, dismissing his friend’s shock. “I should have asked her a long time ago.”

Blake gave him a huge smile and pulled Wynn in for a quick man-hug before turning to me. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other
,” he said as he pulled me in for a hug as well. It was uncomfortable and awkward. The act itself was enough, but my lack of memory as to what my dumb ass said to him compounded it. How much of my story did I share? He held me at arm's length and smiled before turning to the girl with him.

“This is Abby
.” He took her hand and pulled her further into the room, she gave me a questioning eye as Blake continued. “I can’t wait for you guys to meet her. She’s awesome.”

She gave a false, shy smile
. “Hello. I’m not that awesome, just enough to be memorable,” she said.

I thought relating with her was going to be difficult before, but it reached a new level. I could tell the realization was mutual by the stink eye she kept giving me. Hers was from seeing me as a threat; mine was because I found her to be shallow. I never understood shallowness. It's a waste of our precious time here.

“I’m Hannah,” I said as I put my hand toward her, trying to avoid unneeded looks from her. She had a firm handshake and a pleasant enough smile when it was real. She had eyes showing no pain and I envied her for it. This girl had her shit together despite her bitchiness.

Blake wrapped his arm around her shoulders to guide her toward the fridge for drinks. I stood next to Wynn by his counter as we both observed the newcomers. We were two forces, standing shoulder to shoulder against the invaders of our moment. I was unsure of the situation and smiled at him and he met my smile with one of his own that calmed me. He put a hand over mine that clutched the top of the counter. His touch was tender and warmth invaded the cold depth inside me from the attachment that started in that simple touch. It wasn't the touch itself, but the reassurance it held.

“Can I have another shot?” I needed the alcohol to further the conversation with more people. I also hoped it would put a stop to my wallowing. I needed to get past this lingering anxiety that came with my warring emotions, but not too much to make it even worse.

“Of course, I found Tequila if
you want something different.” He stepped away from the counter and looked under the island in his kitchen.

I scrunched my nose. “Ugh, you don’t want me to drink Tequila. I need to stick to whiskey
.” He poured me a shot and after taking it, I tapped my glass asking him for more. He raised his eyebrow and I nodded with a smile as he gave me my next shot. “You need to take one with me.”

He laughed, “Well to be hospitable, I guess I should.”

“Don't forget us,” Blake said as he looked at Abby. She nodded as she glared at me.

Wynn poured four shots and handed them to us. As we raised them he asked, “What’ll we toast?”

Abby’s eyes went to my tattooed wrist. She sneered at me before saying, “Absolution.”

I looked at Wynn and he was giving her the same confused expression I held on my face. She made us both uneasy with her abruptness.

“Absolution.” Blake raised an eyebrow in question, as he shrugged his shoulders and touched his glass with ours. “Okay, to absolution.”

We swallowed our shots as my eyes remained on Wynn. The understanding smile he passed to me caused the frozen numbness and burning pain to form a bearable truce. I felt normal and it was the first time in years that I did.

The last few weeks I let my own insecurities and fear rule me. Stinson made it simple to understand. He asked what I was afraid of and I knew what I was afraid of the most. I was afraid of failing her. I was afraid of being vulnerable. And now, as I stood here in my kitchen and watching her take shot after shot, I knew I had been an ass.

Friendship is all she wants, but the more time I spend with her, I realize I want more than friendship.
I want her
. I never wanted anything or anyone. It scared me more that I clung to this need to protect her. When Abby said absolution, I wanted to stand in front of Hannah and shield her as if it wasn’t just a word, but daggers flung at her.

I could tell she was holding back with me and I respected that. But I decided that tonight, I needed to explain myself. I knew before I stepped in the bookstore today and she came up with the fucking idea to just be friends. I went all those weeks at war with myself and now I need to surrender to the inevitable. Hannah Anderson is important to me and I need to tell her.

“So what’s for dinner?” Hannah asked with a smile as she caught me staring at her, lost to my thoughts.

“Meatloaf. I’m not adventurous when it comes to what I eat, but what I know how to make, I make well.” My smile wavered at my arrogance. Stinson's words echoed in my mind,
'It isn't wrong to acknowledge your strengths.'

“It sounds perfect, Wynn
,” she said with a smile. She didn’t think I was bragging. Good. I wondered if the easy way she let the smile form was from the alcohol or because she was becoming more comfortable with me.

“Okay, then. You guys can hang out while I work if you want
,” I said as Blake and Abby left to look at my photos. Hannah remained with me and pride filled me as she gave me her attention.

“You don’t have to stay and watch me
,” I said. But she gave me a look like I was being an idiot as she leaned on the island with her cheek resting in her palm. Her butt was sticking out and I realized how alluring she was in those damn overalls she wore. They were the ugliest fucking things and every other day of my life I hated them, but today, seeing how she wore them, made me start to question my hate of them.

“So what’s the
trick to your meatloaf, Wynn?” she asked as she made circles on the countertop with her finger. “What makes yours better than anyone else’s?” I couldn’t help but wonder if more weighed in her question. But instead of reading into it, I decided to simply answer.

“Well, Hannah. It’s all in the crackers and eggs I add to it. I also use tomato soup for extra flavor
.” I continued to line up bowls on the island, facing her as I mixed everything together.

“First you take the meat and put it in the bowl like dis
,” I said with an Italian accent that could never pass as real. “Then you add-a the egg and crackers. Den last you add-da soup.”

She watched me with a flat look that made me pause. “That has to be the lamest thing I have seen in at
least
six months,” she said, her mouth shifting to a smile as she tilted her head to study me and nodded. “Yup. I’m right. Six months ago, Maggie got it in her head that she was going to draw the designs for work. She tried to draw a dog and it looked like a pig, so she gave up before she even began. That was lame. But yours takes the cake,” she said as she winked at me and laughed. I loved the sound of her laugh. The laugh she shared was genuine and the pride that filled me grew from knowing I was the cause of it.

“What you don’t realize is that
lame
was what I was going for.” I gave her a grin before turning my attention back to the ingredients.

“So all lameness aside, tell me about you and Blake
,” she said as she pulled a stool over to the island.

“About Blake and me?” I continued rolling the ingredients together as I thought of our story. “Well, we’ve known each other since we were toddlers. His family lived behind my mom and me. If she was going out and Sid was busy, they watched me. In a way, his parents were like an aunt and uncle. We have always seen each other as brothers. We even became blood brothers. He was a wuss about it though. He cried when he cut his palm
.” I turned my hand toward her to show the scar on my right palm. She winced at the sight of it. “It was horrible. I needed twelve stitches. He passed out in the ER.”

I laughed as I looked at Blake and memories came of all the nights spent in his backyard dreaming of one day standing on the moon together. We told each other that we would never go unless the other went too. Founded in vivid imaginations and dreams, it was our pact with each other. As I looked at him with his latest fling, I knew we still held our pact because it didn't look like either of us was in a hurry to get there. I nodded my head toward him, “He brings a new girl around every few months. He dates more than that, but on occasion, he wants me to meet one of them. I don’t understand the need though. We are close, but who he dates is his decision.”

“Why wouldn't he? He values your opinion. What about you?” She grabbed a cracker from the box of saltines and waited for my response.

“What about me?” She tilted her head in a mock annoyed raise of her eyebrow as if to say she could see through my false ignorance. I was not ignorant to her question and I dreaded it. I lifted an eyebrow as I weighed my response
. “I have gone on six first dates over the last five years, and that’s it.” I met her eyes expecting a shocked expression but she kept eating her cracker and watching me.