She blinks at me. “You deserve better than that.”

I wave away her objection, trying to get us back to the point at hand. “You’re telling me you went to confront Hanna and the same night she happened to fall down the stairs and get bruised up like someone was beating on her?”

“I’m telling you I’d never do anything like that, and you’re a f**king ass**le for thinking I would.” She rolls her shoulders back and lifts her chin. “Now move aside. I want my daughter.”

She pushes past me and into the house, and I let her. What else can I do? Claire is her daughter, and I have no evidence that my accusation is true. I can’t quite wrap my mind around the idea of Meredith using her fists when she prefers words, dirty looks, and carefully crafted manipulations.

When I enter the house, she’s buckling Claire into the car seat.

“You all deserve each other. You deserve Hanna and she deserves her cheater ass**le baby daddy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means everyone knows he’s still screwing Vivian Payne. Everyone but Hanna. Hell, if she just looked at the magazines from the week she was in the hospital, she’d know what he was doing in London. But, hey, maybe none of you care about something as silly as fidelity.”

“Meredith,” I begin, but she avoids my eyes and pushes past me as she takes our daughter to her car. “Please stop,” I call.

She ignores me, climbing into the driver’s seat and pulling away without a word.

The Day of Hanna’s Accident

HANNA’S CURVES slide under my soapy hands. Every sweet moan that passes her lips feels like my reward for the shitty parts of my life.

I step back to get a better look at her and the shower water changes to rain and we’re outside the club in St. Louis again, but she’s nude and there are cameras everywhere.

She mouths my name but no sound passes her lips. Those deep, dark eyes stare into my soul.

“I’m scared,” I say, my voice hoarse.

She nods sympathetically and shifts her gaze to someone standing behind me. Two women appear, and she’s in a wedding dress, crying tears I never meant to make her shed.

My phone rings and drags me from the convoluted dream. I force my eyes open and reach for it, but my hand connects with flesh instead of phone.

My head is pounding like a son of a bitch, but I force my eyes open.

The woman moans and curls into me.

Fuck, f**k, f**k.

I haven’t slept with a woman since I met Hanna. She walks away from me, avoids my calls for five days, and I’m waking up with some strange woman?

I spring out of bed and drag a hand over my face. My head doesn’t appreciate the sudden movement, and I have to catch my balance against the wall as I search my mind for answers.

The phone goes silent, thank Christ. I scan my mind for any remnants of memories from last night. I remember the concert. Then after, I found a pub and some tequila.

I was so f**king lonely.

I called Hanna and got her voicemail.

Stumbling across the room, I find my phone peeking out from under the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. Seeing the notification light flash at me, I hit the button for my voicemail.

“Nate, this is Hanna.” She sounds exhausted. The clock tells me it’s noon here, which means it’s seven a.m. in Indiana. “I’m sorry I missed your call last night. You must have been out late.” Out and lonely as hell, thinking I’d lost her, wondering if I was being irrational. “Are you still coming to New Hope when you get back to the States? We need to talk, but I don’t want to do it on the phone. Okay. Just…call me when you can.”

I feel like I’m sixteen again, because all I want to do is listen to her message on repeat. Revel in the sound of her voice and dissect every word placement, every breath.

But I don’t let myself indulge in the comfort of Hanna’s voice.

I was lonely last night.

Then I wasn’t alone anymore, because—

“Good morning, sexy.” The woman in my bed sighs softly as she sweeps her eyes over me.

I close my eyes, unable to look at the evidence of what I’ve done after hearing Hanna’s voice. I was wrong. I didn’t go to bed with a strange woman.

“Good morning, Vivian.”

Present Day

IT’S ELEVEN o’clock when my phone buzzes with a text. I’m half asleep and consider ignoring it, but I grab it on the off chance that Hanna is texting or something happened to Claire.

Meredith: You need to come get Claire. I’m so sorry. I’m terrible at this. At everything.

I frown at my phone and reread the message three times, willing my brain to clear from the fog of sleep. Suddenly, the not-right feel of the text clicks in my sleep-riddled mind, and I hit the icon to dial her.

Listening to the ring, I tug on jeans and pull a T-shirt over my head.

“Come on,” I growl. I run out to the front of the house to snatch my keys out of the basket and slide into my tennis shoes. Her phone clicks over to voicemail, and I hang up and dial again as I run for the car.

The phone rings ominously in my ear. I start the car and head for Meredith’s apartment to the sound of her voice telling me to leave a message. Ugly chills of foreboding wriggle up my spine.

“Pick up the f**king phone, Meredith.”

Dialing again gets me the same results. The voicemail is clicking on again when I reach her door. Dropping my phone and keys on the table, I head straight to Claire’s room.