Brady, the owner of this little drinking hole, wanders toward me on his side of the counter. “No. I don’t think you will.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re cutting me off?”

“Someone needs to,” he grumbles, all fatherly and disappointed.

I wince because I’m not used to disappointing anyone but my mom. And I don’t care for the feeling. Then I shake my head and hop off the stool. Fuck it.

I’m not going to be that girl anymore. I’m not going to be the one who bends over backward to make everyone happy. I’m not going to be the one who lives in the shadows because she’s too afraid that, if she steps into the light, people might see her for who she really is and disapprove.

I’m worth a little disapproval, aren’t I? And I might not be better than some actress, but I’m something. I’m worth something.

“Hanna,” Brady says carefully.

“No. No worries, Brady. I’ll be down the street at The Wire. They’ll let me drink, and they have better service anyway.”

I right myself and find the door. Only instead of going to The Wire, I find myself headed toward Max’s health club and climbing the stairs to his little apartment above it.

Max opens the door as I reach the landing, and I stall, my feet glued to the decking as his eyes travel over me, taking me in inch by inch as if he thinks he’s seeing a ghost. He almost smiles, but then his lips go flat and he just stares at me, hurt in those gorgeous ice-blue eyes.

Why is he the one so hurt? He’s the one who started this relationship under false pretenses. He’s the one who wanted another woman while he was supposed to want me.

He’s the one who broke my heart.

I want to hate him and Nate, to lump them both in the category of as**ole men who aren’t worth my time. But I love them.

I stumble back a step as the thought registers. I love them both.

When did I fall in love with Nate? That wasn’t supposed to happen. He was just the rebound guy—there to make me feel good about myself while my heart mended.

Max steps closer and steadies me before I can hit the railing.

I swallow—hard—his words from last month echoing in my head. “Maybe if you could see what I’m picturing when I jack off—if you had any idea how much I fantasize about driving inside of you, sucking those tits, making you come—maybe then you’d believe me.”

“Do you want to come inside?” he asks carefully.

Licking my lips, I nod as he holds the door open for me.

His living room speakers click, and a new song starts. Jason Mraz’s “I Won’t Give Up.” Wasn’t this the song that was playing the night he proposed?

My stomach tangles into a mess of knots as he closes the door. He looks so sexy tonight in jeans and a gray button-up shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. My eyes follow the path across his broad shoulders and down to his thick forearms and big hands. I miss those hands. I miss Max.

I miss lying in his arms and talking about our dreams for the future. His plans for his club, my dreams of a bakery, our speculation of what our children might look like if we had them together.

Something catches in my throat, and the could-have-beens are so heavy in my heart that I can’t breathe.

“Did you mean what you said? Was all that…true?”

“What I said when?”

I swallow. “A few weeks ago in the club. When you made me look in the mirror and you said…you thought about me.”

His chest expands with his deep inhalation. “Every word.”

“I don’t believe you,” I whisper. Because that’s really the problem, isn’t it? The reason I can’t be with him isn’t because he kissed Meredith in December. We weren’t really a couple at that point. We weren’t exclusive. What I don’t believe is that, somewhere in those months between, I became the type of woman he wants. I don’t believe he could really desire a body like mine. “I want to. But I can’t.”

“I know.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, his face resigned. “Aside from ripping off your clothes, I’m not sure how I can prove it to you.”

A giggle slips from my lips. Maybe it’s the tequila or my decision to say “fuck it” to what everyone else thinks. But I grin because I like the idea of Max ripping off my clothes. Or I like it in theory. In reality, it would mean he’d see me and all my imperfections, and that wouldn’t end well.

“You don’t even know what I look like na**d,” I protest. “I’m pretty sure if I’d ever let you get me na**d, you wouldn’t be saying that now.”

“Tell yourself what you must, Han.” He drags a hand through his dark hair. God. He’s so flipping gorgeous. Why do I have to be attracted to men who are so completely out of my league?

“Lemme prove it to you.”

Stepping toward him, I tug my shirt off over my head and toss it to the floor. His lips part and his breath escapes in a rush. Before my brain can catch up with my hands, I kick off my shoes and unbutton my jeans, shoving them down my hips.

The months we were together—really together, not this pretend we’ve been playing since the texts—I hid myself from him. I was so terrified that if he saw all my dimples and soft spots, cellulite and imperfections, he would lose all interest.

But now what do I have to lose? He needs to see me as I really am.

“Hanna,” he whispers, his eyes running over me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m proving that you aren’t attracted to me. Not the real me, at least.” I unhook my black bra, and I hear the hiss of his inhale as I let it slide from my shoulders. Next, I remove my underwear and kick it to the side.

My heart slams as I finally force myself to lift my head and meet his gaze, and I’m shocked by the heat I see there, the desire.

“Is that real?” I whisper. “I want to believe you’re not pretending. I want to believe…”

He closes his eyes for two thuds of my heart, and when he opens them, he steps closer. “I couldn’t fake this if I wanted to.”

“Make love to me, Max. Have sex with me. I want to believe. Make me believe.”

“Hanna,” he breathes. He steps closer, pulls my body against his—my bare flesh against his denim-and-cotton-clad heat—and buries his nose in my hair. He leans in, brushes kisses along my jaw, and lets his mouth hover just above my ear.

“You standing here na**d and begging me to f**k you,” he whispers, his hands skimming up my bare sides and sending shivers of pleasure through me. “You have no idea what that does to me. I want it as much as you do. More. But I won’t. Not while you’re drunk and not while you’re pretending my ring doesn’t belong on your finger.”

I stumble back. “Really? Because that just sounds like a convenient excuse.”

“Try me. Come back here sober and test me, Hanna.”

“Well, isn’t this…cozy.”

I spin around to see Meredith standing at the door, baby in her arms, and for a minute, I’m so caught off guard by her appearance, so blown over by my hatred for her, that I forget that I’m standing here completely nude.

Max steps in front of me to block me from her view. “Meredith, give us a minute.”

“Nobody wants to see that anyway,” Meredith sneers as she backs onto the deck.

Max pushes the door closed behind her and turns to me. “I’m sorry. This is terrible timing. I just…”

I scramble to gather my clothes. Tears burn the backs of my eyes. “I was so stupid. So, so stupid.” With shaking hands, I fumble with the clasp on my bra then reach for my shirt.

“The truth is,” Max says, “we need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.” I shake my head as I shove my feet into my jeans. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What was I thinking? He’s not mine anymore. I broke it off. So of course he’s with Meredith now. “You want her. You can have her.”

He grabs my hand. “Stop. Please?”

There’s something in his voice that makes me lift my eyes to his. “Don’t lie to me. I can’t handle another lie.”

He drags a hand through his hair. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

My stomach folds in on itself and I double over. “Tell me what?”

“Meredith and I aren’t together. You’re the only one I want.” He stares at me, as if willing me to believe his words. “She’s here to drop off the baby.”

“So you’re her babysitter now?”

“No. I’m the father.” Maybe the apology that’s all over his face should soften the blow of that news, but it doesn’t.

Max and Meredith had a baby together.

I back toward the door.

“Hanna,” he whispers. “Can we talk about this?”

I shake my head and grasp for the knob. Rushing out onto the deck, I come face to face with Meredith, her pink-painted lips pursed in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Desperate much?” she asks.

“Fuck you,” I breathe.

She cuts her eyes to the door then back to me before she smiles. When she speaks, it’s for my ears only. “Thanks, but I’ll leave that to Max.”

I don’t believe her. Not really. But her words still make me feel small and ugly, and when I make it back to my apartment, I do the only thing I know to soothe the hurt. I text Nate.

38.

Nate

Five Days Before Hanna’s Accident

HERE I am again. Another night with her in my bed. Another weekend with her at my house. Another morning waking with Hanna in my arms when I know damn well she belongs somewhere else.

I don’t want her to leave. The realization hit me hard when she walked in my door last night, and I haven’t been able to shake it. She’s amazing. I’ve watched her win over Janelle, and now they talk like old friends. Then there’s the way I feel when she’s around—like I’ve been breathing with collapsed lungs and suddenly they’re expanding again.

Here we are, suspended in time. Both of us escaping from the real world waiting on the other side of the door. Right now, I just want to watch her sleep and indulge in the fantasy of this being my life. What would that be like? Every morning waking up to her smell, my hand between her full breasts, her ass nestled against my cock. What would it be like to walk in the door and hear her laughter carrying through my house?

She saw the pictures of Vivian kissing me. They were all over the freaking magazines, but when I asked her about it, she shrugged it off. Didn’t say a word. Part of me wanted her to be pissed. To see her throw things and tell me I’m an unworthy asshole. I wanted to be worth that kind of reaction, which is completely unfair when I’m the one who keeps insisting that we can’t be more.

Vivian wants more, but I told her that she needs to take some time and finalize her divorce. She’s a good woman—one of the best—and an amazing mom, and part of me will always love her, but we can’t rush into a relationship that could confuse Collin. We both need to be sure that’s what we want.

“Something’s holding you back,” she said after I ended the kiss that was splashed all over the internet.

I shrugged. “This isn’t a decision we can make on an impulse.”

“You’re in love with her,” she said.

“Who?”

She gave me a sad smile. “I don’t know. I just know you love her. I can see it in your eyes.”

“It’s not serious. She’s hung up on somebody else, and…”

“Tell her how you feel,” Vivian said, squeezing my arm. “She needs to know.”

“How do you know I haven’t already?”

“Because I know you.”

I nodded. “I won’t do that to Collin. He’s my family. I don’t need anyone else.”

Vivian’s sweet face was sad as she studied me. “Don’t use Collin as an excuse to put walls around your heart. Whoever she is, she’s already found her way in. Think about what you’re doing before you push her away.” She stepped back and released my arm. “She’s a lucky girl.”

Hanna smiles in her sleep and settles her hand flat against her belly, her fingertips meeting the hair between her legs. What does a woman like Hanna dream about? The ex-boyfriend she won’t tell her family is an ex? Or have I found my way into her dreams? She moans as her h*ps lift off the bed and toward some invisible lover. Jealousy flashes through me. I don’t want her dreaming about anyone but me. Not while she’s in my bed.

I sweep my lips across hers and down her neck, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin until she arches under me, and her hands roam over my bare chest.

“Good morning,” I murmur.

“Morning.” She’s got the sexiest flush to her cheeks when she wakes up.

Our eyes lock for a few moments and my heart feels full and torn all at once. “What are you going to do when I let you go?”

She grins at me. “What do you mean?”

“When this is over and we stop meeting each other all over the country, are you going to put on his ring?”

She doesn’t answer, and for the first time, I realize I want her to say no. I want her to ask me for the things I’ve told her I can’t give. It’s foolish and reckless and everything I swore to myself I wouldn’t do, but I’ll be damned if I don’t feel like one of those lovesick idiots who says, “We’ll make it work,” and finds himself months later dealing with the consequences.

Giggling, she rolls to her back and stretches her arms above her head. “I slept so well. Did you?”