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Hannah turned away from their shattered faces and broken spirits. All her life, she’d done as they’d asked. Followed their rules. Gotten straight As. Never broken curfew. Never been drunk. Never had sex.
They’d wanted so badly to keep her safe from harm, but instead, they’d created a sheltered, inexperienced woman afraid to step outside her tiny box and terrified to truly live. Even greater than the anguish over the loss of her sister was this newfound realization of how empty her own life was. How many experiences had she missed out on because she’d been too worried about staying in line to grab life and run with it?
And here she was again, kowtowing because she knew they needed something only she could provide.
Blowing out a breath and ignoring the inner voice that told her this was a horrible idea, she said, “Okay.” At least she would get to see her niece, who she missed so much it hurt.
Her mother choked out a sob. “Thank you. Thank you, Hannah.”
She held up a hand. “Wait. I have some conditions. I will go to Vermont and meet JP. I will keep my identity a secret and make sure Kayla is well cared for and loved. But that is all I will do. I will not try to entrap him or his family and I will not dig around for anything to use against them. All I am doing is checking on Kayla.”
Her mother’s face fell. “But…”
Her father shook his head, no doubt thinking they’d convince Hannah to do their bidding once she arrived. Or that she’d come to her senses once she met the Benson family and be all too willing to rip Kayla away from her new home.
It wouldn’t happen.
“Okay,” her mother said. “Our attorney says we need more, but if that’s all you’re willing to do for us…”
She somehow managed to avoid rolling her eyes at the obvious manipulation. “While I’m there, you two need to do some soul searching and some serious healing. You can’t go on like this. It’s not healthy, and it’s not what Mary Anne would have wanted. I also suggest you think about reaching out to JP as Kayla’s grandparents so you can be in her life.”
“We will,” her father said, casting another look her mother’s way.
No surprise, her mom didn’t agree to anything.
They wouldn’t adhere to any of the terms Hannah laid down. She’d left information on several grief counselors for them as well as book recommendations. She’d also invited her mom to accompany her to her own therapy appointment. But her mother always declined.
An hour later, when she returned to her achingly empty apartment, Hannah flopped down on the couch. This plan had disaster written all over it. Mary Anne would never want this.
“I’m sorry, sis,” she whispered. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Of course, no one answered. She’d never had any kind of otherworldly experience or response though she spoke to her sister often. She closed her eyes and brought up an image of Mary Anne rocking Kayla to sleep. It was one of her favorite memories of her sister. Though her body had weakened, and she could barely walk, she had the most serene and joyous expression whenever she held her baby. Hannah always wanted to remember her with that happy smile.
“Well, Mar, guess I better get packing.”
The only good thing to come of this farce was the ability to see her niece, who she missed as much as she missed her sister.
CHAPTER FOUR
HOW LONG HAD he been staring at the letter? How many times had he reread it? Long enough that his eyes were gritty, and his head throbbed.
A part of him that began deep in the pit of his stomach and radiated outward wanted to fly into a rage. He was tempted to shred the paper, rip apart his room, and howl at the unfairness of it all.
She’d tricked him. The adorable one-night stand he’d thought of fondly maybe twice afterward deceived him in the vilest of ways. Poking a hole in the condom, for fuck’s sake. That’d teach him to trust someone else to provide it.
Who did something like that?
Someone in crisis.
The tiny voice in the back of his head spoke reasonably, but the other ninety-nine-point-nine percent of him couldn’t see past the betrayal enough to let that nagging voice prevail.
Mary Anne.
Yesterday, he wouldn’t have been able to recall her name for a million dollars. If someone offered him the world in exchange for the name of the woman he’d slept with at the Beyonce concert, he’d have been walking away with empty pockets. Now, he had her name permanently etched on his life in blood. Her blood and his, in the form of a fucking child.
His entire body began to quake. JP wasn’t one of those men who claimed they didn’t want kids but might change his mind someday if he met a woman to settle down with.
