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She recoiled as though he’d smacked her, but aside from glassy eyes and a trembling lower lip, she didn’t lose her cool. “No,” she whispered. “Not at all. I’m just trying to explain. To be honest with you.”
He refused to allow the genuine devastation in her expression to make him feel guilty. She was the bad guy here, not him.
With a snort, he resumed prowling the room. Somehow, he had to expel the troubled energy flowing through him, and it was either pace or punch a hole in the damn wall. “Honest? That’s rich.”
“She showed me who you were on social media. You and your family.” A tragic smile curled her lips. “She loved you guys. Thought you were so great. So different from our family.” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Uh, she knew…” Hannah blew out a breath. “She knew her prognosis wasn’t good. And as she got sicker and w-weaker she knew she wasn’t going to be around long…”
A single tear rolled down her right cheek. Even wrecked, she was so damn pretty. JP stared at a spot on the headboard six inches above her head. He was the wronged party here. No way would he allow her tears to sway him. Even if they made his chest ache.
“Um, as she got sicker, I tried, JP, I really tried to get her to contact you or allow me to. At the very end, I took care of Mary Anne, and my parents were taking care of Kayla. We were all just trying to make it through the day. There was so much pain and sadness. So much heartache. And then there was Kayla. One bright shining spot in all the anguish. Despite the lies and sadness, she’s perfect.”
She pressed a hand over her heart. Tears flowed in rivers down her face now. He’d die before admitting her story tugged at his heart. Imagining Hannah tending to her ailing sister and a new baby, giving up her own life, well, it fit with the woman he thought he knew.
But he’d been wrong. Hannah was as much a liar as her sister.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I love my niece, and I’m sorry I couldn’t convince Mary Anne to tell you.”
Her niece. Jesus. Kayla was Hannah’s niece. If that wasn’t a mind fuck, he didn’t know what was. What the hell would his siblings think? They’d be as disgusted as him.
The weight of reality became too heavy on his shoulders. He sat on the edge of the bed, cradling his head in his hands much as he had after reading Mary Anne’s letter.
“Why are you here?”
When she didn’t answer right away, he turned his head and let his gaze bore into her. She still sat huddled in as small a package as she could compact herself. Her lower lip rested between her teeth, and her face had a sickly pallor to it. Whatever she was about to say, he wasn’t going to like it.
“Why?’
“My parents—” The words came out strangled and barely audible. Hannah cleared her throat. “My parents are struggling with Mary Anne’s death. Um, more than I think is healthy.” She tugged at a loose string on her leggings, staring at it as though it had the power to whisk her away from this conversation. “They’re overprotective. In a bit of a pathological way.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m not making sense.”
No shit.
“There’s just so much in my head right now.” With a heavy sigh, she lifted her gaze to his. “Might as well tell you all of it. When my mom was sixteen, she and her cousin snuck out of their house in the middle of the night. They wanted to go for a midnight drive to meet some boys. Her cousin was driving. About halfway there, a drunk driver hit them head-on. My mom tried to save her cousin but couldn’t get either of them out of the car. She almost died, and her cousin did die. When they cut the car open with the jaws of life, they found my mom wrapped around her cousin, sobbing. I’m convinced she never processed that trauma properly, and it became the compass for the rest of her life.
“Then my parents spent over a decade trying to conceive a child. Mom suffered multiple miscarriages before they finally gave up. Mary Anne and I were both adopted, which is why we didn't look alike. After all she suffered and lost, our mom was constantly afraid of something happening to Mary Anne or me. Or even our father. We were locked in a cage made of our mom’s fear, guilt, and anxiety. We had so many rules and were kept on the shortest leash imaginable. Mary Anne pushed back a little, but I always followed every rule.” She gave him a sheepish, half-smile.
