AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But my head is full of Hannah. And I wish I could blame it all on her call, but she was there long before my phone rang. I thought that the more time that passed since seeing her, talking to her,fuckingher, the easier it would be. Instead, it’s an ache that’s grown in intensity, like ignoring it has only made it worse.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and tap her name, staring up at the fluorescent lights as I listen to it ring.
And ring.
And ring.
“Hi, you’ve reached Hannah Garner. I’m not available…”
With a muttered curse, I end the call. Who the hell knows what I would leave in a voicemail. And there’s no one I can ask for advice on how to navigate this situation. Garrett thinks I’m dating Quinn. Crew has no idea I’ve ever met Hannah. Scarlett is focused on helping me get a divorce. Beyond that, the list of people I communicate with on a regular basis are mostly business associates. They could either not care less about my personal life or would sell me out to the tabloids.
After a few frustrated exhales, I head back upstairs. Thankfully, dinner is wrapping up. Garrett insists on splitting the bill, and then Sienna and Quinn grab their jackets from the coat check.
I breathe deeply once we’re outside.
It’s one flash, at first. Then two, four,ten.
Garrett claps a hand on my back, then leans closer. “Sorry about this, man. Sienna wants to drum up some interest before the wedding. Come on, we’ll drop you guys off.”
I immediately understand, and it plummets my already low opinion of Sienna. She’s the daughter of a newscaster and a socialite, who’s worked as a wedding planner since graduating college. Not irrelevant, but nothing paparazzi would show up for. Me, on the other hand? I rarely go out, and I never advertise when I do.
Questions are thrown our way, asking Quinn her name. Wondering whether we’re dating. Shouting if I’m single.
I grit my teeth and place a hand on Quinn’s lower back, guiding her through the chaos and into the car.
I’m expecting some disbelief or uncertainty once we’re inside the vehicle, the tinted windows blocking the flashing bulbs. Quinn looks just as composed as she has the entire evening. And it should be reassuring. A sign of someone well-suited to take on the pressures of being a Kensington. But it bothers me that I can’t see past her mask. That I can’t tell whether anything is genuine or feigned. If she’s an excellent actress or just less cynical than I am.
There are still spots flashing in my eyes as the car pulls away from the curb.
“This is what New York is like?” Quinn asks, glancing between the three of us.
Sienna laughs.
“Sometimes,” I say.
But all I can think is,I hope Hannah doesn’t see those.
And that freaks me out more than anything else that’s taken place tonight. That’s nothing I should be concerned with and all I seem to care about.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
HANNAH
“What do you think, Hannah?” Tyler asks.
I glance away from the white lines and numbers painted on the grass. “Sounds great,” I reply, with no idea what I’m agreeing to.
I’ve taken this whole tour on autopilot, letting Tyler ask questions and drive the conversation. I’ve regretted coming at all, knowing it was to please my father and some attempt to prove I changed from the last time I was here. And mostly, because of Oliver. Avoiding a difficult conversation with my dad about architecture school and being anywhere near my husband are terrible reasons to be here, though. It will only blindside my dad more, and after my disastrous call with Oliver, I shouldn’t even be chancing running into him on the street.
Tyler is all business as we return to the side entrance of the stadium. “Thanks for meeting with us, David.”
“Of course. It was a pleasure.”
Tyler shakes hands with David Prescott, the general manager of the New York Eagles. So do I. David is more professional than Robert Damon, offering me a polite nod and nothing else.
Finally, we’re leaving. The fake smile I’ve worn all day drops as soon as we’re inside the car. I kick off my heels and reach down to rub my feet as the car rolls through the massive, empty parking lot. The stadium was built to accommodate seventy-thousand people and is surrounded by asphalt. It takes the driver twenty minutes to get on the highway and head back toward Manhattan.
“Want to grab dinner?” Tyler asks me, shutting his laptop and stowing it away as the skyline of skyscrapers comes into view.
