Page 120 of It Should Have Been You

I glance around like food will appear from thin air. Knowing Beth fell asleep so easily makes something warm rush to my chest because I know she doesn’t trust her daughters with just anyone, so I’m happy she knew Hannah was safe enough with me. But I also don’t want to try my luck and drive somewhere for lunch. The last thing I want is to scare her half to death when she wakes and realizes Hannah is missing.

I open the refrigerator again, tapping my foot against the tiled floor and rove over the options but come up empty.

“When Mom doesn’t know what to make for lunch, she makes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

I eye her. She’s playing me.

Giggling, she holds up her hands before drawing an imaginary cross over her chest. “Honest, Logan. Cross my heart.”

Is she fluttering her eyelashes?

“Fine.” I give in, grabbing the bread, peanut butter, and jelly from the cupboard. I place them in the middle of the island. “But you’re helping. I’m in charge of peanut butter. You can handle the jelly. We’ll make enough for your mom and Isabel.”

“Cool,” she agrees, pulling slices of bread from the packet.

We work in silence for a minute, and I bite the inside of my jaw to stop from smiling. The concentration makes her brows pull together and a pout form on her lips. She looks just like her mother.

“Your mom must be tired, huh?”

She licks a dab of jelly from her finger and continues. “Isabel woke lots last night because it was too hot, and Mom doesn’t sleep much anyway.”

There’s a pinch in my chest that I can’t identify. “How come?” I try to make it sound easy as I continue spreading peanut butter on the bread before passing it to Hannah. It’s not often she opens up. Hell, it’s not often she talks to me. We practice soccer, but she never talks, so I don’t want to push her.

“She always says moms don’t need as much sleep as other people.”

No, they need a hell of a lot more in my opinion.

Thinking of Beth roaming the house in the dark at night stirs something in me, making my stomach twist into uncomfortable knots. I suddenly want to know what keeps her up at night. What has her roaming this house with only her thoughts for company?

Hannah stretches on the stool, leaning toward me and beckoning me forward like I’m about to be let in on a top-class secret. “Logan,” she whispers.

I press the palms of my hand into the counter. “Hannah?”

She assesses me for a long second. I can almost see the cogs turning in her head. She’s weighing her ability to trust me.

Fall, kid. I’ll catch you.

Finally, she presses her cheek to mine and speaks so low I hardly hear her. “I think my mom is a superhero.”

I stifle a laugh and fall back on my heels, feigning surprise for her benefit.

A superhero.

My damn heart swells in my chest.

She sits back in the chair, continuing the task of making our sandwiches.

“A superhero? Really?”

Flustered, she drops the knife and glances in the direction of the stairs. “Hush. She’ll hear you. She can’t know that we know.”

“Sorry,” I say quietly, noticing how her cheeks flush just like Beth’s. “Why do you think she’s a superhero?”

I’m genuinely interested. I think every mother is a superhero, but Hannah isn’t sharing my thought process, and I’m beginning to wonder if she thinks her mother is an Avenger.

She chews her lip between her teeth, rocking back and forth. She gives another check toward the stairs and when she’s satisfied there’s nobody there, she answers. “Well, superheroes protect people, right?”

I nod, taking the finished sandwiches and cutting them in half, remembering to cut the crusts off for Ms. Picky here. “Sure.”

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