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“Why do you hate me so much?”
Like a bucket of cold water, this brings me back to reality.
“You know why.” I glare up at him as he puts distancebetween us, probably to prevent me from rearing back and kneeing him in the crotch for touching me.
“I really don’t.”
I feel paralyzed at his reveal, unsure how to proceed. Yeah, he’s an ass—he’s always been an ass—but the current iteration had a moment as its catalyst, the moment that caused my heart to sour toward him…nine years ago.
“You not remembering is honestly probably worse.” I harden immediately, pushing his chest away from me. To my surprise, I find an expression of anguish and hurt staring back at me.
I will not fall for his shit again.
“Hannah.”
“Let it go, Park.”
The door to the inside of the bar crashes behind me, hitting me with warm air—exactly what I need to pull me back off the ledge of quite possibly the second-worst decision of my life.
Liam Park…again.
SIXTEEN
HANNAH
I didn’t exactly plan on getting drunk and being home in my bed by 9:00 PM yesterday when Jackson and I agreed to go for a run today. What was supposed to be a quick drink after lunch turned into a sloppy day of drinking. Normally I would consider that a great use of time, but the memory of my actions yesterday is seared into my mind like a bad tattoo.
Why the hell did I let that happen?
I skate my fingers over my bottom lip, still remembering the way Liam’s felt and tasted. The tender burn from his scruff left my skin raw, the memory sending shivers down my spine.
The sun barely crests over the horizon as Jackson comes into view, jogging in my direction. Oak trees umbrella over the park, creating a calm, sated environment to bask in.
“What about me says 7:00 AM run, Jackson?” I huff, extending my hand to give him the bottle of water he asked me to bring from my apartment.
“I’ve grown to like it.”
“Idon’t like it, though,” I say with a grimace, the memoryof tequila and hard cider threatening to come back up with vengeance.
“Are you sure you can run? You look—”
“I’m aware I look like shit.”
“I wasn’t going to saylike shit. Unwell, maybe.” He opens his bottle of water and takes a gulp, the alcohol he drank yesterday not even a whisper of a memory. “Drink too much yesterday?”
“You could say that.” I don’t care to talk about this at all. If we start talking about yesterday, I’ll eventually have to come face to face with my actions, and there is nothing I’d like less than to relive that. “I’m good to run. Let’s just go.”
Jackson jogs in place, warming his muscles against the early morning chill in the air. I turn on my workout playlist and tuck my phone into the pocket of my leggings. We begin to make our way through the park, the sun warming the air at a startlingly quick pace as it creeps over the horizon.
I’ve never been a fitness enthusiast. I seldom choose to run for fun—I don’t know how Savannah and Wes participate in so many marathons—but being in shape is a necessary evil when performing. You would be surprised just how much havoc being on stage can have on your body, especially if it’s a musical. The combination of breath control and multiple dance numbers often leads to a very exhausted Hannah.
Running helps, even if I hate it.
TheHeathers: The Musicalsoundtrack rings through my AirPods, my steps falling in time with “Candy Store” as I hum to myself.
We approach the fountain at the center of the park, circling it to make our way in a different direction; unfortunately this causes us to run directly toward the sun.
My eyes water as I squint, but I don’t complain. It shouldget better as the sun moves, which it appears to be doing rather rapidly. We thankfully turn onto a trail, shading us back under the canopy of oak that shelters most of the park.
