The sun had dipped low in the sky on Friday night as I walked the last few blocks to meet Chloe and Sara for drinks.
I’d tried to put on a brave front all week but I was miserable, and it was starting to show. I looked tired. I looked sad. I looked exactly how I felt. I missed him so much that I felt it with every breath, felt each second pass since I’d last seen him.
The Bathtub Gin was a small speakeasy in Chelsea. Visitors were greeted with an everyday storefront, the words STONE STREET COFFEE stenciled across the top. If you weren’t sure what you were looking for, or happened to pass by during the week when there wasn’t a crowd of people lined up outside, you might miss it. But if you knew it was there, illuminated by a single, glowing red bulb, you’d find the right door. One that opened up to a Prohibition-era club, complete with dim lighting, a steady hum of jazz, and even a large copper bathtub at the center.
I found Chloe and Sara sitting at the bar, drinks already in front of them and a gorgeous dark-haired man at their side.
“Hey, guys,” I said, sliding onto the stool next to them. “Sorry I’m late.”
The three of them turned, looked me up and down before the man said, “Oh honey, tell me all about the man who did this to you.”
I blinked between them, confused. “I . . . hi, I’m Hanna?”
“Ignore him,” Chloe said, sliding the menu across the bar to me. “We all do. And order a drink before you talk. You look like you could use it.”
The mystery man looked appropriately offended and the three of them argued among themselves while I scanned the various cocktails and wines, picking the first thing that seemed to fit my mood.
“I’ll have a Tomahawk,” I told the bartender, noticing in my peripheral vision the way Sara and Chloe looked to each other in surprise.
“So it’s like that, I see.” Chloe motioned for another drink and then took my hand, leading us all to a table.
In all reality, I’d probably just hold my cocktail for most of the night and absorb the comfort afforded by the option to get completely hammered. But I knew I wanted to race tomorrow, and no way was I going to run hungover.
“By the way, Hanna,” Chloe said, gesturing to the man currently watching me with curious, amused eyes. “This is George Mercer, Sara’s assistant. George, this is the adorable and soon-to-be-drunk and/or facedown-on-the-table Hanna Bergstrom.”
“Ah, a lightweight,” George said, and nodded to Chloe. “What in the world are you doing with this old boozehound? She should come with a warning label for girls like you.”
“George, how would you like my heel up your ass?” Chloe asked.
George barely blinked. “The whole heel?”
“Gross,” Chloe groaned.
Laughing, George drawled, “Liar.”
Sara leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Ignore them. It’s like watching Bennett and Chloe, but though they’d both rather screw Bennett than each other.”
“I see,” I murmured. A waitress placed our drinks on the table and I took a tentative pull from my straw. “Holy crap,” I coughed, my throat on fire.
I downed almost an entire glass of water while Sara watched me, appraising. “So what’s happening?” she asked.
“This drink is so spicy.”
“Not what she meant,” Chloe said bluntly.
I looked down at my glass, tried to focus on the tiny specks of paprika floating along the surface and not the hollow feeling in my gut. “Have you guys talked to Will lately?”
They each shook their head but George perked up.
“Will Sumner?” he clarified. “You’re banging Sumner? Jesus hell.” He motioned to the waitress again. “We’re gonna need another glass, lovely. Just bring the whole bottle.”
“Actually, I haven’t talked to him since Monday,” Sara said.
“Tuesday afternoon,” Chloe volunteered, pointing to her chest. “But I know he’s had a crazy week.”
“Uh-oh,” Sara said. “Didn’t he go home with you for the holiday?”
George sucked in a breath. “Yikes.”
And now I was that girl, the one with the breakup story I didn’t even want in my head, let alone as something to share over drinks. How did I explain that things had been perfect that weekend? That I had believed everything he said? That I had fallen in—I stopped, the words hardening like concrete in my thoughts.
“Hanna, honey?” Sara reached forward to set her hand on my forearm.
“I just feel like an idiot.”
“Sweetie,” Chloe said, her eyes full of nothing but concern. “You know you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“The hell she doesn’t,” George snapped. “How are we all supposed to make his life appropriately horrible if we don’t know every sordid detail? We should probably start at the beginning and work our way to the horror, though. First question: is his c*ck as epic as I’ve heard? And the fingers . . . are they truly quote-unquote magical?” He leaned closer, whispering, “And rumor has it the man could win a watermelon-eating contest, if you know what I’m saying.”
“George,” Sara groaned, and Chloe glared at him but I cracked a smile.
“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” I whispered back.
“Look it up on YouTube,” he said to me. “You’ll get the visual.”
“But back to the part where Hanna is upset,” Sara said, eyes playfully stern and fixed on George.
“I just . . .” I took a deep breath, hunting for words. “What can you tell me about Kitty?”
“Oh,” Chloe said, sitting back in her chair. She glanced at Sara. “Oh.”
I leaned forward, brows drawn together. “What does ‘oh’ mean?”
“Is this the . . . I mean, is Kitty one of his . . .” George trailed off, waving his hand meaningfully.
“Yeah,” Sara said. “Kitty is one of Will’s lovers.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you know if he’s still been seeing her?”
Chloe seemed to be considering her answer carefully. “Well—I don’t officially know of him ending things with her,” she said, wincing a little. “But Hanna, he adores you. Anyone can—”
“But he’s still seeing her,” I interrupted.
She sighed reluctantly. “I honestly don’t know. I know we all gave him a hard time about not ending things, but I can’t . . . for a fact, I mean, say that he ever stopped seeing her.”
“Sara?” I asked.
Shaking her head, Sara murmured, “I’m sorry, honey. I honestly don’t know, either.”
I wondered if it was possible for a heart to break by fractions. I’d been sure I’d heard it crack when I’d read the text from Kitty. Felt another piece break with his lie about Tuesday night. And all week, I’d felt bruised, felt every tiny shard as it fell away until I wondered what could possibly still be beating in my chest.
“I’d overheard him talking to my brother about wanting to be serious with someone but being afraid to end things with the others. But I figured, maybe he just meant officially end them? Things seemed really good with us. But then Kitty sent him this text,” I said. “I was playing with his phone and she replied to a message he’d obviously sent her about getting together Tuesday night.”
“Why didn’t you confront him?” Chloe asked.
“I wanted him to tell me himself. Will has always been all about honesty and communication, so I figured if I invited him over for dinner Tuesday he’d tell me he was going to be with Kitty.”
“And?” Sara asked.
I sighed. “He said he had a thing. A meeting that night.”
“Ouch,” George said.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “So I ended it right there. But I did it really badly because I had no idea what to say. I told him that it was getting too heavy, that I was only twenty-four and didn’t want anything serious. That I didn’t want this anymore.”
“Damn, girl,” George sang quietly. “When you want to end things, you dig a hole and drop a bomb in it.”
I groaned, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
“There has to be an explanation,” Sara said. “Will doesn’t say he has a meeting when he’s going to be with a woman. He just says he’s going to be with a woman. Hanna, I’ve never seen him like this before. Max has never seen him like this before. It’s clear he adores you.”
“But does it matter?” I asked, my drink long forgotten. “He lied about the meeting, but I’m the one who said we should keep it open. It’s just that open for me meant the possibility of someone else. Open for him was more of the reality already in hand. And all along he was the one pushing for more between us.”
“Talk to him, Hanna,” Chloe said. “Trust me on this one. You need to give him a chance to explain.”
“Explain what?” I asked. “That he was still seeing her, per the rules I’d initially set? Then what?”
Chloe took my hand and squeezed it. “Then you hold your head high and tell him to f**k off in person.”I dressed as soon as the first hint of light appeared outside the window and walked the ten blocks to the race in a nervous haze. It was held in Central Park and the entire circuit went for just over thirteen miles, snaking through trails and paths in the park. Several local streets were cordoned off to support the sponsor trucks, tents, and herds of people, both racers and spectators.
This was real now. Will would be there and I would decide to talk to him or just leave things the way they were. I didn’t know if I could handle either choice.
The sky had just started to brighten and a chill hung in the morning air. But my face felt warm, my blood hot as it raced through arteries and veins, through my heart that beat too fast. I had to focus on pulling every breath into my lungs, pushing it out again.
I didn’t know where I was going, or what I was doing, but the event seemed well organized, and as soon as I neared the location, signs directed me to where I was meant to check in.
“Hanna?”
I looked up to see my former training partner, my former lover, standing at the registration table, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite make out. I’d hoped my memory had exaggerated how striking he was, how overwhelming it was to just be near him. It hadn’t. Will held my gaze, and I wondered if I would start laughing uncontrollably, cry, or maybe just run away if he got any closer.
“Hi,” he said finally.
Abruptly, I held out my hand as if he should . . . what? Greet me with a handshake? Jesus Christ, Hanna! But I was committed now, and my trembling hand remained suspended between us as he looked down at it.
“Oh . . . we’re . . . going to be like this,” he mumbled, wiping his palm on his pants before gripping my hand in his. “Okay, hey. How are you?”
I swallowed, jerking my hand away as soon as I possibly could. “Hey. Good. I’m good.”
This was comically bad, and it was the kind of bad I wanted to dissect with Will and only Will. I suddenly had a million questions about awkward post-breakup protocol, and whether handshakes were always a bad idea or just now.
Bending robotically, I signed my name on some line and took a packet of information from a woman seated behind the table. She was giving me instructions I barely comprehended; I felt like I was suspended underwater.
When I finished, Will was still standing there, wearing the same nervous, hopeful expression. “Do you need help?” he whispered.
I shook my head. “I think I’m good.” It was a lie; I had no idea what I was doing.
“You just need to go to the tent over there,” he said gently, reading me perfectly as always and putting a hand on my arm.
I pulled back and smiled stiffly. “I got it. Thanks, Will.”
As the silence stretched on, a woman I hadn’t even noticed at his side spoke up. “Hi,” she said, and I blinked over to see her smiling with her hand outstretched. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. I’m Kitty.”
It took a moment for the pieces to come together, and when they did, I couldn’t even contain my shock. I felt my mouth fall open, my eyes go wide. How could he possibly think this was even remotely okay? I looked from her to Will, who, I quickly realized, seemed as surprised as I was to find her standing there. Hadn’t he seen her approach?
Will’s face could have been at the dictionary entry for uncomfortable. “Oh God.” He looked back and forth between us for a flash before murmuring, “Oh, shit, um . . . hey, Kitty, this is . . .” He looked to me, his eyes softening. “This is my Hanna.”
I blinked to him. What had he said?
“Nice to meet you, Hanna. Will has told me all about you.”
I knew they were speaking but the words didn’t seem to penetrate the echo of that sentence repeating over and over again in my head. This is my Hanna. This is my Hanna.
It was a mistake. He was just uncomfortable. I pointed over my shoulder. “I’ve got to go.” Turning, I stumbled away from the table and toward the women’s tent.
“Hanna!” he called after me, but I didn’t turn back.
I was still a bit foggy when I handed over my information, got my race number, and walked over to an empty spot to stretch and lace up my shoes. At the sound of footsteps, I looked up, already dreading what I would find. Seeing Kitty standing there, it was worse than I thought.
“He’s really something,” she said, pinning her number to the front of her shirt.
I lowered my eyes, ignored the fire that flared low in my belly. “Yeah, sure is.”
She sat on a bench a few feet away and began peeling the label from a bottle of water. “You know, I never thought this would happen.” She shook her head, laughing. “All this time and he’s always used the It’s not you. I just don’t want more with anybody excuse. And now? Now that he finally ends things, it’s because he does want more. Just with someone else.”