Chapter 58 Morning after
Hannah
I woke up with a groan lodged deep in my chest.
My head was pounding…no, pounding was too gentle a word. It felt like someone had set up a construction site behind my eyes and decided today was demolition day. I rolled onto my side with another groan, squinting against the light filtering through the curtains.
That was when I saw it.
A glass of water.
A strip of ibuprofen.
Neatly placed on my bedside table.
I stared at them for a long second, my foggy brain slowly clicking into gear.
“Oh,” I muttered hoarsely. “Great.”
So I had definitely been drunk last night. Drunk enough for someone; him, to anticipate this exact moment. My stomach twisted with a mix of embarrassment and something warmer, more confusing.
I sat up slowly, wincing, and took the pills with the water, swallowing carefully. I stayed there for a few minutes afterward, elbows resting on my knees, breathing until the room stopped tilting every time I moved my head.
Bits and pieces of last night floated up unhelpfully.
The bar.
Laughing too hard.
Someone handing me another drink I definitely hadn’t needed.
Being carried.
God.
My cheeks burned.
“I don’t even want to know,” I murmured to myself.
Once my head felt steady enough not to betray me, I dragged myself into the shower. Hot water helped. A lot. I stood there longer than necessary, letting it beat down my back, washing away the stickiness of sleep and regret and whatever emotional mess I’d made the night before.
I dressed simply in soft trousers, a loose top, nothing that required effort or thinking. Then I padded over to Momo.
“Good morning, menace,” I whispered.
He wagged his tail furiously, little body vibrating with joy as soon as he saw me. I laughed softly and crouched, kissing his head, his ears, his nose.
“Yes, yes, I missed you too,” I said, scratching behind his ears as he yipped. I fed him, sat with him while he ate, petting him and murmuring nonsense until my chest felt a little lighter.
Whatever else was going wrong in my life, at least this little creature adored me unconditionally.
That thought carried me to the edge of the dining room door.
I hesitated.
I knew Timothy would be there. He always was at this hour. The thought of facing him, clear-headed, sober, and fully capable of remembering every humiliating thing I’d said—made my stomach flip.
But I squared my shoulders.
Running away wasn’t going to help.
I walked in.
Timothy was already seated, posture straight, expression neutral, phone set aside as if he’d been waiting. He looked up briefly, raised an eyebrow, then said nothing.
I lifted my chin and took my seat across from him.
Two could play at that game.
He signaled to Lisa without looking at me, and breakfast was served efficiently, quietly. Plates clinked. Coffee was poured. The staff melted away.
The silence was… loud.
I picked at my food at first, then forced myself to eat properly, though my appetite lagged behind my pride. Every now and then, I glanced up at him, only to find his attention fixed on his plate or his phone. Not once did he look at me directly.
It made me jittery.
Say something, I wanted to demand. Yell. Lecture. Do anything other than this.
But stubbornness dug in its heels.
Fine, I thought. If he won’t speak, neither will I.
Breakfast ended in near-total silence.
When the plates were cleared, Timothy stood, thanked Lisa politely, and headed straight for the door.
Just like that.
I stared after him, disbelief bubbling up into irritation.
“Seriously?” I scoffed.
He stopped and turned, one eyebrow lifting. “What?”
“You’re seriously just leaving like that?”
He shrugged lightly. “Is there something you wanted to say? Like ‘sorry,’ perhaps?”
My temper flared. “Sorry for what?”
The casualness dropped. His jaw tightened.
“You stood me up last night,” he said evenly. “Remember?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Damn it.
He continued, voice controlled but edged. “We made plans. We agreed to have dinner. I was here, waiting, and you showed up hours later…drunk.”
I bit my lip, guilt pressing heavy against my chest.
“I…” I sighed, standing. “I’m sorry.”
He studied me skeptically.
“I don’t… really know why I did it,” I admitted. “At least not at first.”
His expression didn’t soften.
So I told the truth.
“I think I wanted you to feel what I felt,” I said quietly. “Being ignored. Dismissed. Like I didn’t matter. I wasn’t thinking about anyone else, and that wasn’t fair.”
He crossed his arms, sulking just enough that it almost made me smile.
“I promise,” I added quickly, “we’ll have dinner. Properly. No ditching. No bars.”
He looked unconvinced.
I sighed and held out my pinky. “Pinky promise.”
He stared at my hand for a second, clearly debating how ridiculous this was.
Then, with a huff, he hooked his pinky with mine.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “I don’t know how I went from hating your guts to making a fuss about being stood up by you.”
I laughed. “That’s because I’m incredibly lovable.”
He snorted despite himself.
I took my chance and slipped past him. “I’m grabbing Momo.”
“Hannah,” he called after me. “I’ll drop you off today.”
I paused and turned, eyebrow raised.
He groaned immediately. “Forget it.”
I laughed. “Hold on one second. Let me get Momo.”
And for the first time that morning, the air between us felt… lighter.