After a few minutes and still no sign of her, I poke my head into the pool house, but it’s empty, so I make my way to the house. The bass of the music vibrates under my feet. The kitchen has already been tidied, thanks to the cleaner that Hanna hired to help manage things today. Another reason for me to thank her.
I make a stop in my bedroom and retrieve the small gift box, tucking it into my pocket. I hope if she’s having a hard time tonight, this will cheer her up.
I stop at the closed door to the spare bedroom and knock three times. “Hanna?”
“I’ll just be a minute. Is everything okay?” she calls.
I debate waiting in the kitchen or the living room. I decide neither is ideal. “Is it okay if I come in?”
I’m greeted with silence for a few long seconds before the door finally opens. I slip inside and close it behind me.
“Are the kids okay?” She wrings her clasped hands. Her eyes have that slightly watery quality about them. The kind I associate with tears.
“The kids are fine. They’re dancing and drinking and doing what they do when they’re celebrating a wedding and have no idea what the future holds for them, apart from a lot of love.”
She exhales a relieved breath. “Okay. Good. That’s good.”
I set my drink on the dresser and take a step forward and put my hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her focus is on my shoes.
“Hanna.” I slip my finger under her chin and tip her head up. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me.” Over the past several months, our relationship has evolved in a lot of ways. We share similar histories, although the way they unfolded is very different. But we get each other in a way not many can understand. It definitely doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful, and kind, and fun—both in and out of bed.
She nods once and her eyes fall closed. She breathes out slowly as her hands settle on my chest. “I know. I just need to keep it together for a few more hours.”
“If you need to let it out, then let it out. I’m not afraid of tears, Hanna. I raised a teenage girl on my own. If I can handle irrational teenage girl tears, I can certainly handle reasonable, adult emotional tears. Hell, I’ve cried more than once today, and I don’t feel like I need to have my man card revoked for that.”
She chuckles and then bites her bottom lip as two tears track down her cheeks.
“Aw, babe.” I sweep them away with my thumbs. “Today has been hard, hasn’t it?”
“I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” she whispers.
“Not being able to take the role that’s yours?” I ask.
We’ve talked about this before—about how her relationship with Ryan has changed ever since he found out the truth about their family dynamic.
“Logically, I know it’s not my place. I know that. But it just . . . I really didn’t expect it to be so hard. And the mother-son dance. Without my parents’ support neither of us would have had the opportunities we did. I could never have afforded the hockey teams, or the travel, or any of the stuff my parents were able to give him—” She sucks in a tremulous breath.
“But it doesn’t change the fact that it hurts,” I say gently.
“I thought I could handle this. I need to be able to handle this. For Ryan.”
“You have been handling this, Hanna. And you can fake being okay for everyone else, but you don’t have to do it for me.” I pull her against me and press my lips to her temple.
She melts against me, body shaking, even though her cries are silent. “Thank you for being such a rock, Jake.”
She lets me hold her for a few minutes, her breathing evening out. The emotion seems to pass as quickly as it came. She inhales deeply and dabs under her eyes with a tissue. I have no idea where it came from, but it’s definitely seen a lot of tears based on how mangled it is.
She waves her hands in front of her face. “Every time I think I’ve got myself under control this starts up again. I thought teenage hormones were bad. They have nothing on this perimenopausal shit.”
“Aren’t you a little young for that?”
She arches a brow. “Now you’re being obtuse.”
I hold my hands up in supplication. “Seriously. I didn’t think that was a thing before fifty.”
“Oh. Well, that would be ideal if that were the case, but it can start way earlier than that. Just depends on how much of an asshole your body wants to be.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “It’s bad enough that I cried all over your suit. I’m not going to subject you to the horrors of perimenopause.” She purses her lips. “I really need to stop talking.”