15. Maddox

FIFTEEN

Guilt sits heavy in my stomach as I watch Hannah brush at her eyes while she hurries toward the bathrooms. Away from me.

I like ham and cheese sandwiches, but I'd be lying if I said I ordered that for any other reason than to get a rise out of Hannah.

But I figured I'd get a spark of indignation. Some sort of defiance.

I expected her to pretend like she didn't understand the reference. Or maybe for her to not remember at all.

I didn't expect to see her face fall the way it did. Didn't expect to see so much hurt fill her eyes.

I didn't mean to make her cry.

"You like ham and cheese?"

"Yeah." She eyes me like it's a trick question.

I hold one of the sandwiches out. "Here, I don't need all three."

"How'd you know I'd be on this floor?" Hannah looks around at our little corner of the university library. "And how'd you beat me?"

Satisfaction blooms in my chest. She's not running away from me this time. "Lucky guess. And athlete, remember?"

I see the moment she decides to give me a chance.

Hannah steps forward. And I smile.

So long ago, but I can still picture it like it just happened. I can still feel the way she made me feel.

I look at the empty seat across from me. How did she have such an impact on me?

"Don't worry about her. She's resilient," Brandon comments. And it makes me want to crush his wrist bones with my fist.

Because I know she is. She twisted her ankle, injured her nose, and almost fell off a step stool when I first met her. And not once did she ask for help. I had to pluck her from the air myself.

Brandon lifts a shoulder, like I asked him a question. "We've known each other a while now."

Known each other.

He's trying to make it sound like they're a couple. But I know they aren't. I can tell from Hannah's body language that she doesn't like him. Not like that.

Doesn't mean she didn't sleep with him in the past.

"Hmm" is all I respond with, because I'm pretty sure this prick is trying to gaslight me.

Another few minutes pass, and what started as guilt morphs into worry.

She's been gone too long.

I shift my legs, preparing to push my chair back, when Hannah appears in my line of sight.

She's so fucking pretty.

Her hair is up in a ponytail that sits high on the back of her head, and it allows me to see all of her beautiful face as she gets closer.

Hannah smiles at one of the servers she passes, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

But fake or not, she keeps the smile in place as she approaches.

Her cheeks are free of tears, and her makeup doesn't look smudged.

I glance at her purse as she hooks it to the back of her chair.

Did she fix her makeup?

Lowering herself into her chair, she flicks her eyes to me, and I see it.

Her mascara is perfect, her eyeliner is intact, but her eyes are bloodshot.

She's been crying.

That guilt expands.

I made Hannah cry.

But why the fuck does the mention of a sandwich make her cry?

I grit my teeth together.

This speculation is ridiculous. I just need to talk to her.