18.Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Bonnie

When I open my eyes, I’m not sure at first where I am. I was dreaming about a sunset over a glittering lake surrounded by huge pines and towering mountains. It was more peaceful than anywhere I’ve ever been, and I desperately want to go back.

The last thing I remember before falling asleep was texting my friends about the most recent Hot Scoop article. No one seemed to be able to decide if this one was good or bad, but Derek was unusually quiet in the chat. I half expected him to start texting me individually, but he never did.

My pillow moves, waking me up the rest of the way as I become fully aware of my surroundings. Or, more accurately, who is surrounding me.

When I started getting sleepy, I cuddled up against Hank, and I have never been this comfortable in my life. With my head on his chest and his left arm wrapped snugly around my shoulders, I feel like he’s protecting me from bad dreams. He’s still in the spot he was before I fell asleep, sitting propped up against the headboard of my bed and writing in a leather-bound notebook because he doesn’t own a laptop.

I shift, and his pen stops moving. “Bonnie?” he whispers.

As much as I want to look up into his face, I don’t want to move and break this calm that sits between us. “How long was I asleep?”

His hand, which is wrapped around my arm, lifts as he checks his watch. Warmth spreads through me when his hand returns to its place like it belongs against my skin. “A couple of hours.”

“Really?”

“You were out pretty fast, and I didn’t want to disturb you and head to my room, so I—”

“Don’t go.” My hand splays across his torso before he can move, my fingers making little wrinkles in his t-shirt. I’ve only ever seen Hank in sweaters and flannel, and I like the pajama version of him. He feels…warm. Safe. Seeing him dressed down like this, it feels like he’s here to stay. “How’s your book coming?”

His chuckle rumbles through him. “Better than I expected, though I have no idea how it’s going to end. This book has been elusive in a way none of the others have.”

His fingers start dancing across the skin of my arm, and for a moment that’s all I can focus on. For how resistant he was to being a part of this relationship in the beginning, he seems to have settled into it nicely. I know Fran made him join me with the chemistry coach, Clyde, but none of this right now can benefit the public’s opinion. We’re entirely alone.

And while I have always been comfortable with Derek, who is easily my closest friend and confidant, I never felt this way with him when we hung out alone. I love him, but even with me he keeps things tamped down and hidden because…I don’t know why. Maybe he thinks having real human emotions is a weakness, and he hates weakness with a passion. Or maybe he just doesn’t know what he wants so he doesn’t let himself ache for anything or enjoy what he has.

But Hank? Hank has never been afraid to tell me exactly what he’s feeling, and I think I’ve taken that for granted so far.

It also terrifies me, and instinct says I should retreat before I start letting myself believe that I can keep this man. For once, I don’t want to follow instinct. I want to stay right where I am.

So when I open my mouth, disappointment floods through me at the words I speak. “Did you used to sit in bed like this with Shelby?” Why would I bring her up? Now? So much for ignoring instinct.

Just as I expected, Hank tenses, but it doesn’t take long for him to relax again. His fingers come to a stop on my arm, but he doesn’t move away. “Yeah,” he says after a moment. He tucks his pen into the notebook and sets it on the end table. I hope he doesn’t mean to leave now that I’ve stupidly brought up his late wife. “She was more of a night owl than me because of late-night shows at her gallery, but she liked being next to me whenever I planned lectures.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “She had a bad habit of distracting me.”

“How would she… Oh.” I cut myself off as heat blossoms on my cheeks when I realize what he likely means. I can’t say that I blame Shelby for looking at this adorable man and wanting to appreciate him fully. He may not be Hollywood’s standard of masculinity—not like Derek—but his softness and steadiness are plenty attractive. Maybe a little too attractive.

I sit up, reluctantly pulling myself out from under Hank’s arm because I have ruined the moment. “I should let you go to bed.” Now that I can actually see him, he looks exhausted, so maybe it’s a good thing to put some distance between us. If I was asleep for a couple of hours, that’s a couple hours of sleep that he didn’t get. “Oh, Hank, you should have woken me so you could have—”

“Bonnie.” Smiling, he stands and picks up his notebook. “I’m fine. You needed to sleep more than I did. See you in the morning for breakfast?”

Though I nod, the only thing I want to do right now is ask him to stay. But I keep my mouth shut and watch him disappear through the door between our suites.

Then I’m alone.

My thoughts aren’t going to be quiet any time soon, so I dig my phone out of the blankets and send a text to Cole, hoping for a distraction.

Bonnie:

Are you in LA right now?

Rugby season has started, so there’s a chance he’s somewhere else in the country getting ready for a match tomorrow, but I’m hoping he’s at home.

His text comes only a minute later.

Cole:

I’m with Derek. He’s fine.

That fills me with both relief and worry. Relief because Cole knew exactly what I was really asking, and worry because he must have also recognized Derek was being unusually quiet.

Bonnie:

Are you sure?

Cole:

He’s worried about you.

Bonnie:

He’s always worried about me .

Cole:

I think that picture of you holding a baby spooked him. But I’ve got him covered, Bonnie. Enjoy the wedding and your time with Hank while you’ve got it.

What does he mean by that? Cole isn’t one to throw words out just because. He’s the least talkative of all of us, and he’s gotten even quieter since his girlfriend dumped him.

Too curious not to, I send another text.

Bonnie:

What do you mean, while I’ve got time?

Cole:

Your relationship isn’t real.

Oh. Right. I curl my fingers around my phone as I snuggle deeper into my covers. It’s not real . It’s never been real. But I think I might want that to change, and I have no idea how to do real. With Houston, it was easy because we were both looking for company more than anything. But I don’t want Hank in my life just because he’s a warm body and a way to boost my public image.

It’s only been a few minutes since he went to his suite, and I already miss him.

I must have been quiet for too long because Cole texts again before I can reply.

Cole:

I didn’t think I would have to remind you of that.

Bonnie:

Cole, I think I’m in trouble.

Cole:

You were in trouble when this thing started. That’s why Derek is being so moody.

Bonnie:

Derek is being moody?

Cole:

You have no idea.

He’s been avoiding Liam.

Derek never avoids any of us. I’m pretty sure he’s got some internal timer that makes sure he gives us all equal attention, and he has a soft spot for Liam to begin with. (I mean, who doesn’t? It’s impossible to dislike Liam.)

Bonnie:

I thought you said Derek was fine.

Is Liam okay?

Cole:

I think he’s too in love with Kasey to notice.

Bonnie:

Is Derek going to be weird when I get to LA?

Cole:

Probably not, but only because he’s such a good actor. I think you might need to talk to him because nothing I’ve said tonight seems to have gotten through to him.

If Cole, who has known Derek longer than any of us, can’t get through to Derek, I’m not sure what he thinks I’ll be able to do. I love Derek, and we got especially close over the year and a half that we pretended to be a couple, but that doesn’t mean I know him better than our other friends do.

Another text comes in from Cole, and I sigh.

Cole:

I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll get Derek out of his funk. You have fun at the wedding.

For the next hour, I try not to think about a gloomy grump trying to cheer up a man who is always so calm that it’s impossible to know what he’s really feeling. Everything about that feels disastrous. I don’t do a very good job at distracting myself, and the clock ticks later and later.

If I want to have even a chance at falling asleep, I can’t be by myself.

Tugging the duvet off the bed and wrapping it around myself, I creep to the door that separates my suite from Hank’s. His lights are off, so he’s probably sound asleep and doesn’t need me invading his privacy even more than I already have tonight.

I knock anyway.

Worst case scenario, he doesn’t hear me and I spend the night going through the scripts I’m supposed to read this weekend. Best case, he—

A light flickers to life, glowing gold beneath the door. I unlock my side only moments before Hank opens the door.

“Bonnie?” he blinks at me, glasses askew, and does his best to stifle a yawn. His hair sticks up on one end, giving him an almost boyish look. “Is everything okay?”

Guilt pools in my belly. I feel like I’m standing in my parents’ doorway and telling them I had a nightmare, all the while knowing they needed their sleep because they both had early shifts. “I shouldn’t have woken you. I’m so sorry. Go back to sleep. I’ll just—”

He grabs my hand, keeping me from sprinting back to my bed in shame. “Bonnie. ”

The concern in his eyes pulls me forward until I press myself against him, desperate for him to hold me the same way he did when I got caught in the harness. As his arms wrap around me, just as I’d hoped, I can’t stop the emotion that rises into my throat. I feel so safe .

I’m almost thirty . I shouldn’t be crying about a man hugging me. But Hank’s fingers tangle up in my hair as he holds me tighter, and I’ve never felt this seen before. No one has ever noticed my fears and insecurities the way Hank does. Not even Derek.

“I can’t sleep,” I say quietly. “But I feel awful for waking you up.”

Hank pulls away just enough to get a good look at my face—more specifically my tears—and then he glances at his suite behind him. “Do…do you want to come sleep with me? Just sleep,” he adds.

I blush to match the red that rises up his neck. I wasn’t thinking about anything more than that. “I do want that,” I admit. “But I don’t want to disturb you. You’re used to being alone, and I—”

“I wasn’t sleeping well either.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he takes a step back to make room for me to come inside. “I haven’t slept somewhere new in four years, except when I got snowed in with Hope and Chad during a huge storm, and they were…” He clears his throat. “I didn’t sleep well that night either.”

Holding back a giggle, I take a tentative step into his suite. I’m still cocooned in the duvet from my bed, which is probably going to be my best line of defense in keeping things platonic, even if I’d rather not. “I should warn you that I’m a cuddler.”

He chuckles and leads the way to the king-size bed. “I’m aware.”

“I’m also afraid of the dark.”

“Why?”

I sit on the edge of the bed, surprised by the question. I don’t often admit the fear—I can usually ignore it if I tell myself that I’m playing the role of someone who isn’t afraid. But I don’t think anyone has ever asked why I don’t like the dark .

I wait until Hank sits on the other side of the bed before I say anything. “Because sometimes my parents worked double shifts so I was home by myself late at night, and I couldn’t stop imagining things creeping around in the shadows. I have a pretty strong imagination, in case you didn’t know.”

Chuckling, he stretches out on the bed and wraps an arm around the pillow behind him. His left hand, I notice, sits on the mattress between us, fingers splayed out. “Does it make you feel better if I tell you that I’ve freaked myself out more times than I can count when I’m writing at night? Sometimes I forget Gabrielle isn’t real.”

“But she is real, kind of.” I curl up into a ball and force myself to ignore his easily accessible hand. I’m fortunate that he’s letting me sleep next to him; he doesn’t need me crowding his bubble too. “You said Gabrielle is based on Shelby, right?”

He nods, eyes fixed on the ceiling now. “Maybe that’s why this book is so hard to end,” he mutters.

Even though he asked if I would help brainstorm tonight, I was pretty much asleep the whole time he was writing. I have no idea what’s happening in the book or where Gabrielle might be heading, but there’s something in Hank’s expression that makes me nervous again.

“Do you ever think about writing books that aren’t Gabrielle Frost books?” I ask. I can’t decide how I want him to answer that question.

He looks at me, purses his lips, and then he takes off his glasses and sets them on the side table. He turns off the light, throwing the room into darkness, and when he settles back on the bed, his fingers find mine and hold on tight. Like he’s trying to hold on to something else. “Sometimes,” he whispers into the darkness. “But I’m worried what will happen when I do.”

I’m worried too, but not about Hank’s books. I’m worried I like him more than I should, and I’m terrified of what tomorrow is going to bring.