Beautiful Bastard: Beautiful Boss Part 8

"I'm not trying to be selfish," she said. "You know that, right?"

"Of course I do," I told her, softening. "But, look, you have to process this with me, as a unit. Your desire to remain open-minded means that you're not letting yourself fall in love with any one place. And your inability to express a preference-no matter how preliminary-is making it totally f.u.c.king impossible for me to get engaged in this process." I heard her blow her nose in the background. "And now, your unwillingness to deal with any sort of confrontation is going from naive to thoughtless. I didn't like the way you used to avoid dealing with things-it nearly ended us before we even began-and I really hate it now."

She sniffed. "I just want to get off the phone."

My heart stuttered. "Hanna. Come on."

"You're making me feel like a child. I'll see you Friday night."

The phone clicked and nothing but silence carried through the line. She'd hung up. I'd yelled at her, and she'd hung up. Well done, Will.

Guilt and aggravation and just plain dread warred in my chest as I crossed the room before dropping back onto the couch. My beer sat on the coffee table in front of me, still full, condensation forming at the neck of the bottle and running down the gla.s.s to pool on the wood underneath. I picked it up and brought it to my lips.

It was going to be a f.u.c.king long night.

Jensen jogged beside me on the trail. "Yeah, I'm probably the worst person to talk to about this," he said. "I've dealt with Hanna's head-in-the-sand s.h.i.t for years."

"No, see," I said, glancing over at him, "this is where you tell me it's normal to get in a fight like this one week after a wedding."

This made him laugh dryly, and only then did I realize what I'd said.

I pulled up short, stopping in the middle of the trail. "Jens, I don't mean-"

"You want me to tell you what's normal one week after a wedding?" he asked, bending to cup his knees and catch his breath.

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head. "Dude, that was totally inconsiderate. I am a p.r.i.c.k."

He waved off my apology with a flick of his hand before straightening. "Given that my wife-previously my girlfriend of nine years-told me one week after our wedding that she wasn't sure we were meant to be together, I'd say that you and Hanna are just fine. It's a really stressful time, that's all."

"I guess." I looked past us, down the trail at the line of mothers and jogging strollers headed our way. I hadn't stopped feeling nauseated for hours now.

We stepped off to the side, on the gra.s.s, and Jensen pulled a water bottle from that dorky jogging belt of his.

"Hanna has laser focus," he said, and then took a drink. "It's what makes her great at what she does, and s.h.i.tty at mult.i.tasking. I suppose I should give her some credit for consistency."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"She's just trying to be an adult," he said. "Maybe she thinks this is how adults deal with stuff. Sort of stoically."

I groaned, knowing he was right, and marveling at how f.u.c.king easy it was for him to come to this conclusion.

"Well, that makes sense, given that she told me I was treating her like a child last night."

Jensen's laugh boomed out in the chilly morning air. "Good luck with that one, Will." He pretended to wipe away a tear. "Holy s.h.i.t, I don't think seeing you two stumble through marriage will ever get old."

My cell rang on the bedside table, startling me awake. I picked it up, swiping the screen and squinting at the clock: just past three in the morning.

The last time I'd looked at the clock was only fifteen minutes ago.

"Hey, Plum."

"Hey, you."

My body flushed warm with relief. "You okay?" I asked.

She let out a tiny hiccup and squeaked, "Not really." She paused. "Were you asleep? Your voice is all sleepy-deep."

Shaking my head, I said, "I just sort of dozed off a few minutes ago."

She started to apologize but I stopped her. "No, no, I'm glad you called."

"I couldn't sleep, either," she admitted, her voice a little m.u.f.fled, as if she was lying on her side. "I miss you and I hate that we're fighting."

I fell back against the pillow, rubbing a hand over my face. "I'm sorry. I was a d.i.c.k earlier."

"You weren't, though . . . You were right."

I nodded behind my hand. I was right, and I knew that, but I could have been gentler. Because Hanna was self-possessed in so many ways, it was easy for me to forget that she was only twenty-five and on the cusp of choosing which prestigious university to join, in a faculty role. Talking to Jensen today helped remind me that Hanna had blown through college in three years, graduate school in another three, and then had a post-doctoral fellowship that was only a year-she was still learning how to manage career choices that many of us didn't have to worry about until much later.

"So how was the rest of your day?" I asked my wife.

I settled back into bed as she took a deep breath and launched into a detailed description of her interview: what she was asked during her job talk, the meetings with other faculty members afterward, and, later, dinner with the chair of the department at a small but apparently amazing sushi restaurant in San Francisco.

She talked about what they ate, the mild gossip they shared, and the strange small-world coincidences sprinkled throughout the day, which, frankly, were prevalent in research circles.

The entire time she gushed about it, I listened, trying to imagine us there.

I tried to imagine living there.

Having grown up in the Pacific Northwest, I could see a transition to the Bay Area. I just wasn't sure I wanted to move to California. I liked our seasons. I liked our urban cl.u.s.ter. I didn't want to have to drive everywhere.

I didn't really want to leave the East Coast, and it wasn't until this moment that I knew I felt strongly.

f.u.c.k.

"But, I don't know," she said, rousing me from my thoughts. "I can't imagine us here." She paused and I briefly wondered if I'd accidentally said any of that out loud. "I can't imagine you here," she added.

I swallowed, trying to put the right string of words together-one where I wouldn't agree too immediately, wouldn't make her feel she couldn't choose a school in California. I'd meant what I said-I would follow her anywhere-but there was no denying that a big part of me was suddenly hoping I wouldn't have to follow her there.

"You can't?" I asked, hedging.

"No," she said, and it sounded like she rolled over. "You need to be in a big city. Bigger than Berkeley."

"You still have a lot of choices in cities," I reminded her.

"I do."

"So, Berkeley is out?" I asked carefully.

She breathed in, finally whispering, "Yeah. I think so. I liked it, but not enough."

We fell silent, and I grew immediately sleepy with the sound of her quiet breaths in my ear. It rocked me from time to time to realize how easily I'd grown dependent on the sounds of her falling asleep next to me.

"I love you so much," she mumbled.

"I love you, too," I told her. "Come home to me."

We fell asleep, neither of us bothering to hang up.

I surrept.i.tiously canceled the car Hanna had scheduled to meet her at the airport and went there myself, on a wild tear deciding to drive the old Subaru from Manhattan to JFK.

The reality of this terrible f.u.c.king idea-the traffic, the sheer logistics of parking at the airport-reaffirmed my desire to not have to drive every day.

But when she came down the escalators looking exhausted and sweetly rumpled-f.u.c.k it, I would have navigated any cl.u.s.ter of cars to get to her. Surprised, she ran straight into my arms, smelling all warm and sweet and f.u.c.kable.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, voice m.u.f.fled by my jacket.

"I'm stealing you away."

"To home?" she said.

I shook my head. "We're headed upstate for the weekend."

Jerking back to look at me, she asked, "Why?"

Grabbing her bag, I led her outside. "When we got off the phone-this morning," I added, laughing, "I couldn't stop thinking about how much I wanted you home so we could talk and relax and get back to baseline. It was this weird antsy thing, and I realized . . . our life is going to change. And I need to know that we can talk about all of this somewhere other than the only place we've lived together. I need to know we can be us no matter where we are."

She turned, stretching to kiss me beside the car, and I struggled against the temptation to open the backseat and f.u.c.k her in the sketchy parking garage.

The drive upstate was torture, with her hand working my jeans open, playing at jerking me off-but never actually getting down to it. Instead I got teasing fingers, her mouth on my neck, and then the weight of her head on my shoulder as she rested against me, hand warm against my bare stomach as she dozed off.

It was late when we finally arrived at the B&B and checked in, skipping further conversation and tripping as quietly as we could down the hall to our room.

The room was drafty and smelled of wet cut gra.s.s. Outside, crickets chirped and the wind creaked through tree limbs beside the window. It was truly nothing like our apartment in Manhattan. And then Hanna met my eyes, and smiled.

The whole world cracked open.

I pulled her clothes off with shaking hands, tossed her onto the creaky bed. Her mouth curled in a laugh, pale limbs spread across the blankets, beckoning.

The smell of her, the taste of her skin on my lips.

I turned on the lamp to see her better, to watch the flush crawl up her neck when I pressed my face between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, groaning.

The muscles in her stomach jerked under my mouth as I kissed down her body, sucking and tasting her until she was pulling me up by my hair, over her, shoving my clothes off with grabby, impatient hands.

It was fast, and, f.u.c.k, it was probably a little too rough, but I loved the way her t.i.ts moved when I pinned her hands over her head and f.u.c.ked her as hard and fast as I could.

I wasn't sure what got into me.

A switch had been flipped, some ancient trigger pulled. She'd been gone. I needed to remind her, remind my hands and mouth and c.o.c.k that this was default: us. The setting didn't f.u.c.king matter.

She came, but just after I did. I don't know how I managed to actually get her there and not collapse on her. She'd scratched my collarbone when she was close, drawing blood and making me see stars.

I fell over her, heavy, and managed to keep from crushing her with my elbows planted in the mattress near her head.

"Were we loud?" she asked, breathless.

"I don't have enough energy left to care."

She giggled beneath me. "Awkward group breakfast at the B&B."

I rolled off her, dragging my hand across her sweaty torso as I went. "You think I'm letting you out of this room?"

She draped her body over mine, kissing the scratch she'd left on my skin. "Darling husband?"

My blood vibrated at her words. "Hmm?"

"Are we okay?"

Now this-this made me laugh.

"Plum." I stretched to kiss her. "Never mind what we just did in this tiny bed, we're always okay."

Standing, Hanna walked over to the door and grabbed a notebook from her bag, shuffling back to me.

"Roll over," she said, nudging my shoulder.

I rolled to my stomach and rested my face on my bent arm. The notebook was cool against my back, causing me to startle a little. "What are we doing?"

"I need to make a list of what Caltech needs to bring to the table to beat Harvard."

I turned my head, barely able to see her over my shoulder. I liked seeing that she could admit that, most likely, every school would want her. But I also didn't want her to get brokenhearted if she didn't get an offer from her first choice.

I wondered if I'd pushed too hard for her to rank her preferences, to a.s.sume she had her pick.

"When do you expect to hear back from Harvard?"

She grinned, stretching to kiss my cheek. "I heard back from them today."

Six.

Hanna I knew it was wrong to call Will quite so late, but I hadn't been able to call him until now, and I absolutely didn't want to wait until morning. The phone rang only once before he picked up.