by Lexi Ryan
***
May—Three Months Before Accident
“God, I’m so jealous of you I could spit.” Lizzy grabs Cally’s hand and holds it in front of her to inspect her ring. It’s girls’ night at Brady’s and the table is full of empty glasses and half-full margarita pitchers.
“I’m the luckiest,” Cally says, grinning.
Lizzy snorts. “Pretty, lucky, and gracious. Almost makes you hate her. So did you have to train the muscles in that arm to keep that rock on there all the time?”
“Shut up! It’s not that big!”
My phone buzzes in my purse, alerting me to a new text message. I grin, immediately thinking it’s from Max. He wanted to see me tonight but didn’t push when he found out the girls were getting together for margaritas.
I pull my phone out and open my text messages. I frown at the screen. I don’t recognize the number.
Unknown Number: When are you going to give it up? Max is way out of your league.
My stomach pitches into my chest and drags my heart with it as it falls back down. The words are not only cruel, they’re exactly what I fear. I’ve wanted Max since we were teenagers, and now that I have him, sometimes it feels too good to be true.
I’m still trying to decide whether to text back when another beeps through.
Unknown Number: You can keep fooling yourself if you want, but while he’s dating your fat ass, he’s wishing he were with someone he’s actually attracted to.
“Hanna?” Lizzy says. “Is everything okay?”
I paste on a smile to cover the sick churning of my stomach. I could tell the girls about these messages, bask in the reassuring warmth of their righteous indignation. We could talk about lying, jealous bitches who will go to any length to drag happy people into their misery. The conversation would no doubt end in all of us laughing and me deciding to ignore this nastiness.
But what if the person on the other end of this text conversation is telling the truth?
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I text back. I shouldn’t engage. I should find out who these are coming from and show them to my friends, to Max.
Hanna: Who is this?
Unknown Number: This is the sexy bitch your boyfriend wishes he were fucking.
“I’ll be right back,” I say in a rush. It’s not so much the text as the series of screenshots attached to it that has me shaking. I have to get away from this table before the tears come. I can’t let the girls see.
I barely make it to the bathroom before I start crying, and Meredith is waiting on the other side of the door, a smirk on her face.
“Why so sad, Hanna?”
I stumble back. “You?”
She smiles prettily and touches up her perfect lipstick in the mirror. “I didn’t think I wanted him,” she says. “I mean, I’m more interested in a man who can really support me, you know. But then things didn’t work out with William because apparently he has a thing for whores—”
“Don’t!” I growl, my nails biting into my palms.
“You’re all so cute. Sticking up for each other. Why don’t you go get your friends? I can show them my old texts too. We’ll see what they think about your perfect boyfriend then.”
“Why do you even care about this? Didn’t you just have a baby?”
“I did. Which is why I’ve decided it’s time to be proactive.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Max,” she says simply. “I want what you have, and as you might have noticed from those messages, he wants me.”
“Then why is he with me?” I force myself to ask. Because that’s the only defense I have. Meredith is beautiful. She’s thin and blond and perfect. Everything I’ll never be. And the texts between her and Max are so damning that I want to wilt like an unwatered flower in the hot sun.
“Come on, Hanna. Everyone knows your family is loaded. Max’s little health club isn’t going to get him very far if he doesn’t have a sugar mama to bail him out.”
I open my mouth to defend him then close it. Because it’s true. I’ve already called in a favor with my mom and her friends to try to get Max a grant to help him pay the mortgage on his club. And I can tell by the Cheshire Cat grin on Meredith’s face that she knows that too.
“I’m done waiting, Hanna, and he needs your money too much to leave you. So…” She shrugs. “I figured it was time to let you in on our little secret so you could hurry things along my way.”
It feels like there’s a rabid animal frantically clawing its way out of my stomach. I can’t look at her anymore. I can’t stand here and listen to her.
I turn around and grab the door handle, but her words stop me.
“Oh, I copied Max on that last one. I couldn’t risk you pretending you never saw it just so you could keep him. Now you can pretend if you want, but you’ll both know and things will never be the same between you.”
I don’t look at her before pushing through the door and leaving the bathroom.
“I’ve gotta get going,” I say when I reach the table.
Lizzy frowns at me. “Why? What happened? Who were those texts from?”
My twin knows me too well, but I paste on a smile and shake my head. “I’m just not feeling very well. I’ll see you at home later.”
I don’t wait for their permission or even their goodbyes, and I head out the door and toward home. I’ve had too much alcohol tonight to drive, so I walk the half-mile through town to my rental house, my heels pinching my feet painfully with every step.
Max is waiting at the door when I get there, his face drawn with worry. “It’s not what it looks like.”
I nod and step into his foyer. “Good.” My voice is clear and strong, and some distant part of my mind is just proud that I’m not collapsing in a pathetic heap at his feet, begging him to love me, pleading with him to explain this away. “Because it looks like you’re a lying asshole.”
He drags a hand through his hair. “Hanna, don’t. Okay? You weren’t supposed to see those texts.”
“Oh my God. Seriously? That’s the best you’ve got? I wasn’t supposed to see that our relationship is a total sham? That it’s pretend? That you—” A sob rips through my chest before I can finish. It hurts too much.
“But it’s not,” he growls. I try to step around him, but he grabs my hand and holds it tight. “This is real. Nothing about what I feel for you is pretend.”
“But it was. At one point it was.”
“I was an idiot,” he whispers. “Such an idiot.”
“You don’t understand what it’s like to feel like shit about the way you look. You don’t understand what a leap of faith it was for me to believe you wanted to be with me when you could have had any woman you wanted in this town.”
“Meredith and I have a long, screwed-up history, and until things were serious with Will and Cally—”
“Leave.” I point to the door.
“Don’t do this, Hanna. Those texts were from December. That was months ago. You and I hadn’t even kissed yet. I had no idea I was going to fall in love with you.”
“Stop. I can’t do this.” I shake my head. “I have spent too many years of my life hating myself. I can’t be with you anymore. I can’t…” I shrug and tears spill onto my cheeks. “Please leave.”
“I’ll give you time, but please—”
“It’s over, Max. Leave.” I sound wild. Crazed. Maybe I am.
When he walks out the door, I sink to the floor and wrap my arms around my knees as I sob. I don’t need to look at my phone again to remember the texts. They’re branded on my brain.
Meredith: You’re seriously going out with Hanna Fat Ass Thompson.
Max: You’re seriously going to start this conversation by being a bitch?
Meredith: Just tell me how this happened.
Max: It’s a temporary arrangement. She needs a self-esteem boost.
Meredith: I had no idea you were taking charity cases.
Max: No worries, I still prefer blond
es.
Meredith: So what’s it like to fuck a fatty?
Max: Don’t be a bitch.
Meredith: He dodges the question.
Max: Trust me, I’m not going to let this charade go that far. She’s a sweet girl, but she’s not my type.
Meredith: Am I your type?
Max: You know you are. But last I checked you were still hung up on Will Bailey.
Meredith: That was so last month. Come over here and I’ll prove it.
Max: What do you have in mind?
Meredith: You. My mouth. More specifically, your dick and my mouth.
Max: Shit. Don’t say that when you know I can’t.
Meredith: You said yourself that your thing with Hanna is just a charade.
Max: I don’t want her hurt. Period. I’ll have to take a rain check.
Meredith: I can keep a secret. I know when to use my mouth. And where.
Max: This is a bad idea.
Meredith: I’ll see you in fifteen, then?
Max: Make that five.
