Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,187

a dead rat had invaded his mouth.

Despite not being fifteen and no longer having exams, he’d still overslept for school.

“Fuck,” he muttered, then winced as the sound of his own voice sent a bite of pain through his skull.

At which point, realisation number 4 hit him: the house was deathly silent.

Where the hell were his children? The sunlight sneaking through the living room curtains told him that it was most definitely morning. Which meant that Beth should be bellowing in his ear and Josh should be sprawled across his chest. The lack of child limpets attached to Nate’s person was cause for concern.

He stood up, gritting his teeth as his vision darkened and his head spun. When the dizzy spell passed, he looked down to find that he was clutching something soft and cream-coloured against his chest. It was woollen. It was knitted. It was…

Hannah’s?

Nate held up the cardigan and stared at it. The movement released a burst of familiar fragrance: sweet pastries, the soft perfume of lipstick, and the way-too-real hint of skin and soap.

Definitely Hannah’s.

Which made him feel a hell of a lot better. Mostly because it reminded him that his children almost certainly hadn’t been kidnapped while he slept off a drunken stupor. Hannah wouldn’t let them be kidnapped. He wondered briefly if she could be kidnapped herself. Then he decided she would scold any would-be abductors so thoroughly, they’d run off to the nearest church to… confess. Or whatever it was people did in church.

Was Hannah Catholic? He had no idea. He’d ask, only he was uncomfortably aware that he probably asked her way too much about herself already.

And with that thought came a memory of last night. Of him running his mouth and making her cry and letting her cry, and generally being way too fucking obvious about the fact that she made him…

Well. There was no point dwelling on all that. He had children to locate.

She should’ve heard him coming up the stairs, but she’d been struck by lightning.

That was how it felt when Hannah managed to carry out an idea—not just to fulfil a task, but execute a vision, however pretentious that sounded. She’d been wasting her copious free time for days now, prettifying her blog to hide the fact that she wasn’t writing jack shit.

And then, this morning, she’d opened her laptop and done nothing but write. Now she couldn’t stop, and it was electrifying, and yes: it felt like being struck by lightning. Hearing Nate say her name was the accompanying thunderclap.

Hannah stifled a rather embarrassing scream and slapped a hand over her chest. She looked up to find him hovering in the doorway of her bedroom. He had her cardigan in one hand, his fingers tangled in the fabric, and he looked…

Well, he looked a thousand times better, actually. But he probably felt like shit.

“You’re awake,” she said, displaying her razor-sharp intellect and sparkling wit.

He grimaced as if he deeply regretted his conscious state. “Where are the kids?”

“I took them to school.”

Nate sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. The dark shadow of his stubble was startling against his skin. Hannah reminded herself to pump him full of steak as soon as possible.

“I,” he said wryly, “am a terrible father.”

She stared. “I beg your pardon?” Surely, he must be joking. Except he looked painfully serious, standing there, the slight smile on his face not enough to hide the worry in his eyes.

“They haven’t even seen me since yesterday,” he said. “They must be—”

“They’re absolutely fine. I let them peek at you through the door and they thought your snoring was hilarious. I told them you weren’t very well, and you’d see them at dinner. Easy.”

“Thank you,” he said, far too seriously for her comfort. As if she’d just saved his life or something, instead of doing her job. “Thank you. Jesus. I don’t know what I’d…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “This is exactly the kind of dad I never wanted to be.”

Very carefully, Hannah shut her laptop and set it aside. “Nate. When I was seven my father came to visit us for the last time. He bought me a doll and gave me a speech about how babies were the most important thing in the world. If you had one, you must give up everything to protect it. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since. Because his wife was pregnant, so he couldn’t risk visiting us anymore. He was having a real baby. And he gave