Rolling onto his side, Nick tucked his arm under his head and looked at Hannah, sleeping peacefully beside him. Her hair had slipped free of its tie and fell over the pillow, framing her face. Nick smiled as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Hannah sighed in her sleep, the sheet slipping from her shoulder as she rolled onto her back. Nick's eyes moved over her bare skin, following the trail of his fingers as he moved his hand down her side. Pulling the sheet down further, he lay his hand on her bare stomach, smooth and flat with silvery stretchmarks reaching from her waist towards her navel. Nick traced the thin lines with his finger, their presence a reminder of the months he had missed. Jack had been a big baby, he knew - 9 pound 6 ounces. Hannah had regaled him with tales of her swollen belly, puffy ankles and aching back. With his hand flat on her empty stomach as she slept, Nick wished he had been there to see the first ultrasound image, to feel his son kick for the first time, hear his first hungry cry and his first muddled word.
Hannah sighed again as she rolled towards him and Nick propped himself up on his elbow, staring down at her. She was, if it were even possible, more beautiful now than she had been the day he met her and he wondered how he had ever been able to walk out of her apartment and out of her life. It had broken his heart to leave her and return to Los Angeles - to a life he wasn’t even sure he wanted to fight for. Cassie had made his life hell for weeks after he arrived home and, though he knew he deserved it all, he found himself feeling oddly apathetic. His wife had taken on a different personality with every new day - a woman possessed on Monday, a sobbing wreck on Tuesday, unnervingly happy by Wednesday. Trying to keep up with her emotions and manage his own at the same time left Nick exhausted and longing for some breathing space. Eventually he had packed his bags and checked into a hotel, hoping the new living arrangement would help them both find some perspective. As much as he wanted Cassie to calm down, he knew he needed to give her reason to - even if he knew he would never feel about her the way he had about Hannah, he needed to make her believe otherwise.
Going through the motions of a man trying to save his marriage had been tough to begin with - thoughts of Hannah plagued him. Cassie booked them in for marriage counselling and Nick dragged himself reluctantly to every session, answering every question and trying not to tune out when Cassie spoke. In the back of his mind, Hannah lurked, refusing to be pushed from his memory.
Nights were the worst. Alone in his hotel suite, Nick would order room service and wash the pizza or pasta down with a few beers. The tv was invariably on, tuned to ESPN for football or basketball, its flickering blue light filling the room. Eventually, when the first twinges of a headache crept towards his temples, he would fill the bath and sink into the soapy water, a 'standby' beer waiting open on the tiles. Beer number five usually proved to be his undoing, pushing his fragile emotions over the edge. With the final swill, thoughts of Hannah would flood his mind and the tears would come, slowly at first then building until he lost all control, drawing his knees up and slumping forward. It always ended the same. Nick would sit in the bath and sob until the water chilled beyond comfortable or his tears dried up. Whichever came first was his cue to climb out and fall, exhausted, into his empty bed.
In the quiet stillness of the Long Island morning, Nick laced his fingers with Hannah's, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. He held his own breath as he listened to the soft sound of her breathing and watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. All he had wanted on those long LA nights was to lie beside her, listening to her breathe and watching her sleep.
Outside, the sun cast pinks and purples across the clouds, the threat of rain still lingering. Nick sank back against the pillows, the movement pulling Hannah to the edge of consciousness.
"Nick? What time is it?" she muttered.
Nick looked at his watch.
"Almost six thirty," he replied quietly. "Go back to sleep."
Hannah wriggled closer, resting her head on his chest. Nick smiled and kissed her forehead before closing his eyes.
In Manhattan, Howie slammed his hand down on the alarm clock, silencing the incessant beeping. Next door, Brian was already up and dressed, his room service breakfast half eaten. The rental car would arrive in twenty minutes and they would be out of the city before the morning gridlock set in. Popping a piece of bran muffin into his mouth, Brian glanced at his watch and reached for the coffee pot. The way he was feeling, caffeine was probably the last thing he needed and he knew it. Lying in the giant hotel bed, he had had imaginary conversations with Nick all night and none of them had ended well. For the first time in his life, Brian thought he might actually be able to hurt somebody. In fact, thoughts of inflicting a little physical pain on Nick were all that soothed his jangled nerves. He knew he should pray for guidance, pray that God would make his fists too heavy to swing. He knew he should. But he didn't.
Downing the lukewarm coffee in a three quick gulps, Brian snatched his wallet from the counter and headed for Howie's suite.
I Still... by kebin
Author's Chapter Notes:
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