Key Change, page 33
Yeah, that’s what she wanted.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked.
She smirked. It was such a common question between them now.
“You said…back then, back when we first met…that you had to get rid of me anyway…”
He didn’t finish the question because it wasn’t necessary. She could hear it in the tone, see it in his eyes.
“Because I would have run away with you,” she said softly.
Johnny lifted an eyebrow.
“If you’d have asked, I would have said yes. I would have run and never looked back.” She licked her bottom lip, letting her tongue linger for a moment on the thought. “I needed to save you from everything that I knew I was.”
It was something she’d been over in her head multiple times since she’d remembered. The very fact that she hadn’t remembered him was confusing. Because if he was as important as the startling memory implied, how had she forgotten?
“I was on a very clear path. I knew what I wanted, and you represented the opposite. You were freedom and love and goodness…and I knew you wouldn’t look at me the same way after a while. And I didn’t want to have to face that.”
She snorted and tipped her eyes to the ceiling. “I must’ve locked you away somewhere where I couldn’t feel guilty about it.”
Maybe that was a stretch, but it was the only thing she could come up with.
If she’d been trying to explain to anyone else, she wouldn’t have been so candid.
“You will always be safe with me,” he promised, reading her mind. “Teammates, remember?”
Her lips tugged up on one side.
“And you were right,” he continued in that smooth, self-assured, easy way of his. “I would have gotten you to run away with me.” Then he winked.
He rolled onto his back and she adjusted beside him, resting her head on his pectoral. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her hand to his abs with his other.
“I think,” he began, that deep, easy voice sounding even better with her head on his chest. “One of my favorite things about you is how soft you are for those you care about. Piper, Shawn, me…Your giant heart opens up and you tuck us all inside.”
She closed her eyes and melted into him with his words.
“My mom was a drunk,” he confessed quietly.
She stilled, heart racing with his words.
“Not until we moved here, though. She didn’t really want to leave Honduras. She wanted to stay and be with my—” He swallowed. “With him.”
Johnny took a deep breath and let it out slowly, like it was holding all of his residual confusion and frustration.
“I tried to get her sober. I used to get up in the middle of the night and dump all the bottles down the drain. Or I’d hide her purse from her and pay the bills myself. She was that out of her mind.”
Hannah squeezed her eyes shut as her nose began to sting.
“When she got pulled over for driving drunk, I was relieved. I thought it might be a wake-up call. But that’s when I learned she had never renewed her visa.”
Hannah moved her hand on his abs to make slow circles, needing to offer him comfort, even if it was more than a decade too late.
“All these years I’ve never stopped wondering why we weren’t enough for her. Her kids, you know? I know moving to a new country and starting over wasn’t the easiest thing, but she wasn’t alone. Why couldn’t she be happy with us?”
Hannah pushed up on an elbow and gazed down at Johnny, her instinct to protect him fierce. “It wasn’t you.”
He held her gaze, shadows of old hurt moving in his eyes.
“Johnny, I can say with one hundred percent certainty that it had nothing to do with you.”
“I know,” he replied roughly. “But not until you.”
He smoothed her hair back along her temple and ran a finger down her jawline.
“I don’t think you’ll ever know how much of me you’ve healed just by being you.”
Her heart took flight, spreading wings she had no idea existed. Immediately, her body felt light and free.
He must’ve sensed the internal change in her because those gorgeous lips of his twitched. “I love you, Hannah Lee.”
He said it like a promise.
Like it was just something that he was going to do no matter what she said or did.
A peace settled in her and she blinked at him, letting go of the “what ifs” and “what abouts.”
“So, we’re just gonna do this?” she asked with a teasing smile. “Just be in love with each other and see what happens?”
His smile grew with her words and her heart raced.
“You love me?” he asked, tilting her chin slightly and drawing her closer.
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” she murmured over his lips before sinking into a dizzying kiss.
This was her life now.
Not Life Before.
Not life in between.
This was life worth living.
And she’d never been more hopeful or excited for the present.
Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
BREAKING CELEBRITY NEWS
Ashton James, pop music’s former bad girl, just dropped a new album titled Better.
A year ago, CelebX broke the news that Ashton James had returned to Southern California to claim her crown. Keeping a low profile, rumors swirled around the It Girl as she worked on her next project.
At midnight, a new album began popping up on music platforms all over the world.
CelebX has reached out to Ashton’s people for comment. They promise a statement will be arriving later in the week.
First listeners have taken to social media to proclaim this album her most complex and genuine. With fifteen tracks of brand-new material, it appears she had a hand in crafting every song.
Already hitting number one in multiple countries, is this the return of the Queen we’ve all been waiting for?
CelebX will update this story as more information is provided.
* * *
The Motherfucking End
Acknowledgments
Writing can be such a lonely occupation. I am grateful for the amazing people in my life that kept me going with their love, friendship, belief, and inspiration. Without them, this story would not exist.
Penny, Fiona, Brooke and the other Smartypants Authors. None of this would be possible without each of you. Thank you for your encouragement, your jokes, your persistence, and your talent. You lifted me up and kept me going when it felt like too much. I hope I can return the favor someday.
The It Girls of the Early Aughts. This story took much inspiration and creative liberties from the tabloids printed during the early 2000s.
Misterwives. You released an album while I wrote this story that became half of my entire playlist. Thank you for that.
Taylor Swift. You released an album the same day. That was the other half of my playlist.
The Johnnys. I was new at school and you let me sit by you at lunch. Just because I didn’t speak Spanish didn’t stop you from adopting me into your little family. Thank you for the friendship and teaching me how to swear in Spanish.
Scott Colby. Always. Forever.
My readers. Your messages of encouragement and the gift of your time means more than you can know. Thank you for inviting me into your lives. I am honored.
My betas. Thank you for your patience, kindness, and truth. Thank you for loving these characters the way I do. Thank you for not abandoning me when I was driving you crazy with multiple rewrites. You’re the real MVPs.
Jo. Thank you for your patience and persistence. Without you I would be lost. Your friendship only continues to mean more to me over the years. Your humor, your grace, your heart — you have no idea how invaluable you are. Tell Pete 😉
Jamie. I can’t imagine life without you and don’t want to try. Without you, my life would be bleak and unfunny. You are brilliant and beautiful and I’m keeping you forever so stop trying to get away.
Kellcie. You believe in me in a way that I don’t understand. And I’m humbled by it. Thank you for your friendship.
Annie. Please, for the love kibble, stop barking. I know you’re spoiled and I know it’s my fault but please let me finish this and then we can go play.
Kati. Peaches. My life took a very happy turn when you entered it. I can’t picture adventures without you there beside me. Let’s go on another one.
AJ. Your countless phone calls and never ending encouragement mean more than you realize. Thank you for your stories and inspiration and your steadfast belief in me. I hope someday I can deserve it.
Sarahi. Your heart and your beauty shine brighter than the sun. I’m so thankful you are a permanent part of my life. Thank you for sharing your stories and wisdom with me. Thank you for loving my brother. He’s at his best when he’s with you. We all are.
Bria. Thanks for talking me off the ledge numerous times. All the laughter, pep talks, and good advice. You are incredible and talented and I hope I get to be a part of your life forever and always.
Zack. Thank you for believing in me. For your wisdom and insight. But most of all for your friendship. It has been and remains the most important of my life. I love you an appropriate amount.
Charlie. My joy. My gift. Being your mom is the greatest pleasure of my life. I love you even when it annoys you. That’s when I love you the most.
Charles. Captain Awesome. Cap. My love. My heart. Without you there would be no stories to tell. You teach me about love and romance every single day. Promise not to stop when I say “when.”
God. Thank you for this. For them. For all of it. Everything. Thank you for making me. And for continuing to make me, again and again. My cup runneth over.
About the Author
Heidi writes stories that she hopes will inspire her readers to take their hearts on one more adventure.
She still lives in the Black Hills with her alarmingly handsome husband, their fearless child, and a rather large and spoiled dog.
She is fueled by her unwavering and perfectly normal devotion to Dave Grohl and coffee.
And a whole lotta love.
* * *
heidih.net
Email: heidih.writer@gmail.com
* * *
Find Smartypants Romance online:
Website: www.smartypantsromance.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/smartypantsromance/
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/smartypantsromance
Twitter: @smartypantsrom
Instagram: @smartypantsromance
Read on for:
1. Sneak Peek: Code of Ethics, Book #3 in the Cipher Security series by April White
2. Sneak Peek: Learn to Fly by Heidi Hutchinson, Book #1 in the Double Blind Study series
3. Heidi’s Booklist
4. Smartypants Romance’s Booklist
Sneak Peek: Code of Ethics, Book #3 in the Cipher Security series by April White
Dallas
“My alone time is sometimes for your safety.”
—Dallas Profeit, security specialist
* * *
Finding a douchebag in Chicago did not take any special skill.
“Douchebag” was the day’s target category for my Tracker Jack game, and was sponsored by a skipped lunch and a late meeting with a prospective client, both of which had resulted in my general grumpiness with the human race. Tracker Jack was my variation on a game called Following that some performance artists came up with as a way to see a city like a local—follow a random stranger wherever they go and let them lead you on their shortcuts, down paths, and into neighborhoods you might never have explored on your own. My personal version of the game went something like this: pick a target based on some criteria chosen depending on my mood, then, taking care not to be noticed, follow the chosen target until they entered some place I couldn’t legally follow them into or until they took me too far off my own track. If the target either saw me or seemed threatened by my presence, I broke off the tracking and found someone else to follow. I never followed women, because we got followed enough, but most days there remained plenty of targets to choose from.
Red baseball caps were sometimes a sign of douchebaggery, and there were three in my compartment on the L blue line. Canada Goose coats were another sign because a: they were lined with the sun, and not even my Yukon-bred bones needed to stay that warm, and b: they were the approximate cost of a month’s rent.
I automatically eliminated one of the redcaps when I saw his wife. Another one had settled in with his Wall Street Journal, so he was probably bound for one of the later stops. Most likely Logan Square, because with his pressed khakis and expensive briefcase, he fit the leafy life profile. The third was a decent prospect though—he was totally nondescript in a creepy, forgettable way. He was of average height and build, with average Caucasian coloring. He was the kind of invisible man who would have to work extra hard to get someone’s attention, which, I assumed, was the reason for the red hat. Without the hat, even my hunter-trained eyes would have just slid right past him.
As the train approached the Division station, the invisible-man redcap didn’t shift or change his position, so I scanned the passengers for another possible target. If I couldn’t find one on the train, I’d usually go up another stop to Damen and drop in at Myopic Books, a great used bookstore near the station. It was easy to find Tracker Jack targets there—I just picked a book genre and strolled down that aisle. Of course, a decent amount of literacy was suggested in the targets one found in a bookstore, but I’d met literate douchebags before in my life.
Then, just as the train pulled into Division, a young hipster guy wearing a Canada Goose bomber jacket stood up and moved toward the doors.
Bingo.
I studied him as I casually moved into place behind him at the door. He wore a knit cap pushed back on his head, which revealed perfectly tousled hair a little lighter than my own dark brown. His beard was trimmed to a three-day-scruff length, and he wore a knit turtleneck sweater that I might have chosen for myself if I hadn’t seen it on him. Between the sweater and the coat, the guy was either a vampire with no actual body heat or an android who didn’t sweat.
The average temperature in Chicago in March was forty-five degrees, so in deference to the client meeting, I wore a tailored suit under a flea market cashmere topcoat. I’d left my dress boots at work and instead had on my favorite Chelsea boots with rubber soles, which made me quiet and able to blend. The hipster’s work boots would have been functional on any of my cousins, but on him, with the laces hanging open as if he had just rolled out of someone’s bed and slipped them on to sneak home, they were a fashion statement.
Just before the train doors opened, he flashed a grin at an attractive woman in her early fifties, and then bestowed a devastating smile on a young woman behind her.
He fit his charming flirt persona so well it was almost comical.
Hipsterman was one of those men whose place at the top of the food chain had resulted in the kind of confidence only someone with no natural predators had. He walked like he owned the street, and based on the startled smiles of the people who passed him, apparently grinned at everyone he saw. He was tall, with a loping gait, and he carried a battered leather duffle on a strap worn diagonally across his chest. The orangey tan leather had aged well, and I took a mental snapshot of it so I could look for it online later.
Mental snapshots were a trick I’d learned from my grandfather when he taught me to track game. Spruce trees in the Yukon Territory tended to look identical, so mental snapshots of an interesting rock or a particular animal trail could mean the difference between getting back to the house before dark or spending a cold night in the boreal forest.
I stayed far enough back from Hipsterman that he wouldn’t catch my reflection in any shop window he passed. I also varied my position on the sidewalk, moving to the right as if to peer into a shoe store, or to the left to avoid people exiting a restaurant. He looked behind him to cross the street, and I studied my phone. He cut between cars in a bold move, and I kept walking toward the crosswalk, my eyes continually finding him and his easy stride until he turned and entered a small gourmet market in the middle of the block. I watched the market as I waited for the light, taking note of the people who went in and out. They carried their own cloth bags and seemed to emerge with just enough for a meal or two in them, which told me the place was probably full of overpriced specialty and organic foods—the kind I loved, but rarely indulged in.
The first thing I noticed upon entering the market was the smell of fresh bread. It was my kryptonite because it represented the ultimate comfort food. Bread was not something a person could easily make if survival was a daily consideration. It required time, heat, and the proper ingredients, all of which had felt like luxuries to me at one point or another.
I veered toward the bakery section while keeping my other senses tuned toward locating Hipsterman among the other hipstery shoppers. There were a couple of other Canada Goose jackets among them, which made spotting him slightly more challenging, but once I did find him, flirting with a woman in an expensive suit in the snacks aisle, he was the only one I could see. He was all smiles and charm as he reached a bag of gluten-free crackers on a top shelf for her, and after he’d added a pricey fruit and nut mix to his own basket and continued down the aisle, the woman walked away with a happy smile and a backward glance.
As he approached the bakery aisle where I stood guard over a basket of freshly baked bread, I could see that Hipsterman’s basket contained the ingredients for a fancy steak dinner for two—not surprising at all given his apparently boundless charm. In addition to the steaks, it included five perfect gold potatoes, a head of garlic, European butter, a small bundle of chives, Brussels sprouts, the fruit and nut mix, and a package of bacon. When he reached past me for a baguette, I had to fight the urge to duck away, and instead, I let myself glance up at him.
