Page 117 of The Viper
The hallway smelled faintly of antiseptic and lemon polish, too clean for everything we’d just been through. My shoes squeaked against the tile as Lucas guided me forward with a hand on the small of my back.
When we reached the room, my breath hitched. Hannah lay against crisp white sheets, a bruise darkening her jaw, her arm bandaged and tethered to an IV. Her hair was messy, her lips pale—but she was breathing.
She turned her head when I entered. “Well,” she rasped, “next time I try to kill myself, I’ll pick a higher window.”
“Hannah.” My voice broke. I crossed the room and grabbed her hand. “Don’t even joke about that.”
She blinked slowly, the faintest flicker of guilt crossing her features. “Too soon?”
“Way too soon.”
Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Lexi.”
Tears stung, hot and sudden. “You scared me. You scared everyone.”
She looked past me to Lucas, then back again. “What they say is true, you know. When people try to kill themselves—right after they jump—they regret it. I did. I regretted it all.”
I squeezed her hand tighter. “Then you’re going to make it right. Okay? You’re going to live.”
She nodded slowly.
Lucas moved closer, silent, protective. “Hannah,” he said quietly, “we need to know what happened. About Hank.”
She shut her eyes, breathing shallow, a faint wince tugging at her mouth as if the movement cost her. Her fingers flexed around the sheet. A bruise along her temple showed as she turned her head and her voice came out brittle. “I met him at a party in L.A. One of those movie industry things. I was drunk, he was charming. We slept together. I complained. Then he started talking about you—how easy it would be to get your attention, to make you see what your life had cost. I didn’t think it would turn into this.”
“Hannah …” My chest ached. “You could’ve told me how you felt. You didn’t have to do any of this.”
“I just wanted you to slow down,” she said. “To see that all the flashing lights and applause weren’t free. That they cost me, too. I thought maybe if you saw that, you’d choose something smaller. Something normal.”
I brushed a tear off her cheek. “There’s no normal without you in it.”
For a while, she didn’t answer. Then: “The doctor says I should go to an inpatient program. Outside Atlanta. Six to eight weeks, at least.”
“That’s good,” I said softly. “That’s brave.”
“I think so, too. Maybe I’ll finally deal with all this … stuff.”
Lucas nodded. “We’ll visit.”
Her gaze shifted between us. “Both of you?”
“Both of us,” I said.
She smiled faintly, exhaustion softening her edges. “Don’t tell Mom yet. She’ll fly out here and camp in the waiting room. You know how she is. Not helpful.”
“I won’t. Not until you’re ready.”
The nurse came in then, checking her vitals, adjusting the drip. Hannah’s eyes fluttered closed, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you … for not giving up on me.”
I bent down and kissed her forehead.
When I pulled back, her gaze found mine again, softer now. “And thank you,” she murmured, “for not being mad at me.”
“I am mad,” I said quietly. “So mad I don’t even know where to start. But this isn’t the time for that. Right now, I’m just glad you’re alive.”
She nodded faintly, the motion slow and tired. The nurse gave me a look, one that was equal parts understanding and directive.
“You should get that shoulder looked at,” she said, gesturing to the blood seeping through my bandage.
