him to leave and not witness the utter humiliation of being such a coward. There was nothing to be terrified of—yet it happened all the time.
Jonas sat on the floor beside her, drawing up his own knees, his shoulder brushing hers. He pushed back her mass of curly hair with gentle fingers. "This is what was wrong in school, isn't it? All those years everyone thought you were so stuck up, you were hiding the fact that you had panic attacks."
His fingers slid around the nape of her neck. Strong. Sure. So like him. The slow massage distracted her as nothing else could have done. She leaned her head against the wall and let his fingers work their magic.
"It s-started the f-first day of kindergarten." She forced the words out, stuttering—the one thing she hated beyond all others. "I-I didn't want to go. I could have
s-stayed home another couple of years, but M-Mom and Dad thought I should be in
s-school because I could already read and do math at a fourth-grade level. So they insisted."
Her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear her. He bit back his first angry response. Attacking a decision her parents had made years earlier wasn't going to accomplish anything other than upset her further. Any communication with Hannah was tentative at best if she wasn't surrounded by her sisters. And if she was stuttering in front of him, she had to be really upset. It had taken too many years of frustration to discover Hannah's secret and the fact that her sisters helped her speak in public.
He took a deep breath and let it out, continuing with the slow massage on the nape of her neck, easing the tension and fear out of her. For the first time, she wasn't running from him and he was determined he wouldn't lose his opportunity. "I'm part of the family, aren't I? Why didn't you tell me?" He pushed the hurt away, far more comfortable with his temper. He'd been angry for a long time on her behalf—and at her.
"I-I was humiliated that I c-couldn't control it." She paused, drawing in a deep breath and forcing herself to stop the stuttering. Her sisters had helped a day or two earlier, and if she just stayed calm and talked slow, she'd be all right. "Someone like you, Jonas, someone so in c-control of everything could never understand what it's like to be so out of control—so afraid of everything. I don't think I've ever seen you afraid of anything or anyone."
She wasn't looking at him, and her voice, so small and forlorn, broke his heart. "Maybe not, Hannah, maybe I don't have a hope in hell of understanding what you go through, but shutting me out isn't going to help. I want to be there for you. I want you to trust me."
Hannah glanced at him, her eyes wide, tears swimming, but not falling. "I trust you, Jonas."
He shook his head. "No you don't. Not really. You thought I'd make fun of you, didn't you?"
She pressed a hand to her stomach. "I hate it. I hate you seeing me so—so—
cowardly
."
"Is that how you see yourself? A coward?" He kept his voice gentle, when he wanted to throttle her. She was the last person on earth who was a coward. Why did she persist in seeing herself in such a negative light all the time?
"You know I am. You even called me a rabbit when you were in the hospital."
"I was drugged up and mad as hell. Someone shot me, Hannah, and you and your sisters were in danger. I knew you were giving me your strength. You sat there day after day getting pale and weaker as I grew stronger. It made me crazy. I still get crazy when I think too much about it."
He leaned close, framing her face with his hands, and told her the truth as he knew it. "I'm supposed to look after you. That's the way it works in my world. Maybe it's chauvinistic or whatever the political term is, but I like looking after you and your sisters. I don't want it to be the other way around, especially when I can see you fading away."
He ran the pad of his finger down her cheek, traced the shape of her lips and leaned in to brush the softest of
Jonas sat on the floor beside her, drawing up his own knees, his shoulder brushing hers. He pushed back her mass of curly hair with gentle fingers. "This is what was wrong in school, isn't it? All those years everyone thought you were so stuck up, you were hiding the fact that you had panic attacks."
His fingers slid around the nape of her neck. Strong. Sure. So like him. The slow massage distracted her as nothing else could have done. She leaned her head against the wall and let his fingers work their magic.
"It s-started the f-first day of kindergarten." She forced the words out, stuttering—the one thing she hated beyond all others. "I-I didn't want to go. I could have
s-stayed home another couple of years, but M-Mom and Dad thought I should be in
s-school because I could already read and do math at a fourth-grade level. So they insisted."
Her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear her. He bit back his first angry response. Attacking a decision her parents had made years earlier wasn't going to accomplish anything other than upset her further. Any communication with Hannah was tentative at best if she wasn't surrounded by her sisters. And if she was stuttering in front of him, she had to be really upset. It had taken too many years of frustration to discover Hannah's secret and the fact that her sisters helped her speak in public.
He took a deep breath and let it out, continuing with the slow massage on the nape of her neck, easing the tension and fear out of her. For the first time, she wasn't running from him and he was determined he wouldn't lose his opportunity. "I'm part of the family, aren't I? Why didn't you tell me?" He pushed the hurt away, far more comfortable with his temper. He'd been angry for a long time on her behalf—and at her.
"I-I was humiliated that I c-couldn't control it." She paused, drawing in a deep breath and forcing herself to stop the stuttering. Her sisters had helped a day or two earlier, and if she just stayed calm and talked slow, she'd be all right. "Someone like you, Jonas, someone so in c-control of everything could never understand what it's like to be so out of control—so afraid of everything. I don't think I've ever seen you afraid of anything or anyone."
She wasn't looking at him, and her voice, so small and forlorn, broke his heart. "Maybe not, Hannah, maybe I don't have a hope in hell of understanding what you go through, but shutting me out isn't going to help. I want to be there for you. I want you to trust me."
Hannah glanced at him, her eyes wide, tears swimming, but not falling. "I trust you, Jonas."
He shook his head. "No you don't. Not really. You thought I'd make fun of you, didn't you?"
She pressed a hand to her stomach. "I hate it. I hate you seeing me so—so—
cowardly
."
"Is that how you see yourself? A coward?" He kept his voice gentle, when he wanted to throttle her. She was the last person on earth who was a coward. Why did she persist in seeing herself in such a negative light all the time?
"You know I am. You even called me a rabbit when you were in the hospital."
"I was drugged up and mad as hell. Someone shot me, Hannah, and you and your sisters were in danger. I knew you were giving me your strength. You sat there day after day getting pale and weaker as I grew stronger. It made me crazy. I still get crazy when I think too much about it."
He leaned close, framing her face with his hands, and told her the truth as he knew it. "I'm supposed to look after you. That's the way it works in my world. Maybe it's chauvinistic or whatever the political term is, but I like looking after you and your sisters. I don't want it to be the other way around, especially when I can see you fading away."
He ran the pad of his finger down her cheek, traced the shape of her lips and leaned in to brush the softest of
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