Hook, Line, and Sinker: A Novel (Bellinger Sisters Book 2)

Hannah stood outside Opal’s apartment, waiting for her grandmother to reach the door. The last time she was here, just over a week ago, she’d been filled with dread over going inside. Talking about her father. Feeling totally disconnected from Opal and Piper in the process. Now, though, her shoulders were firm instead of slumped. She didn’t feel like an imposter or like she was faking it until she made it. She belonged here.

She was Opal’s granddaughter.

Finally the main character of her own life.

Youngest daughter of Henry Cross.

They’d come to an understanding through his music. Once, a long time ago, he’d loved her. He’d held her in his arms in a hospital room, taught her how to toddle, and gotten up with her in the middle of the night. He’d gone off to sea thinking he would see her again. And Hannah liked to think, maybe in a way that only she could understand, they’d had a nice, long visit through his songs, given each other a sense of closure. It was quite possible she’d even been given some fatherly advice in a roundabout way, because she’d woken up on Monday morning, the final day of shooting, with an idea. A place to go from here.

A place that would mean continuing to work in music . . . and be near Fox.

If that’s what he wanted.

A knot that had grown familiar over the last five days grew taut in her belly, agitating the coffee she’d drunk this morning. If she went back to LA as originally planned, it would be with a heart broken beyond repair. Being without Fox since he’d left only cemented that belief. She missed him so much she ached with it. Missed the way he frowned and parted his lips slightly when she talked, like he was concentrating hard on what she was saying. She missed the way he tucked both hands under his armpits in the cold. Missed his devilish laugh, the stroke of his palm down her hair, the halting way he spoke when he was about to drop some honesty.

The fact that he’d learned how to be honest with her at all times.

Every time she closed her eyes, she envisioned him striding down the dock in her direction, opening his arms, the decision to put in the work, to build a relationship with Hannah right there on his face.

What if it wasn’t, though? What if five days on the water made him realize it was too much too soon? Or too much work, period?

Maybe she’d been impulsive to suggest leaving LA to be closer to Fox. Maybe she should have just gone back home and tried to do the long-distance thing for a while. But she couldn’t see herself being happy with that. Not now. Not when she knew how right it felt to have him at her side. At her back. All around her. Didn’t he feel the same?

Yes. He did—and she’d have faith in his actions. She’d have faith in them.

The door opened and there stood Opal, a row of curlers down the center of her head. “Oh! Hannah. I was just in the middle of taking these rollers out and now you’ve caught me looking a fright. Come in, come in. It’s just us girls. Who cares!”

Hannah entered on a laugh, tucking a finger into her jeans pocket to make sure the envelope was still there, as she’d done a hundred times on the walk from set to Opal’s building.

“What brings you by, my dear? Not that you need a reason!”

She followed Opal into the bathroom and started helping her remove the final row of pink foam curlers. “I would have called first, but I was too excited.” She wet her lips. “You remember when I asked for permission to use Henry’s songs in the movie we’re filming?”

“I surely do. But you said it was a long shot.” Opal’s hands dropped to the sink. “Don’t tell me it’s really going to happen, Hannah.” She scrutinized Hannah’s expression, and her own transformed with awe. “I don’t believe it. I . . . How? How? They’re not even recorded properly. They’re just words on a page.”

“Not anymore,” Hannah murmured, relaying the events of the last week. “Come on, I have one cued up on my phone ready to play.” She hooked an arm through Opal’s, leading her from the bathroom to the couch. Once they were settled, she snuck out her phone and opened the sound file, exhaling roughly as the music filled the room. The opening dance of the fiddle and bass, followed by the purr of Alana Wilder’s vocals, the muffled beat of the drum added in postproduction.

Hannah thought of the moment on set when she’d approached Sergei and wordlessly handed him a set of AirPods, hitting play and watching his eyes go wide, his fingers tapping on his knees. That sense of accomplishment. No matter what he decided, she’d created something magical. She’d moved the dials until it all came together and overcome the doubt to get it done.

Her first leading-lady move—and definitely not her last.

Opal covered her mouth with both hands, her knuckles going white. “Oh, Hannah. Oh, this does my soul good. It’s the closest I’ve come to speaking with him in twenty-four years. It’s extraordinary.”

Warmth spread in her chest. “There are more. Three total. And I’m working on recording the rest.” She took the envelope out of her pocket and handed it to Opal, her pulse beginning to tick faster. “In the meantime, the songs have been copyrighted in your name, Opal. You’ll be getting a percentage of the income generated by the soundtrack, but I managed to negotiate a signing bonus, too. For the use of Henry’s songs in Glory Daze. It doesn’t include whatever the production company will have to pay you if they use the songs in advertisements—”

“Hannah!” Opal gaped at the check she’d pulled out of the envelope. The one Sergei had handed her this morning. “I get to keep this?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” she said, flustered, trying to hand back the check.

Hannah pressed it back against her grandmother’s chest. “You will. Henry would have wanted it.” She swallowed around the sharp object in her throat. “I feel confident saying that now. Before . . . I wouldn’t have. But his songs helped me know him, understand him better . . . and family was his life.” She smiled. “This is a good thing, Opal.”

Her grandmother sighed, and the last bit of resistance left her. “He would have been so damn proud of you.”

“I hope so,” Hannah said, pressing a wrist to her burning nose. “Now let’s get the rest of those curlers out. You’ve got some cash to burn through.”

* * *

Half an hour later, Hannah was back on set, still hugged by the warm glow.

She wrapped her arms around her trusty clipboard, enjoying the feel of it against her chest, knowing today would be her last day as a production assistant. She’d been right to start at the bottom and learn the ropes, but that time was coming to a definitive close. Propping other people up was something she’d always do naturally, because she loved being supportive. But career-wise? It was time to support herself, too, and go after what she wanted next. To chase the high she’d gotten by creating art on her own terms.

The entire crew crowded into one half of Cross and Daughters. On the other side of the bar Hannah had renovated with Piper, lights beat down on Christian and Maxine, capturing their final scene in the movie. One that Sergei, true to form, had written into the script at the last second, wanting to maximize the new soundtrack. There had been no plan to shoot at Cross and Daughters, but thankfully, Hannah technically owned half the bar. She’d called Piper for permission, either way, and her sister would be stopping by shortly to serve drinks to the celebrating crew.

In the scene building to a crescendo in front of Hannah, Christian and Maxine were dancing palm to palm, happiness and hope slowly transforming their features. Their movements grew more joyful. Less restrained. It would be in slow motion, Hannah knew, and it would be a perfect way to leave the audience.

After two more takes, Sergei yelled, “Cut!” He hopped out of his director’s chair and high-fived the closest boom mic guy. “That’s a wrap.”

Everyone cheered.

Christian dropped character faster than a speeding bullet. “Who has my coffee? Hannah?”

She waved at him. Waited until he looked relieved, then gave him the finger.

His laughter filled the bar.

Still, she was in the process of taking pity on the actor and delivering his cold brew once more for old time’s sake when Sergei stepped into her path. “Hannah. Hey.” Did he seem almost . . . nervous? “I just wanted to say again how much grain the new score is adding to the film. It wouldn’t have been the same without the songs. Or this place.” He laughed. “You almost had as much to do with the movie as I did—and I’m the one who wrote and directed it.”

A nostalgic fondness for the director made her smile. “And you did a great job, Sergei. It’s going to be your best work yet.”

“Yes, thank you.” He hesitated. “You’ve already given notice, and I respect that. It’s obvious you’re ready for bigger and better things, but I’ll regret not asking one more time if you’ll accept a higher position. Since Brinley appears to be keeping her word about quitting, someone has to step in as music coordinator.”

A month ago, she would have had to pinch herself, thinking she’d been hit by a bus and was approaching the pearly gates. A huge part of her was thrilled beyond belief that she’d proven herself enough to warrant this kind of offer. She just couldn’t take it. Not only because she wanted to make things work with Fox, but because she’d loved working for herself. Discovering a band, being part of the process, coming up with a vision, and seeing it through. She planned to continue in her newfound leading-lady role.

“Thank you, but this is going to be my last project,” she said. “I don’t think I would have discovered what I really wanted to do without Storm Born. The experience has been invaluable, but I’m moving on.”

“And moving out of LA, too, I’m guessing.” His chagrin turned down the corners of his mouth. “For the fisherman.”

“Yes.” Once again, she had to suppress the scary doubt that marched into her stomach like stormtroopers. “Yes, for Fox.”

Sergei made an unhappy sound. “You’ll let me know if anything changes. Career-wise or personally?”

She wouldn’t.

Even if the worst happened and things didn’t work out with Fox, she knew what it felt like to love someone now. In that wild, brutal way that couldn’t be fenced in or reasoned with. The crush she’d had on the director seemed like a sad, wet noodle in comparison. “Of course,” she said, squeezing his arm.

“Okay, beauties. Who is ready to party?”

Hannah snorted at the sound of Piper’s voice and the resulting gasps as everyone recognized her. Hannah turned around just in time to receive a smacking kiss on her cheek—which definitely left a Piper-sized lipstick mark—and watched everyone marvel as the former party princess of Los Angeles neatly stowed her purse behind the bar and smiled at the closest crew member. “Get you a drink?”

Christian came up beside Hannah, jaw in the vicinity of his knees. “Is that . . . Piper Bellinger?”

“The very one,” Hannah answered, love rushing through her veins. “She moved here last summer after she fell in love with a sea captain. Isn’t that romantic?”

“I guess. How do you know her?”

“She’s my sister. We own this place.” She tipped her head in the direction of the bar. “How about something a little stiffer than coffee?”

His mouth opened and closed until eventually he sputtered, “Yeah, I think I need it.”

Hannah and Christian had just managed to wade through the buzzing crew to the bar when Hannah stopped dead in her tracks. Outlined in the door of Cross and Daughters was Brendan. But . . . it was only late afternoon. The Della Ray wasn’t scheduled to be back in the harbor until tonight. Did they get back early? Nerves and anticipation warred in her stomach at the possibility of seeing Fox earlier than expected. But something in Brendan’s expression caused the nerves to win.

“Hey,” she murmured when her future brother-in-law reached her. “Aren’t you supposed to be out on the boat right now? Are you back early?”

Brendan doffed his beanie and turned it over in his hands. “Not back early. I put Fox in charge of this run.”

Hannah started, replaying that explanation six times in her head, some unwanted trepidation turning over in her gut. “You did? Was that a last-minute decision?”

“It was. Didn’t want to give him a chance to back out.” Brendan hesitated, trading a glance with Piper. “It seemed like a good idea. And it might work out exactly like I hoped it would. The man has great instincts, knowledge, and respect for the ocean—he just needs to believe in himself.” He cleared his throat. “It didn’t occur to me until after the boat left that it might have been bad timing. With everything . . . going on between you two. He was game for the challenge, but it’s a lot at once.”

“Wait . . .” Hannah swallowed a robin’s-egg-sized lump, pleasure and shock turning her very still. “He told you about us?”

“Some.”

Hannah made an exasperated sound. “What does that mean?”

“He told Brendan he hasn’t been to Seattle since last summer,” Piper supplied, leaning forward on the bar to join the conversation. “He’s been waiting for you, Hanns. Like a ‘lovesick asshole’—and that’s a direct quote.”

She barely had time to process the immense weight of that revelation when she noticed Brendan still looked nervous. And she knew there was more.

“I put the rest together without him telling me. I figured with him feeling like that, and you two in close quarters, something was . . . probably happening. Even though I went and spoke to him before you arrived. Asked him to keep things platonic—”

“You did what?”

“And,” Brendan continued, “I may have reminded him to keep things friendly a couple of times since.” He cleared his throat. “A couple . . . dozen.”

“I take partial blame,” Piper called, wincing. “We were trying to look out for you. But I think maybe . . . No, I know we underestimated him in the process. We’ve been doing it for a long time.”

“Yeah. He had every right to throw that back in my face before he left.” Brendan replaced the beanie on his head and accepted the pint Piper placed on the bar in front of him, drinking from it deeply as if the whole conversation had made him thirsty. When he set it down again, he took his time looking at Hannah. “I kept crowing about how much I trust him, wanting him to take my spot behind the wheel, but I didn’t put my money where my mouth is. I regret that.”

Heat tingled in the tip of Hannah’s nose. Fox had told her his worst fear was someone questioning his intentions toward her, but it had already happened. His own best friend had done it. Had he been hurting over it all this time?

God, she was so proud of him for taking the keys to the boat.

For trying.

She couldn’t help but worry, though. Brendan was right. It was a lot at once.

They were right on the verge of carving out a unique place for themselves. A place to try to be together. To build on what was already a treasured friendship and make it into so much more. But a lot of Fox’s insecurities were wrapped up in how people saw him. The town. The crew. What if his turn as captain didn’t go as planned? What if he came home too discouraged to pick up where they’d left off?

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in him. She did. But they’d left things unsettled, and this unexpected change of plans might have thrown off the balance even more.

Two weeks ago, she’d wanted to be a leading lady. For the sake of her career, not her love life. But tonight she’d have to gather up her newfound sense of self-purpose and be prepared to go to war if necessary, wouldn’t she? Because she was no longer the type to watch from the sidelines or live vicariously through others, bolstering them when required. No, this was her story line, and she had to write it herself. Scary, sure. But if she’d learned anything since coming to Westport a second time, it was that she was capable of so much more than she realized.

Hannah signaled Piper for a drink. “Some liquid courage, please.”

“Coming right up.” A moment later, Piper shook something in a metal tumbler and poured it into a martini glass, sliding it in front of her sister. “You know”—Piper twisted an earring—“alcohol doesn’t hurt, but I find some ice-pick heels and great hair lend the most courage of all.”

“Let’s do it.” Hannah tossed back the drink. “I’m slightly ticked at both of you for warning Fox away from me, a capable adult human, but I need all the help I can get.”

“That’s fair,” Brendan rumbled.

“Totally fair. I’m about to make it up to you.” Piper threw back her shoulders with a sense of purpose. “Brendan, watch the bar. We have work to do.”

* * *

Fox checked the final item off his clipboard and hung it back on the nail, letting out the breath he’d been holding for the last five days. He took the hat off his head and dropped into the captain’s chair, staring out at the harbor. Letting the tension seep out.

Below, on the deck of the Della Ray, he watched the last of the haul get loaded by Deke, Sanders, and the rest of the crew. Normally he would be down there helping them, but he’d been on the phone with the market, preparing them for the arrival of fresh swordfish. He’d been inspecting the boat from top to bottom, making sure everything in the engine room was running properly, the equipment sound, the numbers recorded.

He’d done it.

A successful five-day trip.

He’d given orders and they’d been followed. It helped that he’d been insulated by the wheelhouse, instead of down on the deck where most of the ball breaking took place. Moreover, when the men retired to their bunks at night, exhausted, Fox had stayed up late mapping their course for the following morning, refusing to disappoint Brendan.

Or Hannah.

There hadn’t been much of a chance to determine how the men felt about him taking over—and maybe that was for the best. Maybe if he kept his head down and completed a few more jobs without incident, he could ease back into the group slowly, having built the beginnings of a new reputation. Hard to believe such a thing was possible after years of the lifestyle he’d been living. Then again, he never thought he’d give up sex for half a year in exchange for witty text messages and record collecting. But here he was.

Dying. Fucking dying to get home to his girl.

He missed her so much, he was full of cracks.

She’d fill all of them in. And he was starting to think . . .

Yeah. That he could eventually do the same for her.

“Hey, man,” Deke said, slapping the side of the wheelhouse and ducking his head in. “All set. I’m leaving for the market.”

“Great,” Fox said, fitting his hat back on. “Call me when you have a number.” At the market, an attendant would test the fish for a grade of quality and decide on the price paid for each one. The process was important, because it determined the amount of everyone’s paycheck. “I’ll pass it on to Brendan, and he can contact them for payment.”

“Sounds good.” Deke nodded at him, followed by a playful look of disgust. “Look at you in the captain’s chair. All large and in charge and making extra bank. Like you needed any help getting laid, huh?”

Sanders swung into the wheelhouse beside Deke, elbowing his friend. “Right? Why don’t we just roll out a red carpet to the end of the dock? Make it even easier for the ladies to find you.”

Fox was frozen to the seat.

Jesus. Really?

He hadn’t expected their attitudes toward him to change overnight, but there wasn’t even a hint of respect in how they spoke to him. Not even the slightest change in their demeanors or judgment of him. If they spoke to Brendan like that, they would have been fired before they finished a sentence.

Fox felt like he’d been hollowed out by a shovel, but he summoned a half smile, knowing better than to let his annoyance show. Or the ribbing would probably only get worse. “Seriously, I’m flattered by how obsessed you are with my sex life. Spend a little more time thinking of yours and we wouldn’t have this problem.” He pushed to his feet and faced them, his next words coming out involuntarily. They just sailed right past his better judgment, because his mind was occupied with thoughts of one person. “Anyway, I’m not going to Seattle. Or anywhere else. I’m going to see Hannah.”

Their twin expressions of disbelief made his gut bubble with dread.

“Hannah,” Sanders repeated slowly. “The little sister? Are you serious?”

Sensing he’d made a huge mistake bringing her up like this—it was way too soon, when he’d clearly earned none of the esteem that a man should have in order to be Hannah’s boyfriend—Fox brushed past them out of the wheelhouse, seeing nothing in his path. But they followed. “Heard a rumor about you two at Blow the Man Down, but even I didn’t think you were that much of a dog,” Sanders said, some of his amusement fading. “Come on, man. She’s a sweetheart. What are you thinking?”

“Yeah,” Deke chimed in, crossing his arms. “You couldn’t pick one of the thousand other women at your beck and call?”

“That ain’t right, Fox.” Sanders’s expression was transforming to disgust. “You’re supposed to wife a girl like that—you don’t chew her up and spit her out.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Fox growled, taking a lunging step in their direction, his sanity going up in flames, along with the stupid, shortsighted hope that had been building. “You don’t think I know she deserves the best of fucking everything? It’s all I think about.”

I kiss the ground she walks on.

I love her.

They were momentarily shocked into silence by his outburst, studying him with subdued curiosity, but instead of asking Fox about his intentions, Deke said, “Does Brendan know about this?”

And Fox could only turn and walk away laughing, the sound painfully humorless.

God, the way they’d looked at him. None of the respect afforded to the captain of a boat. He’d been an idiot to think they could ever see him in a new light. They’d treated him like the scum of the earth for even breathing the same air as Hannah, let alone being in a relationship with her. Fox could only imagine Hannah getting the same talk from her sister, their mutual friends, everyone in her life—and the idea made him nauseous, a dagger slipping through his ribs and twisting.

His worst nightmare was coming to fruition. Even earlier than expected.

But he could stop it now. Before it got worse for Hannah. Before she moved all the way to Westport and realized what a mistake she’d made.

Before she was forced to make this hard decision.

No, he’d make it for them both, even if it killed him.

There was an invisible match in his hand, lit and ready. He didn’t seem to have much choice but to douse the best thing in his life in kerosene and toss the matchstick right on top.