My mouth hung open, jaw unhinged.
Matt … researched pregnancy? Bought food for my sister?
And, oh my God, was he against abortion? No fucking way. We had to talk—about a lot of things. Why the hell did we never talk?
“Thanks,” said Chrissy. “I am actually…” She popped a blueberry into her mouth. “Going to have it. I mean, the baby.” She cleared her throat.
Matt shot a look at me. An “I told you so” kind of look.
“Seth called me,” Chrissy went on. “He wants to take a paternity test, be a part of things.”
“What?” Matt and I spoke in unison.
“He is a part of things already.” Chrissy lifted her chin.
“You are not to speak to him.” Matt advanced, towering over my sister. She folded her arms across her stomach. His eyes widened. Holy shit. I couldn’t be sure what I was seeing, but Matt seemed more than concerned for the baby. He seemed almost … proprietary.
“I’ll do what I want. You can’t railroad over me.” My sister gave him a saucy look.
I leapt off the couch and hugged him from behind. Chrissy didn’t know that look on his face, that tension in his arms. I knew. He was about to blow.
“Just who do you think will be paying for this child?” He spat the words. “Paying your exorbitant medical bills. Providing you with housing if your parents kick you out. Day care. Food. Schooling. We will, you ungrateful little—”
“Matt!” I tried to tug him away from Chrissy. He was a monolith, rooted to the rug.
“Seth has plenty of money,” she sniped.
“Seth is on drugs.” Matt trembled in my arms. “He was coked up like a fucking whore in broad daylight last weekend. I almost drowned the weaselly son of a bitch.”
Oh … my … God. Matt getting angry was like Matt getting horny. Crazy unpredictable.
“Please,” I whispered. “Stop.”
Chrissy darted away, heading for the door. “He does drugs socially. Rarely.”
“Ah, of course.” Matt followed Chrissy. I clung ineffectually to his arm. “That makes it quite all right. A father who does drugs socially, rarely. You do that, too? I wouldn’t be surprised. Have you already subjected that poor child to substances? Are you going to be a single mother working at a strip club? You’re well on your way to trashiest parents of the year.”
“Fuck you! I’ve never done coke”—Chrissy’s eyes flickered to me, then back to Matt—“and I’m sorry if you’re fucking sensitive about that topic.”
“Chrissy!” My voice went shrill. Had Seth told her about our hookup? Was she seriously throwing me under the bus right now? I did do a line that night. One line. The first and the last.
Matt stilled. The muscles in his arms relaxed, which somehow frightened me more than his tension.
“Get out.” His voice was murderously low.
My sister’s insolence faded in a heartbeat; she shrank against the door.
“G-gladly.” She glanced at me and flushed. “See why I didn’t want to tell him? Get your psycho boyfriend under control. God.”
She scurried out of the condo.
The door slammed and I sagged against it.
Who should I follow? Matt, or my sister?
My heart pummeled against my ribs.
Matt returned to the couch and sat there, posed like “The Thinker.” His gaze strayed restively over the area rug. I went to him.
“I’m … sorry,” I said, unsure why I said it. I perched beside him and rubbed his shoulders. “That didn’t go as planned…”
Mmph, I could almost feel Matt thinking about the Four Seasons scene: me doing a line, my hand around Seth’s—
“The hell with her,” he said.
I pulled back.
“What? She was embarrassed, Matt. Defensive. You laid into her.”
“I laid into her?” He gave me an incredulous look. “She … she—”
“She’ll come around. Let me talk to her.”
“I don’t give a fuck if she comes around.” Fresh anger darkened his face. “She can come around all she wants. She’s not getting shit from me. I bought her food. I wrote her a check. I was ready to set up a line of credit if she—”
“What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”
Matt blinked and tilted his head, as if communication were an alien concept.
“Hello?” I waved my hand in his face. “See this ring? It means we’re getting married. It means we have to talk about things. Be a unified front.”
“Hannah…” He looked appalled. “It’s my money. I thought—”
Hot tears sprang to my eyes. His money? What happened to our money? I’d just dropped seven hundred bucks on a whip that I was prepared to give to this unpredictable man because I wanted to know everything he wanted, even if it frightened me.
I bolted out of the room.
This week … this fucking week.
I needed a good, long, loud cry. And tea. And cuddles. But not with Matt. And not with one of the zillions of plush animals he’d given me. God, I missed Daisy.
I whimpered and clapped a hand over my mouth.
As I headed down the hallway, I realized I had nowhere private to go. The office basically belonged to Matt. The bedroom and bathroom were ours. The kitchen and TV room were too open, and he was there. Should I hide in the laundry room?
I remembered his defense when I caught him mansion-shopping.
This place is tiny. You have no real room of your own.
Ugh, he was right.
I locked myself in the bedroom and let my tears fall.
Chapter 16
MATT
Sleeping on the couch is a bitch.
My back ached even after my morning run, even after a round of sit-ups and stretches—and a long, hot, lonely shower.
As I padded past the bedroom, a towel around my waist, I tried the knob once more.
Still locked.
I pressed my ear to the door and frowned.
Hannah had been bunkered in our bedroom all night and most of this morning. It was nearly noon. The AC ticked on and I sighed, roaming back to the kitchen.
“I am definitely in the doghouse,” I muttered to Laurence.
A notepad on the counter contained my list for the day.
FIX SHIT
— Talk about things w/Hannah (money, therapy, Chrissy)
— Date (picnic or dinner)
I peeled off the note and wrote another.
Hannah baby, please come out. You can’t stay in there forever. I’m sorry. I love you. I need clothes. XO
I knocked gently on the bedroom door before slipping the note beneath it. Then I retreated to the TV room.
Several minutes later, I heard the door squeak open and clap shut.
I returned to find it locked, a pair of my socks folded on the floor beside a note.
Here you go.
Grinning, I turned over her note and wrote another.
Where am I supposed to wear these? Or am I supposed to use them for something else? Take pity on a half-naked man. It’s getting chilly out here.
I flicked my reply under the door, then sat on the floor and waited. Soon I heard Hannah rustling in the bedroom. The door opened a crack and a T-shirt flew out.
She slammed it shut quickly.
Click went the lock.
“Goddamn it, Hannah.”
I pulled on the T-shirt and shot another note under the door.
Is this your way of saying you want to see my dick? So coy …
A moment later, the door opened and a pair of sweatpants hit me in the face.
Slam!—click.
“Hannah!” I lunged against the door. “Baby bird?”
No reply.
God, women are fucking mysterious.
I stalked back to the kitchen and prepared for our picnic, jamming things into a daypack. Goober peanut butter and jelly. A sack of the whole grain bread I’d bought for ungrateful Chrissy. A few pears, a banana. Hannah called bananas “the portable fruit.” And her safe word, which she had never used, not even during our roughest play, was “peaches.” Jesus, did she have to be so cute?
“What’s got you in a huff?”
I jumped and turned. Hannah stood a few feet away, her curvy hip propped against the counter, nothing on but an oversized T-shirt.
“Packing,” I mumbled. “For our picnic.”
She arched a brow.
“We’re going on a picnic?”
“I’d like to.” I cleared my throat and gazed into the bag. I plucked out the banana. “I got the … portable fruit.”
I half-smiled and glanced at her. She frowned, her expression softening.
“Stop being cute,” she said.
“Can’t help it. Hey, thanks for picking this hot outfit…” I regarded my sweats.
“You’re infuriating.”
“So I hear.” I stepped toward Hannah. Makeup sex? She took a step back.
“I’m going to shower. Then we can … go on your picnic, I guess.”
She flitted away and I stared after her. God, if her shirt would just ride up a little higher.…
* * *
We drove out to Betasso Preserve, where I knew we’d have some privacy. I took the Jeep. In spite of Hannah’s aloof mood, I found myself smiling as we hit the trail.
“I haven’t been here in a long time,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”
She remained silent.
I reached for her hand and admired her as we hiked. She wore loose, khaki-colored pants that hid the curves of her legs and a tight black tank top that hid nothing. A pink sports bra peeked out from under the tank, clinging to her ample chest.