After Dark(29)

At the thought of Matt’s anger—here I was with Seth, whom Matt had effectively ordered me not to see—a new surge of tears seeped into my hands.

“Hannah, calm down. I’ll—” My phone started to ring. “It’s Matt.” Seth hovered on the edge of my vision, holding out the phone while I sniffled and sobbed. Where was all this emotion coming from? Guilt … confusion … fear. Oh God, Matt was going to be so pissed.

“Can you take this?” Seth said.

I shook my head furiously.

He turned away and thumbed the screen. He brought my phone to his ear.

“Hello, Matt.”





Chapter 22

MATT

I overpaid my cab and launched out into the street.

Hannah’s Civic was parked in a metered spot and I could see her sitting behind the wheel. No sign of Seth or Chrissy.

I ran to her.

The driver-side door lurched open and I pulled her out.

“I’m sorry,” she bleated.

“Don’t be. What the hell happened?” I took in her red-rimmed eyes, dry cheeks, and stained shirt. Seth hadn’t given me details on the phone, and I hadn’t listened too well. Hannah is parked outside Dynamite. She’s fine, but she’s emotional. I think you should come get her.

I cussed him out for being in Colorado.

I threatened him.

I threw All the King’s Men across the living room.

I was still shouting into my cell when he hung up.

“I drove to my parents’ to meet up with Chrissy,” Hannah mumbled into my shirt, “and Dad said she was here with some guy and I lost it, ’cause I knew it was Seth. She was drinking. She was crazy. Matt, she hates me.”

She snuffled loudly and I cupped her face.

“Hey, hey. No more crying. It’s okay. Are they gone now?”

“Yeah. Seth”—she dragged her fist across her nose—“wanted to stay with me, but I made him leave, because…” She looked up at me with watery eyes.

“Good call,” I muttered. “Goddamn it, Hannah…” I clenched my teeth.

We held one another, standing on the sidewalk, and I rocked her gently.

“She kicked your groceries,” she whispered. At that, she nearly started to cry again, and I whispered in her ear that it was all right, and that it was over.

“She’s hormonal and confused. Don’t think about it now. Give me your keys.” I put Hannah on the passenger seat like a baby. Lifted her in, buckled her seat belt. She didn’t protest. She touched my hands and forearms wonderingly, as if my gentleness were a miracle.

Maybe it was a miracle.

I wanted to punch a hole in the nearest anything.

I plugged in my phone and shuffled a playlist for the drive back to Denver. When the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ “Wedding Song” came on, I reached over and rubbed Hannah’s thigh. She’d been mostly quiet, looking out her window. She filled me in on some details—Seth seemed high but genuinely concerned for Chrissy, they were doing a paternity test, she gave him the check—and I didn’t push her for more.

At the condo, I undressed her and we showered together.

She kept giving me quick, wide-eyed looks.

“It’s okay,” I told her again and again. I washed her hair. I stroked her body, nothing more. Afterward, we made coffee and sat on the couch.

I blew a curl of steam off my mug and smiled at Hannah. “Coffee at midnight. Sounds like some bad indie band, am I right?”

She smiled back at me and nodded.

“Bird, talk to me.”

“I’m … worried about him.”

I swallowed a mouthful of coffee. It scalded my tongue. Anger, which I had been tempering all night, rumbled inside me. Clouds massing for a storm.

“Because he was high?”

“He looked terrible,” she said. “Too skinny, miserable. He’s in no way equipped to help Chrissy right now. He needs help. And the way she bossed him around, it was—”

“You’re preaching to the choir. I want him gone. We’re all the help she needs.”

“I’m not talking about her.” Hannah clunked her mug onto the coffee table. “I’m talking about your brother. The help your brother needs.”

“He is not my fucking concern.”

“You wouldn’t be alive if Nate decided that you weren’t his ‘fucking concern.’”

“What is this, exactly?” I drew away from her. “Your sister is testing my patience to the limit. I don’t understand what you’re getting at right now. Are you suggesting that I should be doing something for Seth? Handouts for the two of them?”

“God.” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“No, please, illuminate me. I must have a goodwill sign stamped across my face. Tell me just how I should help my brother, who assaulted my girlfriend and knocked up her sister.”

“He didn’t assault me. For the millionth time. You hurt him—terrified him—by faking your death. When are you going to own that? How would you feel if Nate did that to you? Seth lost his parents, too.” Hannah stood, visibly mustering her courage. “I saw Seth grieving at your memorial. That shit messed him up. I’m sure he shares all your hang-ups about loss and—”

“Hang-ups.” I rose, wanting more distance from her. I moved away and regarded Hannah coolly. “Hang-ups,” I repeated.

“Okay, wrong word. Chill. You know what I mean.”

“Chill?”

She threw up her hands. “Forget it. You’re impossible when you get like this.”

I leaned against the wall, wishing I had a cigarette. I’d trashed my pack earlier in the day. I needed to quit for Hannah, who summoned my dead parents against me … in defense of Seth.

“Go to bed,” I said.

“I am going, but not because you say so. I’m not a child.”

“No? You’re happy to act like one when you need taking care of.”

She turned scarlet and scowled at her feet.

“There’s no shame in that, little bird.” I strolled toward her and took her jaw in my hand. I forced her to look at me. Defiance shone in her eyes, and a little alarm. “Just remember who loves you. Remember who takes care of you.” I brushed my thumb over her lips. “Sleep.”

* * *

I ran that night the way I had run when Hannah broke up with me in April: past the boundary of my stamina, into pain and then numbness.

Anything can become self-harm. Not just sharp objects and drugs and alcohol, but exercise and creativity, ambition, desire. Love. What else is love, if not the power to destroy?

In a moment of carelessness, Hannah could ruin me.

But she is gentle, I wrote, having returned from my run and gone straight to my desk. Sweat dripped down my face. The desire to put Hannah into words, and to understand her, seared me. She spoke about my parents and Seth. I saw their faces in a constellation, meaning nothing. She is like the little bird I call her. Strong and delicate. I’m out of my depth.





Chapter 23

HANNAH

On Friday morning, Matt and I acted as if we’d never argued.

I could almost believe we hadn’t.

Last night, I’d set foot in that no-man’s-land topic—his parents—and he locked up like Fort Knox. End of discussion. End of the evening.

“Happy Friday,” he said as we toweled off after our shower.

“Same to you.” I hugged him tight. Matt communicated through physicality, something I’d learned, and a hug meant more than a dozen apologies.

His semihard cock pressed at my belly. Oh Lord.

If I dress in a hurry … maybe we could quickly …

I tugged off his towel and he laughed reluctantly.

“Hi,” I whispered, wrapping my fingers around his dick.

“Ah, fuck.” He locked his hands behind his skull. I tugged at him gently. Would I ever get tired of the way he responded to this? Like a gun to his head.

I shook off my towel and pressed my sex against the cold marble corner of the sink.

“Go on,” he said, fixated on the V of my thighs. “Get wet on that.”

He liked a little show, and despite my sometimes crippling shyness, I liked putting it on for him. I jerked him off and rolled my body against the blunt corner, soaking it. Soon he was bucking into my grip, pulling me away from the sink and taking over with his expert hands. Hands I loved, long and veined. Fingers that thrummed my clit at perfect pitch. Fingers that entered me boldly, possessively, and almost carelessly. As if this part of me were his.

I watched us handling one another in the mirror, and coming; Matt first, in a thick pale jet against my belly, and me a moment later, my pleasure dripping over his hands.

I carried that memory with me to work.

Matt forwarded an e-mail to me at noon.

Subject: Fwd: Listings

Sender: Matthew R. Sky Jr.

Date: Friday, July 4, 2014

Time: 12:08 PM

Who the hell works on the Fourth of July? Only my workaholic wife-to-be.

Thanks for the helping hand this morning.

Okay, that was pretty bad …

Marion sent the listings just now. I like the look of a few. She can start showing us around as early as Monday. Thoughts?

Also, please find attached Chapter 4, for your reading pleasure.



Matt



Attachment: UNTITLED.doc

I started to read Matt’s chapter before I even glanced at the listings. Priorities.

He began with a transcript of that racy journal entry, EXHIBITIONISM, which made me feel fluttery and aroused and alarmed. And he wrote about … I frowned and reread. Hm, something he felt when we drove past my parents’ house? It was the night he proposed to me. Something between the lines.