by M. Pierce
Aaron’s eyes widened.
“What?” Seth looked equally stunned.
“I’ll explain later,” I hissed. “Let’s go. Take me home.”
At the door, I turned to take a parting shot. Aaron was smiling and calmly shelving Matt’s books. I frowned. It didn’t work. He didn’t believe me. On the contrary, my rash statement seemed to have given him some private pleasure.
“And if you publish what I just told you, I’ll sue your stupid magazine. I have a good lawyer.” I swallowed. “And you better not publish that article either, because it’s … er … defamation. Haven’t you had enough of your stupid online magazines shut down? Give up.”
Seth guided me out of the agency to my car. I slumped against the door. My heart was leaping in my chest. Fuck. I had to tell Matt what just happened. I had to get home.
“Drive me home,” I said.
Seth didn’t move. He stood on the sidewalk, hands in pockets and eyes narrowed.
“You lied to me,” he said. “You told me you didn’t write that book.”
“Oh, get over it.” I wanted to scream. “I didn’t publish it, okay? I wrote it. It was stupid, silly, whatever. And yeah, it was kind of influenced by Matt’s books. I never meant for it to get online. My e-mail was hacked. I … I e-mailed the story to myself. For backup.”
Seth frowned. Zero belief in that frown.
“That’s what happened.” I groaned. “I didn’t tell because it’s embarrassing, okay? That story was meant for me and Matt and no one else. I don’t care if you don’t believe me, just drive me home or—or don’t!” I threw a hand in the air. “I’ll call a fucking cab.”
I rummaged through my purse hysterically.
“Get in the car,” Seth said. He snatched my keys.
Finally. Seth Sky doing something useful.
I gave drunken directions to the condo and Seth drove in silence. After a few wrong turns, we pulled into the lot.
He climbed out of the car with me.
“Wait—what are you doing?” I backed away, bumping into another car.
“Walking you to your door.”
“No, no, no.” I staggered away from Seth. “I appreciate the ride, but—”
“Would you quit your whining?” Seth seized my shoulders and hauled me toward the complex. I stumbled along.
I told Aaron Snow that I wrote Night Owl.
Matt was in my condo.
Seth was walking me to the door.
And I was too drunk to process the implications of all this. My mind stalled.
I started to laugh. Everything was so fucked-up. So many lies. A castle of lies. And Matt was its king, and I was the queen, holding together our elaborate deception.
“Darling, you’re going to be feeling this tomorrow,” Seth said. He helped me up the stairs to my door and unlocked it for me. My fine-motor skills were gone.
“Hey, so…” I blocked the doorway. “What—how much longer are you in town?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow. Our show was last night.” Seth peered into the condo. “Hannah, did you leave candles burning in here?”
“Huh?” I turned. Oh, shit.
Matt was nowhere in sight, but he’d lit a dozen candles on the coffee table and several more in the kitchen. The prelude to a romantic evening, under any other circumstances.
“You’re crazy. You could burn this whole fucking complex down.”
“What’s up … what’s up with your tattoos anyway?” I braced my hands against the doorframe. Seth didn’t seem to notice me grasping at straws. He kept looking into the semidarkness of the condo, then looking at me.
“Goldengrove is … from a poem. So is ‘the penny world.’ It’s nothing.” Seth narrowed his eyes. “It’s about stuff we leave behind.”
“Stuff?” My voice trembled. I wanted to slam the door in Seth’s face, but I felt that if I lowered my arms, he would walk right into my condo.
“Yeah, stuff. Youth, innocence, ignorance. The best times, like—” He hesitated, his dark eyes fixing on my face. “Like when my parents were alive, and our family was normal.”
“Normal but loaded.” I laughed shakily. Wow. Inappropriate Comments 101.
“Hannah, did … did you do all this for me?” Seth nodded toward the candlelit living room. “Did you know I would be at the party tonight?”
“What? No. God, no.”
“You did, didn’t you? And that’s why you’re drunk. A little too much liquid courage, right?” Seth smiled, wonderment and disbelief on his face. “Hannah…”
He leaned down and crushed his lips to mine. The kiss stunned me to stillness—the heat and hunger of it. The loneliness behind it.
“Kiss me,” he mumbled, pressing me into the condo with his body.
When Seth slid his tongue between my teeth, I bit down—hard.
“Fuck!” He reeled away.
I backed into a wall. Oh, shit. I could see the night cohering into Seth’s deluded reality: I was the oversexed author of Night Owl, I was falling for him, and I was sending him signals with my drunken bumbling and candlelit condo. Shit, shit …
Seth cringed and touched his mouth.
“What … is going on here?” At the sound of Matt’s voice—dry, measured, and low with rage—I collapsed. I slid down the wall as he materialized from the hallway. He looked like he could kill.
Seth blanched. His expression was horrible to see. First emptiness—a face devoid of emotion—unable or unwilling to comprehend. Then hurt and a flash of confusion. How could this be? Eyes wide, mouth open in fear. Am I seeing things?
Finally, anger and understanding. Seth’s features resolved into a mask of hate.
“You son of a bitch,” he said. His voice shook with emotion. “You son of a bitch.”
Shadows darkened Matt’s face. He looked around, as if there might be a fourth guest, and then between me and his brother.
“What is this?” he said. “Don’t touch her. Don’t you fucking touch her.”
“Matt, it’s nothing,” I said. “Seth just—”
I don’t know who moved first, though both men were on the edge of violence. Hands clenched. Jaws tight. Eyes wild.
Someone swung and they began to grapple. Matt got Seth around the middle and slammed him into a wall. A picture fell. Glass shattered. He hit Seth across the face once, twice, then Seth kicked and Matt fell. He kicked again, driving his foot into Matt’s gut. Matt groaned.
Matt rose and they collided, huffing and shouting as the sickening thump of blows filled the room. “Stop it!” I screamed. “Stop it, stop!”
I scrambled to my feet and launched myself at the brothers. Between inebriation and the flashing candlelight, I couldn’t see a damn thing. I hit hot muscle and tangled limbs.
“Stop!” I shrieked.
A fist plowed into my face. My head belted back. I heard a wheeze and a crunch like the sound of a broken accordion. White spots exploded before my eyes.
Someone said, “You hit her! You son of a bitch, you hit her!”
Another voice. “You hit her! You fucking hit her!”
I tried to protest, and then the world went black.
Chapter 30
MATT
I sat in the back of the Civic with Hannah on my lap.
“Little bird,” I whispered, “wake up.”
I stroked her hair and cradled her head. Shallow puffs of breath told me she was alive, but the muscles of her face were lax. Her breath hitched as the car went over a bump.
“Slow down,” I spat.
“Fuck you,” Seth said.
He was driving Hannah’s car, the nearest vehicle at our disposal.
The tires squealed as he swung into the ER parking lot.
He leapt out of the car and opened my door.
“Give her to me,” he said, reaching toward us.
“No, I’m taking her in. Get out of my way.” I clutched Hannah’s body.
“You’re wasting time!”
“Go fuck yo
urself.” I scooted along the seat with Hannah. “You’re going to tell everyone I’m alive anyway. I’m taking her in.”
Seth blocked the open door.
“I’m not saying jack shit about you being alive, Matt. I wish you were dead, all right? Why don’t you fucking die for real and do me a favor? You think I’m going to tell Nate and Uncle and Aunt Ella you’re alive and break their fucking hearts, you stupid shit? You’ve fucked with this family enough. Be dead, if that’s what you fucking want. Give her to me!”
I hugged Hannah’s warm body to my chest and nuzzled my nose into her hair.
Be dead, Seth said. Die for real.
An ambulance blew past us, wailing and flashing.
“Matt, for fuck’s sake!” Seth crawled onto the backseat and clasped Hannah. I let her go.
Seth was going to keep my secret; I could see, even through his rage, that he was telling the truth. And it hurt that he wanted me gone for real, but I deserved it.
I snagged Seth’s wrist as he backed out with Hannah.
Her head lolled over his arm. Her legs dangled.
“What happened … between you two?” I said.
Seth wouldn’t look at me. After this, I knew he wouldn’t speak to me.
“Nothing,” he said. “She’s devoted to you, God knows why.”
He slammed the car door and carried Hannah into the ER.
*
I waited in the car all night. Seth had the keys, and anyway, I didn’t want to go back to the condo. I wanted to wait. I wanted to be there for Hannah.
I curled up on the backseat and shivered as the night cooled.
Around midnight, I broke down and called Mel. I told her where I was—not why—and gave her directions. “Bring blankets,” I said.
“Sure! Of course…”
A tense silence followed, and I was tempted to hang up. I didn’t.
Mel and I had to fix things. I needed her, and what happened earlier—Mel coming on to me—was girlish infatuation fueled by alcohol.
And it felt insignificant now, with Hannah in the ER …
I winced.
Hannah …
“We’re fine,” I said abruptly. “What happened in the car—don’t worry about it. We’re okay, Mel. I can forget about it. Can you?”
“Yes. God, yes, I can. I’ve been kicking myself. Are you angry at me?”
“No, I—” I channeled all my anger into beating my brother. “I’m not angry. I’m cold.”
Melanie showed up twenty minutes later with two fleece blankets from the dollar store.
“What are you doing here?” She sat next to me in the back of Hannah’s Civic. She looked like a child in her fuzzy pajama pants printed with stars.
“Waiting. Thanks.” I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and draped the other over my lap. “Waiting for Hannah. She’s inside with my brother.”
“Oh … shit. Do I need to get lost?”
“Soon.” I frowned. “Not yet. Seems like they’re holding her overnight.”
We sat in silence, watching the ambulances come and go from St. Luke’s. Mel didn’t ask for specifics, thank God. I wouldn’t have told her. Either I hit Hannah or Seth hit Hannah, and maybe Hannah had a concussion. I scrubbed my face.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
Mel rubbed my back. I tensed, then relaxed. The gesture was nothing but amicable.
“You need anything else? Food, smokes?”
I shook my head.
After a while, I said, “Saint Luke. Why do they have to make saints out of everything?”
Melanie chuckled.
“He was a doctor,” I said. “Doctor Luke.” And then, “I’ll be buried in a Presbyterian cemetery. Did you know that? I’m tired enough to go there now.” I could say that to Mel because she was young, and she wouldn’t roll her eyes at me. She didn’t.
After Mel left, I dozed, but sirens and the cold kept pulling me awake. I drifted in and out of strange dreams. Dreams of Hannah. Dreams of quiet earth.
*
Hannah and Seth emerged from St. Luke’s as the sun rose.
Seth wheeled her out in a chair—my heart faltered—but as soon as they reached the sidewalk, Hannah stood and jogged toward the car.
I burst out of the car and ran to meet her. Seth hung back, watching us from the curb.
Hannah gestured for me to get back in the car, but there was no chance of that. If someone recognized me, fuck it. Nothing could stop me from going to her.
As I got closer, I saw a deep purple shiner under her left eye and a bluish bruise along her cheekbone. “Ah, goddamn it,” I said. I wrapped my arms around her.
“Matt, you’re so cold.” She sniffled and hugged me. Her tears dropped onto my neck. “Did you spend the whole night out here?”
“It’s fine, baby. I wanted to. My God, are you all right?”
“Yeah, it … was nothing. Too much champagne at the party. The punch put me down for the count, that’s all. I’m fine, I promise. No concussion.” She stroked my hair and I held her tight, my eyes locked on Seth. Round two, brother? I couldn’t erase the image of Seth’s mouth on Hannah’s, his greedy hands pulling at her.
“He going to join us?” I said.
“I don’t think so. He doesn’t want to talk to you…” Hannah glanced back at Seth.
“Fine with me,” I said, but I hesitated and watched my brother awhile. “You think he’s going to tell anyone?”
“No, he won’t tell. He’s leaving today. He wants nothing to do with us.”
“Good. He’s got nothing to do with us.”
After some moments, Seth turned and rolled the wheelchair back into the hospital.
That was the last time I saw him for quite a while.
Hannah let me drive the short distance back to our condo. We were too stunned to speak, or too relieved. She leaned against the seat with her eyes closed and her hand in mine.
Near the condo, I said, “Hannah, what was going on between you and Seth?”
“I’ll tell you inside,” she said, and she did. We sat on the couch and I rubbed her back while she cuddled against me. She came clean about the night in New Jersey when Goldengrove played and Seth tried to kiss her onstage. She told me how they went to the mall and he held her, and how he appeared at the release party last night.
She told me, too, about Aaron Snow’s article and his new online zine, No Stone Unturned. She explained his theory about me writing Night Owl and how and why she said she wrote it. “Seth was there,” she said, “but I don’t think he’ll tell anyone, and I don’t think Aaron is going to run the article. I sort of … threatened him.”
I mulled over the new information.
“Mm, no matter,” I said. “He can publish the story or not. No one will believe him. I doubt many people read his stuff, and those who do are fanatics. Seriously, I don’t know what that guy would do without his lifelong boner for me.”
“Start a zine about aliens?” Hannah giggled.
I laughed for the first time in too long.
“Sounds about right,” I said.
Hannah didn’t have an icepack in the freezer, so I filled a ziplock with cubes, wrapped a dish towel around it, and held it to her eye. She had a prescription for Vicodin but refused to fill it. “It makes me groggy,” she said.
“Hey, you could always sell them.”
“Matt!”
I laughed and shrugged. “It’s what I would have done when I was younger.”
“Yeah, but you were a bad boy.”
“Mm. Hannah, I—” I bundled her up and carried her to the bedroom. “I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know … if it was me, or if it was Seth … who hit you. I was—I couldn’t—”
“Don’t.” She touched my lips. It was one of her little gestures that I loved, the be quiet, Matt gesture. Her fingertips brushed my bruised eye. “Now we match. It was no one’s fault.”
“What are you going to tell people?”
“I dunno. I’ll come up with
something. I’m becoming an expert liar.”
I set her on the sheets and undressed her. She didn’t help except to lift her arms indolently and extend her legs while I peeled down her stockings. The black-and-white skirt she wore to the party … I’d hoped to take it off under different circumstances.
When Hannah was naked, I began to undress. She watched me with her lustrous eyes—her face calm and serious, her breasts rising and falling gently.
“I’m tired,” I said.
My body ached after a night in the car. My mind couldn’t hold another thought. I was dangerously weary, too tired to see all the angles, and I had a growing sense that Hannah and I would not get away with our lie.
Seth knew I was alive. Melanie knew. Aaron Snow suspected. There were too many unknowns. Too many people I couldn’t control.
“I know.” Hannah reached for me. “I am, too.”
I stretched out alongside her and pulled the covers over us. I moved against her and sighed. There. I had one perfect thing in my life.
And though I said I was tired—too tired for sex—the warmth and softness of Hannah’s body made me hard. Her pillows smelled sweet. Her nipples grazed my chest. She rolled away so that I could enter her from behind, and I held her close as I moved inside her.
Chapter 31
HANNAH
We woke in the afternoon and Matt ran a bath for me.
I offered to drive him back to the cabin, but he said he would take a cab. I knew he was antsy to go. Denver was a cage for him now, and he hated cages. Plus, The Surrogate hit stores Tuesday, which meant M. Pierce fever all over again.
Matt insisted on carrying me to the bathroom. I hugged his neck.
“Matt, you realize I can walk with a black eye, right?”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He set me on the counter and I squeaked; the marble was frigid under my bare bottom. He dropped one of my bath bombs in the tub and watched it fizz and color the water purple.
Once before I had managed to convince Matt to use a bath bomb with me. It was called a “sex bomb” and it was supposed to “put us in the mood” with “exciting scents” and “natural pheromones.” I grinned at the memory. As soon as Matt realized the bomb was coating his skin in sparkles, he leapt out of the tub ranting about “looking Twilighty” and “smelling like a girl.”