After Dark (18 page)

I had broken up with her nearly a year ago, but she wasn’t moving on—clearly. Maybe our saccharine appearance on the
Denver Buzz
had rekindled her anger. All that talk of love and marriage … and
Night Owl
, our passion made a public spectacle.

Throwing our happiness in Bethany’s face.

“What if she tells someone?” Hannah plucked at my sleeve. “About Seth and Chrissy. I don’t know who would listen, but … tabloids? Gossip blogs?”

I shook my head briskly, mostly to allay my own anxiety. “No audience for that shit.”

“There’s an audience for every sort of shit, Matt. He’s the lead singer of a pretty major band. You’re … you. And Chrissy and I are sisters.
Someone
would find that luridly interesting.”

“I told you I paid Bethany a visit. I promised her that if she takes another step in your direction, I will solicit Shapiro’s assistance in finding some grounds to sue her out of every penny she’s got. You know legal threats are very … compelling.”

Hannah frowned. I couldn’t set her at ease, much less myself, and any pity I’d felt for Bethany began to crystallize into hate.

Our entrees arrived. We picked at the artistically arranged dishes, barely denting our small portions. Hannah drank a second glass of wine.

“We want to see the dessert menu,” I snapped at our waiter. He scurried away and returned with it. I barely read the page. “She’ll have the stout float. Nothing for me.”

“Hey. You’re too tense.” She massaged my hands.

With two glasses of good wine in me, I might not be so fucking tense.

I winced at the thought.

“I wanted us to have a nice time,” I said. “I thought I had control of the Bethany situation. But now, with her knowing about Chrissy…”

“Now you don’t have control.”

“Well put,” I muttered.

“But you have me. And nothing Bethany does can drive us apart, especially now that we know her game. So let’s have a good time.”

Hannah tackled the float valiantly. Chin in palm, I watched her, deep within my dark mood, but after a while I shifted my chair closer to hers. I spooned mascarpone into her mouth. Brandy syrup drizzled down her chin. She licked it away and I kissed her. So sweet, those lips, and the way her mouth worked against mine.

Because we were alone, I gripped her thigh and dragged it over my lap.

Her short dress rode up. Her leg brushed my cock.

We laughed and let go of one another.

“Even I wouldn’t try that here,” I said, “with our poor waiter hovering somewhere.”

“Hovering in terror.”

“What?” I licked a daub of cream from her cupid’s bow. We got tangled up again, kissing and snickering.

“You were so mean to him!” She shook with giggles. Her brows drew down in mock severity. “‘We want’”—laughter bubbled out of her, her faux male voice trembling—“‘we want to see the dessert menu! Now! Where is her fucking float?’”

“Ha!” I leaned back and admired Hannah’s amusement—the way it lit her face.

“You know, I’m surprised the prospect of a one-man audience disturbs you.” She stroked her chin. “I read something somewhere about exhibitionism…”

“Not now.” I glowered at her.

“Oh, I know. I haven’t actually agreed yet.”

“Yet?”

She shrugged and sipped her float. Pretty, mischievous Hannah … I smiled at her.

“You don’t have to agree,” I said. “You know, I’ve never done that with anyone.”

She glanced at me quickly. “No?”

“No. It’s something I want … wanted to try, that’s all.” I narrowed my eyes. “With you.”

The image, the idea of exposing Hannah—and enjoying her in front of others—blinked into my mind. I breathed out slowly.
Fuck …

“Let’s go,” she whispered in my ear. “It’s too warm in here. I’m tipsy.”

I left our waiter an exorbitant tip. Hannah approved. We held hands and strolled around Denver, both of us a little drunk. I told her about Marion, the realtor Pam recommended.

“We spoke on the phone. She seems very capable. I gave her our price range and she’ll send us some listings before the weekend.”

“What’s our price range?” Hannah smirked. “One million to—”

“I said two-fifty and up.”

“Two hundred and fifty … thousand?”

“Mm. The price of your average suburban shanty. Happy?”

“
So
happy.” She hugged me around the middle. I lifted her feet off the sidewalk.

“It’s heaven to make you happy,” I whispered into her hair.

Hannah prevailed upon my good mood, asking if she could deliver the food I’d bought for Chrissy. “And the check, too.”

“Sure.” I shrugged. “I suppose so. That whole-grain bread is awful anyway.”

“Let’s get a dog when we have a house.” She swung our joined hands like a child.

“Fine,” I said, “but no cats. I hate cats. A dog would be all right, so long as he doesn’t bother Laurence.”

“He!” Hannah laughed. “What if I want a girl?”

We exchanged a fast, alarmed look. Were we still talking about dogs? I quickened my pace, waving a hand.

“He, she … I’m fine with whatever.”

I felt Hannah’s eyes on me, but I refused to look at her.

“Matt, I—”

“Please. Not now.”
Children
. I had wanted to talk about this, and now I was afraid to talk about it. What if she said something finalizing and I couldn’t change her mind?

“I know what you were thinking about,” she said.

She pulled me to a stop. We sat on a bench and watched the nighttime traffic.

“I’m not ready.” Her tone was cautious.

“Mm.”

“I might never be.”

I looked at her. Now it was Hannah’s turn to avoid eye contact.

The weight of her words settled on me—
never
—and I sat in silence, stunned by how much I wanted what she didn’t. A little Matt-Hannah person. A family.
Fucking hell …

“I only thought…,” I started. “Well, I wanted—one day—it’s only occurred to me lately—”

“I basically raised my brother and sister.”

“What?” I frowned.

“Yeah. Um, Jay is nine years younger than I am. Chrissy is six years younger. Honestly, I thought it was normal … until I made friends in high school and realized, well, that it wasn’t normal.” She shrugged. “Dad worked really hard and Mom had some anxiety issues when we were growing up. She was a stay-at-home mom, technically, but a lot of times she just … wasn’t around. I knew how to change a diaper when I was seven. I got, like, CPR certified at ten.”

“Is that even legal?”

Hannah nodded. “The older I got, the more Mom relied on me. She would come home and I had fed the kids and put them to bed. And they would ask me stuff before even thinking to ask her. Could they go to a friend’s house, have a snack before dinner, watch TV?”

“Damn…”

“Yeah. By the time I went to college, Jay and Chrissy could fend for themselves, and Mom got some of her issues figured out. She got on medication and started working and stuff. But from ten to nineteen”—Hannah looked at me earnestly—“I sort of had to
be
a mother, and I didn’t like it. I don’t know if it would be different if the child was mine, or if it would be the same … crushing responsibility, total loss of freedom…”

“Mm.” I reached for her hands, which were knotted on her lap. Hannah’s reasoning made sense. And now, her fiercely protective feeling for Chrissy made more sense.

“And pregnancy freaks me out,” she persisted. “The idea of something alive inside me? That’s scary and weird for me … Say something.”

“What is there to say?” I released her hands. “I get it.”

“Do you? But you’re upset. Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I stared ahead.

“There’s plenty to talk about. I mean … are you … pro-life?” she blurted.

“What? God, no. Why?”

“I don’t know. The way you reacted to the idea of Chrissy getting an abortion. And, I mean, I know you’re … some sort of Christian.”

“Oh, yes, let the generalities fly.” I scowled.

“Why are you so touchy about your faith?”

“Because I don’t have much faith left,” I snapped, “and what little I’ve got shouldn’t be used to make me out as some Bible-thumping hypocrite, all right? It’s
personal.
”

She wiggled her hand out of mine.

“I am not doing that. Stop ruining our nice night.”

I frowned and looked down at Hannah. She was right, as usual. Any time she mentioned my faith, I bit her head off.

“It’s … her choice,” I said. It
was
Chrissy’s choice. If Hannah were pregnant, though, I wouldn’t be so indifferent, and I knew it. We’d called one another Auntie Hannah and Uncle Matthew, playfully. That kind of play is dangerous. In that moment, I had imagined Hannah with our niece or nephew, and the idea was sweet. If that idea became an impossibility, it would be a loss for me, no two ways about it.

“You look unhappy.” She touched my cheek. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” I said, which might turn out to be true.

Chapter 21

HANNAH

I wheeled my chair into Pam’s office. Matt sat across from Pam’s desk. Pam sat behind it like the presiding judge.

Matt held the
Last Light
manuscript, which looked a little worse for wear since I’d chucked it at him on our balcony.

I bit my lip, fighting inappropriate laughter

“I’ll start by stating the obvious,” Matt said. “Hannah is uneasy about
Last Light
’s publication—how it could affect our image, my career, et cetera.”

“Valid concerns,” said Pam. “There will be a lot of speculation with the book. Your detractors will love it—gives them ammo to call you a liar. Your loyal readers will love it, too. It’s a bold story. Whatever the case, the response will be loud, which is good for sales.”

“I’m not particularly worried about sales.” Matt slouched, his long legs extending under Pam’s desk. It was fascinating to watch them interact. Matt appeared unconcerned with Pam’s opinion, when I knew he cared deeply, and Pam threw her weight around, when I knew how much she valued Matt.

Also, sweet Lord, my future husband in serious mode is hot.

I flushed, dismissing the thought.

When would I get used to being around him? Maybe never.

Matt and Pam bickered lazily and I felt useless.
Ignore me; I’m just here for decoration
. I sighed too deeply. They both went silent and glared at me. I smiled.
Oops …

Their banter resumed.

“All I’m suggesting…” Matt was on his feet.

Pam was gesturing. “Could have told me…”

“And risk having you tell the authorities?”

“Have I ever told anyone anything?”

“That’s hardly what this is about!”

I cleared my throat.

Again, two pairs of irate eyes landed on me.

“I … have an idea,” I said.

“By all means,” Pam said.

Matt’s expression softened. He retook his seat and reached for my hand. I smiled and squeezed his fingers.

“I’ve been thinking about the book,” I said, “which, well, I don’t exactly want published.” I glanced at Pam. She was watching us with a flat “get a room” sort of look. “But I know how important it is to Matt. I also know everyone who reads it is going to think it’s true, and I don’t think we can risk looking like we lied to the media. Not in such a bold-faced way, without addressing the issue. So, let’s publish it with a proviso. An open-ended disclaimer. I mean, something more than the usual ‘this is a work of fiction’ stuff.”

“You don’t think that’ll highlight the issue?” Matt said. “You know, put it in people’s minds that we’re worried about the public reception?”

“That’s already going to be in their minds,” Pam said. “What sort of disclaimer were you thinking, Hannah?”

“Something frank. Really to the point. Um … you know, ‘the author and publisher of this book are aware that it contradicts the factual account of events.’ And we could reiterate that it’s a fictitious reimagining of events, for entertainment only.”

Pam and Matt regarded me with thoughtful expressions.

“That’s … not such a bad idea,” he said.

Pam tapped her desk. “It would head things off at the pass, for sure.”

“And we wouldn’t need to say anything more.” I shrugged. “Our line would be right there, on every copy of the book, and people could take it or leave it.”

After the meeting, Matt stalked around my office, looking gorgeous and trapped. I kissed him and detained his attention for all of five minutes, during which he managed to finger me and lift me off the desk and leave me panting.

The doors were locked, but I broke our kiss and pressed him back.

“No more office sex,” I whispered. “That was a onetime thing.”

“Mm, I see.” He licked his finger clean.

“You!” I tugged his hair. “You’re bad.”

“The worst.”

He held me for a while—I couldn’t get enough of being in his arms—and I stroked his back and sides, though I knew I couldn’t soothe the restlessness out of him. It was in his nature.

“You impressed Pam in there,” he said. “And me.”

“Yeah?” I beamed.

“Mm. You’re constantly impressing me.”

I looked Matt up and down. “So are you.” We laughed and I finally nudged him toward the door. “Go write. I know you want to.”

“Is it obvious?”

“To me, yeah. Plus, I want to read the next chapter.” I scuffed my heel along the floor. “Um, no obligation, though. I know you probably wanna write other stuff, too.”

“Do I?” He chuckled and stepped out.

*   *   *

I swung by the condo after work to pick up the food Matt had bought for Chrissy. We ate a quick dinner together—leftover pizza—and Matt reluctantly produced the check.

“Five grand?” I gawked at it.

“That’s really not much.”

“I don’t think she has many”—I faltered at the words “baby-related”—“uh, expenses yet.” Matt had gotten weird and moody the other night when we’d almost talked about kids. Then he’d clammed up. I didn’t want to upset him again.

I had said my part, though, and he’d heard me loud and clear.
I might never be ready for kids
. Childbearing, childrearing, the whole business freaked me out.