Last Light (28 page)

“In the flesh,” I said. I shook her hand and she laughed giddily.

“You’re
terrible
!”

“Quite.”

Mel’s car came around the corner. I excused myself and gestured for Mel to roll down the window. I leaned in. “Hey, kid.”

“You look smug,” Mel said. The noise on Fourteenth Street was outrageous. We shouted to one another.

“Well, I’m going to see Hannah. Going to fix everything. And it feels good to be alive. Pass me my duffel bag, will you?” I pointed to the bag at the foot of the passenger seat.

Mel wedged it out the window. I slung the strap over my shoulder.

“You’re going,” she said.

“We’re just a few blocks from here. I thought I’d walk.”

Melanie nodded and fluffed her hair. “Fine, get going.”

“Mel, it’s been real.” I held on to the edge of the window. “Look at me.”

She glared at me with bleary eyes. “It’s been surreal, Matt.”

I unzipped my bag and pulled out my notebook. I tossed it into the car.

“My next book,” I said. “It’s not complete, but you can review it for your blog, huh? Or put it all over the Internet, right? Mail it back to me.”

I couldn’t get a smile out of Mel. She hugged the notebook and drove away with big tears slipping down her cheeks. I turned and headed up Fourteenth Street. The crowd seemed to be moving against me, which made me laugh. People smiled as I passed. Everyone was in a great mood because it was spring and tomorrow was still the weekend.

Now and then, I heard my names in the crowd.
Matthew Sky. M. Pierce.

I let the people get a good look at my face, which is just another mask for the heart.

I remembered what I said to Mel when we shared a smoke in her car.

That’s how it goes, right? You are who people decide you are.

So let them talk. Let the rumors fly.

Around four, I reached our street and jogged toward the condo. I felt good—hopeful, warmed by the April sun—and I knew I shouldn’t feel so good. Not an hour ago, I was sick with worry. Dangerous … these changeable moods.

As I bounded up the complex steps and let myself into our condo, I remembered Mom and Dad again, and I remembered Nate inspecting my hand, and the day felt full of consequence and significance. I dropped my duffel in the doorway. I scanned the kitchen and living room. Silence. No sign of Hannah.

Unease prickled through my blood.

Without checking the other rooms, I suddenly knew she was gone. I saw signs of a hasty departure: The cupboard hanging open, Laurence’s hay dish newly filled, an uncapped pen on the counter. And a note.

I walked into the kitchen and read the note.

I reached the last line—
P.S. I slept with Seth
—and nodded slowly, my hand rising to my mouth. Of course. Seth and Hannah. Of course.

She wanted me to know that we were really over.

She told me the truth to help me let go.

It was a kindness, really.

And tomorrow, and the next day, there would be time for me to be strong. Time for me to handle this like an adult.

But for now—I sat on the kitchen floor and cried like a child.

Chapter 37

HANNAH

“Yeah, the three cheese.” My sister squinted, chewing her gum with a loud snapping sound. “And pepperoni, sausage, um … onions?” She gave me a thumbs-up. I gave her a thumbs-down. “Nix that, no onions.”

Chrissy went on talking into her cell, and I turned my attention to the TV.

My head felt stuffed with cotton. Too many gin and tonics.

On the screen, a couple kissed and music swelled. Roaming hands. Grasping and grinding. I changed the channel.

“Misery food successfully ordered,” Chrissy announced. “What are we watching?”

“Nothing.” I shut off the TV. “But you know—” My voice slurred. “Thank God for hotels. Even cheap hotels.” I waved the remote like a wand. “Just the necessities, right? You’ve got your … scoliosis-inducing bed.” I slapped the mattress. “TV. Crappy coffeemaker. And let’s not forget…” I groped at the bedside table drawer. “The good old Book of Mormon.”

Chrissy scooted closer to me on the bed.

She smiled uneasily and glanced around my room—Econo Lodge, downtown Denver, eighty dollars per night—where I’d been staying for the past three weeks. I refused to run home and hide. I refused to repeat last summer. This time, I had money saved and didn’t need to lean on my parents. I also didn’t want Matt to find me, if he was even looking.

P.S. I slept with Seth.

I winced and shook my head.

No, he probably wasn’t looking.

“Have you been back to work?” Chrissy said.

“Nope.” I sipped my drink and eyed Chrissy over the glass. She’d been keeping me company some nights—or checking up on me. No one else knew that I’d broken up with Matt, but everyone else knew Matt was alive.

The day I moved out of our condo, the Internet exploded with M. Pierce news:

Unstable author back from the dead.

Did anyone believe he was gone?

More publicity stunts from M. Pierce.

I didn’t read those stories or watch the news.

I kept expecting a phone call from Nate, but it never came.

I took a week of vacation from work, called in sick the following week, and was rapidly running out of excuses to avoid the agency. But Pam didn’t call or e-mail. Dead air.

“I’m going to,” I said. “Probably, um, on Monday.”
If I still have a job.

“Great. You need a wake-up call?”

I rolled my eyes. “What I need is for our pizza to get here.”

“Your pizza, Han. I’ve got a date.” Chrissy hopped off the bed and stretched like a cat. A tight black skirt inched up her thighs. Her lashes were spiky with mascara and a stud glinted on her nostril. Huh. She did look more dressed up than usual, which I’d failed to notice in my gin and tonic haze.

I glanced down at my sweatpants.

A surge of self-pity went straight to my eyes and I blinked quickly, looking away.

“A date. Cool.”

“Yup. Working, dating, showering … things people do in the land of the living.”

I glared at my sister and she arched a brow. Maybe this was why I reached out to Chrissy and no one else. Because I knew Chrissy wouldn’t let me wallow.

“I guess I should … grab a shower,” I murmured.

“Probably, yeah.” My sister preened in front of the bureau mirror. She fluffed her thick short hair and checked out her ass. Looking at her, I felt grimier by the moment. When had I last shaved, washed my face, moisturized? “Then you can get dressed and come with me.”

“Excuse me? I’m not feeling that ambitious, Chrissy.”

“It’s not a
date
date, okay? You won’t be third-wheeling it. I’m—” My sister paused and sniffed, still studying her reflection. All the vanity I lacked, Chrissy possessed. “I’m just going to hang out with Wiley and the band guys,” she said hurriedly.

“Wiley and the…” My mouth fell open. The band guys?

Goldengrove.

Seth.

Unwelcome memories rushed over me. Seth Sky driving his Bentley, sneering and staring into the dark. Bringing me a little plate of food in Nate’s basement. Barging through my condo doorway, his hungry tongue in my mouth.

And then … standing beside my hospital bed, holding my hand as I coasted in and out of consciousness. All night.

“Yeah, I’m totally a groupie now.” Chrissy laughed.

I bit my lip and searched for words. Clearly, Chrissy had no idea about my brief and sordid history with Seth. And to be honest, I had no idea about it, either.

A few weeks ago, Matt Sky was my lover, Nate Sky was my friend, and Seth Sky was my enemy. But now? Now I envisioned Matt and Nate together, closing ranks. How had I missed the deceit in Nate’s smile and the lie in Matt’s gaze?

And Seth, who seemed so unwelcome before, now stood clearly in my mind’s eye. Vulnerable. Honest. A casualty of Matt’s game.

I slid my drink onto the bedside table, ice jostling in the glass.

“Isn’t
Goldengrove
in New York?” I managed.

“They were. Like, a few weeks ago. They’re on tour—got here yesterday. Wiley called me.” Chrissy grinned and buffed her nails on her shirt. “So I’m crashing their suite at the Four Seasons, which is, like, five minutes from here.”

Five minutes from here, and about five steps from the Hotel Teatro.

But Nate should be back in New Jersey by now, unless he stuck around to take care of Matt. If Matt needed taking care of. If Matt was going crazy like he did last year.

I huffed and pushed myself off the bed. Why did I even care?

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go.”

“You will?” Chrissy danced over and prodded me toward the bathroom. “Awesome. You grab a shower; I’ll cancel the grease pie.”

*   *   *

Twenty minutes later, my sister and I strolled arm in arm along Fourteenth Street. It was busy for a Thursday, car horns and voices ricocheting in the April night.

I was still buzzed, or still drunk. The city lights blurred beautifully.

“This might be the worst idea ever,” I said as we walked.

I kept mentally reviewing my last encounter with Seth—when he wheeled me out of St. Luke’s, down the long antiseptic hospital halls.

At the time, I had wondered if he was angry or hurt … or still in shock. And finally he’d said, “Why are you with him?”

He stopped pushing my wheelchair and I swallowed noisily.

“I love him.”

Seth came around and crouched in front of me, resting his hands on my knees. Hands like Matt’s, strong and elegant. A face pale with fatigue.

“Do you?” he said. “Or did he force you into this? Matt is a master manipulator, Hannah. And you’re not a cruel person, I can tell.
Now
I understand why you were so high-strung at the memorial. You didn’t want to do any of this, did you? The lying. The sneaking around.”

My eyes misted—I get emotional at the worst times—and I glowered at my lap.

“Please, just take me to my car.”

“Hannah…” Seth’s fingers tensed on my knees.

“Are you going to tell anyone? I mean … that he’s alive.”

Seth’s expression darkened. He rose and resumed pushing my chair. “He disgusts me, but I’m not going to tell.”

“Do I disgust you?”
I should.
I was right there with Matt, lying and scheming.

But Seth had only laughed.

“You? No, Hannah. I feel sorry for you. He’s got you right where he wants you. Fucking incredible, really.” I peeked up at Seth, who stared ahead abstractedly. “He’s always been that way. I’ve seen it my whole life.” Seth’s sneer faded, and he looked momentarily awed. “He draws people in without even trying. Puts them under a spell. And then he does what he always does—lies or disappears—and you break on the rocks you were too dazed to see.”

You break on the rocks …

A master manipulator.

Chrissy pulled me to a stop outside the Four Seasons. She tucked a damp curl behind my ear and thumbed away an eyeliner smudge. I’d let Chrissy do my makeup and pick my outfit—a short denim skirt, moccasin boots, and a loose, striped boat-neck top.

I actually looked cute, and I felt human for the first time in weeks.

“It’ll be fun,” Chrissy said. “And if not, we’ll leave. No harm, no foul. You okay?”

I nodded.
No.

“Cool. Wiley said Seth’s been asking about you.”

“He has?”

Chrissy took my hand and led me into the hotel, through the modern, well-appointed lobby. Every surface burned with a high shine.

“Yeah. Just, like, wondering if you’re okay and stuff. Because, you know…” She shook her head. “Matt’s a psycho, basically. I mean, I still can’t
believe
he faked that shit. I’m so glad you had the guts to leave him. He is truly fucking crazy.”

“Yeah…” My stomach seesawed.

We rode the elevator to the thirteenth floor and Chrissy read off room numbers in the hall. She stopped and knocked on a door. I closed my eyes.

Through the wall, I heard the low pulse of music.

Click.

A breath of air. The door opening.

Wiley’s voice.

“Baby,” he said, “there you are.” Chrissy’s hand slipped out of mine, but not before she dragged me into the room. Warmer air. The smell of alcohol and sweet smoke. An unfamiliar song—hypnotic and grinding, electronic.

I opened my eyes to a dim room.

My pupils adjusted, taking in the suite. The only light came from the cityscape, filtering in through wraparound windows. A film of smoke clouded the air.

Two guys I didn’t recognize and three overdressed girls sat around a coffee table with drinks and playing cards. One of the girls eyed me. Her stare was steely, her mouth a blot of lipstick. I wanted to run.

“Oh, there’s Seth,” said Chrissy. She bumped my hip and I stumbled forward.

In the corner, in the shadow of a thick curtain, Seth slouched in an armchair.

He wore the same deadened expression I had seen on his face at the condo the night he realized Matt was alive.

I padded across the room.

Seth’s eyes met mine and registered no surprise.

When I reached him, he leaned forward and licked a white dusting from his finger.

“Hannah,” he said.

His hair was tied back, one loose piece lying against his cheek. He was barefoot and looked vaguely bohemian in torn jeans and a halfway-unbuttoned shirt.

I processed the scene slowly. Seth licking his finger. A porcelain plate on the table. A pile of snowy powder and two thick lines beside it.

“Oh,” I said, plopping onto a chair. Something greater than gravity pressed me into my seat. I
wanted
to be there, talking to Seth. I wanted the past nine months to make sense.

“No big deal,” Seth murmured. He shrugged and smiled miserably at me. “I’m not like Matt. Just a party.”

“Yeah, sure.” I tried not to stare at the cocaine. I’d only seen this stuff in movies.

“Help yourself.”

“Are you guys allowed to smoke in here? I mean—”

Seth touched my bare knee.