“Were you high when you fucked Chrissy Catalano? When you got her pregnant? No protection handy, or were you too far gone to care?”
My voice came out soft and sickeningly warm. My fingers tightened on his shoulder.
“I know,” he said. “Nate called me. I just found out. I know she’s pregnant.”
So it was true—or it might be true—that mysterious e-mail I received yesterday. Who’s the proud daddy? It’s Seth Sky!
“Why couldn’t you stay away from them? Hannah, her sister.”
“You’re no fucking saint.” He tried to jerk his shoulder from my grip, but I held on tight. And he was weak. He’d lost weight since I’d seen him last, three months ago. Even his anger was diminished. I smiled and rubbed my mouth. I let him go. I tried to unbutton my cuffs, with some passing idea of rolling up the sleeves, and then I hit Seth in the face.
He sank, catching himself on the edge of the fountain. Bystanders danced away like startled pigeons. Get the fuck out of here, I thought, and I hit my brother again.
This bastard. This fucking bastard. He twisted and scrabbled at my neck, sputtering. He kicked my legs out from under me and the ground rushed up. My cheekbone grated on stone.
Get the fuck out of here.
This fucking bastard.
With one powerful hand, I grasped Seth’s hair and dunked his head in the fountain. I leaned my weight against his body and held him under. His arms surged wildly. He tore at me and at the fountain ledge. Bubbles billowed around his face.
I should kill you, I thought. I could. Adrenaline welled in my body. My face throbbed; something wet dribbled down my cheek. Water splashed my shirt, my hair, and it felt good.
Seth’s body went slack slowly.
My rage grasped at thin air.
If I summoned the image of Hannah and Seth, the way I did sometimes when I wanted to feel angry, I might have held him under too long. But I wanted a fight, and the fight was gone. I dragged his wiry body back. He gasped and crawled away from me, over the heated stones. Just like an animal.
I left before I could feel pity.
I jogged away from the hotel, tasting iron and salt, turned onto Eighth Avenue and ran all the way back to the station, back into its cement belly, into a crowded train.
Chapter 13
HANNAH
Matt returned to the hotel at five.
I was there, sitting on the couch, watching the door.
I heard the metallic slip of the key card. The mechanism unlocked with a clack.
“Fuck,” I whispered as he stepped into the room.
Dark blood congealed around a gash on his cheek. His shirt was halfway untucked, clinging to his torso, his blazer nowhere to be seen. Sweat matted his hair.
“You’re back,” he said.
“Yeah…” I stepped closer to him. He eyed me warily, as if he might run. “Nate, um, drove me back. We’ve been calling.” Another step.
“Mm.”
Another step, then another. Matt let the door fall shut and smirked. Despite his disheveled appearance, relief coursed through me. He’s here.
I cupped the undamaged side of his face. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Wild Matt … he filled me with excitement, even now.
“Baby.” I stood on tiptoe and kissed the skin near his wound. “What happened?”
“Don’t you know? I think you know.”
I slipped my arms around him, and after a moment he returned the hug. He exhaled, then fit my body to his in a way that was classically Matt. Possessively, impatiently. With a touch of irritation. Cupping my ass, bringing my groin against his thigh. Pressing the small of my back, making my spine flex and my belly nuzzle him intimately. He curled my shoulders into his chest. He cradled the back of my neck and pushed his fingers through my hair.
I shivered.
That hand in my hair … could bring pleasure or pain.
“What am I going to do with you?” he said with a sigh.