The only common denominator between Matt’s career prior to me and after me was his unchecked popularity.
“I don’t control what he writes,” I said, willing strength into my voice. “I never know what he plans to write. We don’t talk about it. In fact, I didn’t even know he’d finished this.” I glared at Last Light. “But I’ll stand by any decision he makes with his writing.”
I met Pam’s stare—maybe a little defiantly. What I wanted to say was, You should stand by his decisions, too.
Pam cocked her head and smiled frigidly. “So you stand by his decision to tell the world what really happened when he ‘died’ last year?”
“We already told everyone what happened.”
“This tells a different story.” She pointed at the manuscript. “No less romantic, though. The two of you plotting his disappearance. You, sneaking out to the cabin to see him. I suppose you’re right. It does make for a … great story.”
I froze in my chair.
Oh … shit. How had I never considered this? I knew Matt was writing Last Light, I knew he planned to publish it, and I knew what it was about. I’d even read a chunk of it in April when I ambushed him at the condo.
Last Light, quite simply, told the truth behind Matt’s faked death and my part in it, and Nate’s part in it, and … oh God, all the stuff that happened with Seth …
The drugs. The hookup.
My office teetered. I held on to the desk.
Matt had already fed a standard lie to major magazines and papers, not to mention anyone who saw us on the Denver Buzz. Our story was that he orchestrated his faked death alone. No one knew. I believed it was true and mourned him, just like the poor, exploited public.
And in our story, I emerged victorious. I was the girlfriend who loved her neurotic artist so much that she forgave him for doing the unthinkable. Angelic Hannah—love’s saint.
Nate looked equally heroic. After Matt reappeared, shocking and disgusting the public, Nate had made several statements in support of his youngest brother. Of course I forgive him. The loss of him, the grief, was horrible. That he’s alive is nothing but miraculous.
But if Last Light got published …
It would shine a spotlight on all our scheming and deceit. Matt’s aunt and uncle would know I’d lied to their faces. My parents would know. Everyone would know. And whatever public support we’d rallied with our “epic love story” would vanish into the ether.
Matt, did you consider this?
“Hannah?” said Pam.
I gazed up at Matt’s agent, another person we’d deceived. She’d comforted me during Matt’s memorial, and she’d arranged all the interviews and appearances through which we disseminated our lie.
Now she knew the truth—obviously—and I saw hurt under her stony exterior.
“It’s … fiction,” I managed.
Pam laughed, her lips curling. “I’m sure. Whatever it is, it will be a sensation.”
We stared at one another in a deadlock. Oh, Pam. This woman had been so good to me, so loyal to Matt. She deserved the truth.
My eyes watered and I looked away.
“I’ll leave it with you, Hannah. You might as well read it, unless you already have.”
“Th-thank you.” I touched the stack of papers. I did want to read it. I’d only skimmed the book in April, and it wasn’t complete at the time. Now I could read every grisly detail.
Pam moved toward the doorway. I listened as her heels clicked to a stop. She spoke with her back to me, her voice softer.
“For six years I guarded his identity. I handled his privacy with the utmost discretion, and kept his secrets, when it would have behooved me and his career to reveal him.” She shook her head slowly and turned her face so that I could see her profile. “But he’s not right in the head. What I don’t understand is how he brought you in on it.”
I stayed quiet, knowing I’d break into tears if I spoke.