by Sarra Cannon
“Great. We’ll meet you there in an hour? Is that enough time?”
“Sure,” Hallie said, sitting up and pushing Matthew’s jacket aside. “Be there in an hour.”
— —
The second time around, The Library wasn’t so nerve-wracking. Or at least it wasn’t once she had a drink in her and she could ignore, to a degree, the cold looks Matthew was casting her from across the table while his date—Elizabeth, one of the redheads from he week before—whispered things into his ear.
He was drunk. He’d already downed a large tumbler of something strong and expensive, and was beginning to slur his speech.
“You know what I like about you,” he said loudly to Elizabeth, after she whispered something else in his ear and then threaded her fingers through his hair. “I like that you always say exactly what you’re thinking,” he finished, his eyes on Hallie, who shook her head, shooting him a glare of her own.
He took another drink of whatever amber-colored liquid he had in his glass.
“It’s true,” he continued, “I never ever have to guess. That’s a trait all girls should have, don’t you guys think?”
“You know what I like about you?” Derek cut in, draping his arm over the back of Hallie’s chair and leaning conspiratorially towards her. “You’re a hell of a dancer.” He grinned, and everything about him from his devilish grin to his bright green eyes to his warm Aussie accent made him seem fun and friendly. He arched an eyebrow gave an almost imperceptible nod to Matthew and Elizabeth. “Shall we show our friends a thing or two?”
“You know, Derek, I think I’d love that.”
And she took his hand, resolutely ignoring Matthew while at the same time wishing she could see the look on his face.
Dancing with Derek was easy, mainly because he was so hilariously ostentatious about it that everyone was looking at him, not at her. He led her in a bizarre congo line, then started in on some John Travolta routine, and he had her laughing in no time. The band seemed to indulge him for a while, playing old disco tunes, but then they settled back into playing their signature sultry slow songs—and for this, Derek finally settled down.
Hallie leaned back a little and closed her eyes, letting her hips and his hands guide her. She loved this song - the clear, sensual melody took her out of her body, made her feel like she was someone different: sexy, focused, in control. Then, as the chorus morphed into the second verse, she heard a loud thud, and she opened her eyes fast enough to see Matthew shove Derek against a nearby wall.
"Woah, mate, woah." Derek held up his hands as Matthew pinned him by the collar.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Just dancing with a pretty girl, Matt." He glanced over at Hallie, whose heart was racing. Matthew didn't look at her. "You ought to know something about it," Derek added.
Matthew growled and gave him another jerk against the wall.
"What are you playing at?"
"I really don't know what—”
"Drop the act, Derek." His voice was getting louder, and they were starting to draw a crowd. Hallie's face burned, but she knew better than to intervene just then between these two friends. And if she was totally honest with herself, a tiny - tiny - insignificant, shameful part of her wanted to see where this went. It wasn't every day Hallie had a guy go berserk over seeing her dancing with someone else. Especially since the number of men she'd danced with could fit on, well, two fingers.
"Well," Derek said, as though Matthew had asked him about the weather, "you never said she was off-limits."
"I don't have to say it," Matthew replied through gritted teeth. "You know, you son of a bitch."
At this, Derek did drop the act. "Then why," he said, wrenching Matthew's grip from the front of his blazer, "are you acting like such an arse?"
"That's none of your goddamn business."
"It is my business when you're being a fool. It is when you're hurting her. We all saw you last week… we know what's going on. Is that—” He gestured at Matthew's date, who had drunkenly commandeered a bowl of peanuts from the bar and was snacking as she watched them "—really how you want to have treated her?" Now he looked at Hallie, and so did the small crowd that had surrounded them. "Look at her, Matt."
Matthew didn't turn. He shook with fury, clenching his fists as though it was taking every ounce of control he had not to hit Derek with the force of all that rage and frustration.
"Don't," he said, his voice deadly soft, his nostrils flaring, "presume to lecture me about things that you can't possibly understand."
"I understand enough," said Derek defiantly. "I know a coward when I see one."
Before anyone could realize what had happened, Matthew had struck Derek to the ground, leaving him clutching his stomach and his face. Someone gave a belated shriek and in the next moment, Matthew was being hauled out of the club.
Hallie was stunned, rooted to the spot. Only the sight of Derek's bloody nose roused her to his side.
"Jesus, Derek…" Someone handed her a roll of paper towels and she handed him a bunch, which he used to stem the bleeding. She helped him into a sitting position, propping him against the wall. "Can someone get us some ice, too, please?"
Carla, who was staring down at them, her face pale, her eyes round, hurried off in search of the ice.
The manager of the bar stopped by. "Is he all right? Do we need an ambulance?"
Derek shook his tilted head. "'Mm good, tanks," he muttered from beneath the wad of paper towels.
"I'm so sorry," Hallie said. "I had no idea this was going to happen."
"Don't worry," the manager replied briskly. "You're not the first college kids to have a fistfight in here. I'm just grateful it didn't get out of hand… you grad students are generally a calmer crowd. Anyway. Your friend's not allowed back in here tonight."
A few handfuls of paper towels later, Derek leveled his head and prodded the bridge of his nose gingerly. "That's a delightful bruise in the making. Damn, my director's going to kill me."
"Well, for whatever it's worth… thank you," Hallie said, touching his forearm tentatively. "I mean, not for your approach, that was stupid. But for the sentiment."
He gave her a groggy smile. "Anytime, love."
She stood up, then held out her hand to pull him up. Together, they made their way back to the table, where a waitress had placed a bucket of ice and Carla was waiting, sipping her rum and coke.
"I've never seen Matthew behave like that," she said, and Derek snorted.
"Yeah. Tell me about it. It's you, love." He elbowed Hallie, and Carla raised her eyebrows. "You messed him up."
"I don't understand," Hallie said. "I mean, I know I didn't leave last week on the best of terms, but I really thought he'd just get over it. I didn't think any of it mattered all that much to him. And the way he was acting tonight… I thought it meant I was right."
But the look of skepticism Derek gave her made her flush.
They sat and drank for a while longer, but the mood at the table was subdued.
After a few more slow songs, Elizabeth pushed her way towards their table and flung a set of keys on their table. "I'm done. I've had it. You can take him."
"Sorry?"
"The moron is drunk off his ass. He went to the liquor store on the corner. He can't drive. Those are his keys, he needs to go home, and I already got another ride." She glared at Hallie. "He's asking for you, anyway."
Hallie stared at the keys. Then, before she could convince herself not to, she grabbed them, turned to Carla, and asked, "Will you be all right?"
"Oh, sure, I have money for a cab. But you have to tell me how it goes."
Hallie nodded, left a twenty for the bill, and chased after Elizabeth as she stalked away. As she walked outside, she heard Matthew before she saw him. He had accosted Elizabeth on her way out the door.
"Did you go get her? Liz, please, go get her—”
"Oh, go screw yourself," Elizabeth said, rolling her eyes. "But get some coff
ee first. And don't pass any open flames on your way."
"Matthew," Hallie said loudly. "Let's go."
He peered around Elizabeth's lithe frame and then ushered her past him.
"Hallie," he said, with such relief that she rolled her eyes. "I want to explain."
She held up her hand. "Nope. Not now. Right now, I'm taking you home." She jingled her keys at him, then took his hand and dragged him around the building toward the parking lot. It was strange, having to load a drunk man into her pink van, and it would have been funny if he didn't provoke such an infuriating sort of affection in her. She was angry at him because she couldn't be angry at him.
"This? Is so not cool," she told him, as she unlocked the van.
She contemplated letting him sleep in the backseat, but the instant she thought of it, another thought ran through her mind, of her slamming on the brakes and Matthew crashing through the windshield. The briefest, vaguest thought of hurting another person with this car was enough to turn her stomach.
She guided him into the front seat, then rounded the car and climbed in beside him. As she revved the engine, she heard a series of messy clicks, and realized that he was having a hard time with the seatbelt. Sighing, she leaned over him to pull, tighten, and latch it closed. As she hovered near him, he reached up and threaded one hand through her hair. He smelled of liquor and the leather from his jacket, but she still wanted to stop and rest her head on his chest. She closed her eyes and let him massage her scalp for a moment.
"You're perfect," he murmured. "Everything I don't want to imagine. I'm so stupid."
He was really, really drunk. She gently extracted his fingers from her hair and gave him a steady stare. "Tonight, you were very stupid," she agreed. "But last week, I was stupid. So we're even for now, okay?"
"Okay." He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Hallie put the Westie in gear and headed for his house.
At the last major intersection before his street, they caught a stoplight. She glanced over at him as he dozed, and he looked almost peaceful. Young. Everything about him, the intensity that made her feel edgy and anxious, exhilarated and nervous, soothed and restored—all of that had given way to a vulnerability in him that made her heart ache. He was good and strong, but lost, too. Like her. His brow twitched and she wondered if he was dreaming, if it was beautiful or nightmarish. She allowed herself to watch him until the glow of the red street light on his face turned green, which wasn't nearly long enough.
As they neared his house, rolling faster down the winding hill, Hallie felt her heart rate quicken and her grip on the steering wheel tense. She pumped the brakes so much that the little jerks of the car roused Matthew, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. She inched them towards the curve that had obliterated her life, and she tried to tell herself that this time was different: she wasn't tired and it wasn't icy and Dani wasn't there arguing with her. She took the curve slowly and Matthew was silent, as the tree and his house rose up out of the darkness.
She ground the Westie to a halt, facing the scarred tree trunk that they'd careened into just a few weeks earlier. She killed the engine and sat there, thinking of that day, of the way her seatbelt had snapped her back into her seat as she watched Dani's fragile body go flying, falling, leaving crimson stains on the window and strands of blonde hair in the broken glass—
There was a tap on her window. Matthew had gotten out and was waiting for her on her side.
"Come on out, Hallie. Just look at me."
Her hands trembling, she unlocked the door and tried to climb out, until she realized she hadn't unbuckled. Matthew reached across her stomach and unhooked her.
"Just look at me," he said again as she hopped down, using his hand for leverage. Her eyes wandered to the pavement as she wondered where, exactly, Dani had landed. Looking for the stains of dried blood. "Don't look over there. Just look at me. Look at me."
He draped one heavy arm around her shoulder. "Besides, I need you to make sure I don't fall on my ass."
Chapter 8
At the door, she fumbled in her clutch for his keys, and together they pushed their way inside, tripping over the doorway and into a high-ceilinged entry hall, which she could see by the moonlight was dusty and hollow. Matthew fumbled for a lamp on the table and clicked it on—and as the light illuminated the hall and the adjacent den, she felt her heart sink.
The house, she now saw, was truly beautiful—a sprawling ranch house with the big front yard and spacious floor plan to match. It was well-kept and tidy—a bit dusty but clean. In fact, it was as if no one had lived there in decades… as though the perfect, 1960s model-home stillness had been preserved, like a museum, for a visitor who never came.
Matthew set his keys on the table and led her forward into the den, with its worn wooden floors that creaked as they walked. Even the whirring ceiling fan wasn’t enough to shake the feeling she had, that the house was a place of stagnation, of silence, of loneliness. She tried to admire the open floor plan and the stately hearth, which the architect had clearly meant to be the central feature of the home. It was large, made of grey stone, but filled with dust, cobwebs, and old ash. The furnishings and fixtures in the room, meanwhile, took her back to the 1960s, from the shag rug to the velvet green couch.
The far left of the room gave way to the modestly sized kitchen and dining table, while the other side of the den featured a small but striking wooden spiral staircase that led to a small loft. Through the rails she could see that the loft was a reading area, lined with bookshelves and complete with a plush arm chair.
Matthew sank into the couch and tilted his head back.
“Nice place you have here,” she said. It was a lame attempt at a joke, in the hopes of shaking off the deep sadness that penetrated the whole house and left her feeling settled. She wanted to get him out of there, to pull him into the twenty-first century. Or at least turn on a few more lights.
She busied herself doing just that, which roused him. He watched her, bleary-eyed, as she climbed the rickety staircase to the loft. She wanted to investigate his bookshelves. He had everything - classics, mysteries, science fiction, and a sizable collection on metaphysics. She didn’t know what that was, exactly. She ran her fingers over the spines, noticing that the bookshelves, of all things, weren’t in the least bit dusty. He spent a lot of time up here.
“You can sleep up there, if you want,” he told her from the couch, which made her whirl around. She looked down at him between the railings.
“Who says I’m staying here?”
“Me.”
Hallie snorted. “Not a chance.”
Matthew was quiet, and she climbed back down. As she passed him on her way towards the kitchen, he stopped her with a hand on her forearm. “You can sit down, you know,” he said softly. “You can relax. I’m not going to bite.”
“I’m just going to get us something to drink… Don’t look at me like that, I mean coffee.”
“You’re my guest. I’ll get it.”
“You could barely walk in the front door.”
“I made it, didn’t I?”
“With my help!”
He tugged her down beside him, and she landed with a grunt.
“All right, then,” she said, turning to him, “if I have to sit here then you have to tell me why you beat up your friend, and why you brought Elizabeth, and why you were so mean tonight. Were you trying to send me a message?”
Matthew glanced at her and then pushed himself off the couch, “You know, I think I’ll have that coffee now.”
Shaking her head, Hallie grabbed the tail of his shirt and dragged him back down. She shifted to face him, drawing her knee up on the couch, and he bit his lip, smiling sheepishly at her, a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. He reached for her, first touching her shoulder and then sliding his hand up to cradle her neck, then sighing, as though he’d wanted to pull her closer but thought better of it.
“I brought Elizabeth because I was trying to
forget about you,” he said. “I beat up Derek because I’d realized I couldn’t.”
Hallie studied him, from the crease in his brow to the glistening curve of his lips and the dark circles under his eyes. This was not the man who had found her that night on the road, or rescued her in the middle of her alleyway panic attack. This man was exhausted, frustrated, and in pain—over her, it seemed, which she couldn’t wrap her mind around.
“Why did you leave that night?” He asked, rubbing his thumb against her earlobe absently.
“I got nervous,” she whispered, leaning into his touch and fighting to keep her eyes open. God, she really needed some water. She took a shaky breath. “You made me feel like someone else, someone other than who I actually am. I don’t know why, but it feels like I should know you from somewhere. It feels like you know me. I know how that sounds, but it’s true. And I felt like any second you’d realize you’d made a mistake. I wanted to save you the trouble.”
He blinked. She wondered if he’d remember much of this in the morning. Then—
“I do know you,” he murmured. “We do know each other.”
“What? How?”
Matthew was quiet and his gaze grew unfocused. The fan whirred above them, but beyond that, they were enveloped in silence. She waited.
“Matthew?”
“Hmm?”
“How do we know each other?”
“What? We met outside. When you had your accident.”
“No,” she said, “you were just saying… we know each other.”
“You misunderstood me,” he said. “I just mean.. We understand each other.”
Frustrated, Hallie climbed off the suede couch. “I’m going to go.”
“Wait. Please, stay.” He took one of her hands and sighed, staring down at his knees. “Just… please. It’s so late to be on the road, and I know you had a drink yourself. I have a great shower and some spare sweats you can wear. I’ll leave you alone. Please, Hallie.”
His last words tugged at her heart. I’ll leave you alone. Was that really what she wanted? To be left alone? Was that why she’d come here, followed him in, pressed him for answers? Something inside her didn’t want to give up, though every part of her body was telling her to run away, confident that he was destined to hurt her.
