by Carrie Elks
His mouth was parched, and he reached out to the table next to his bed, his hand groping for a glass of water. He came up empty.
It took Matty’s wail to echo through the wall before he realized exactly where he was.
In London.
In a hotel.
In the middle of the night.
He sat straight up in his bed, reaching behind him to flick the light switch on the wooden headboard. The bedside lamp glowed warm and yellow, enough to illuminate but not startle. Everything in this room had been planned to pamper and coddle.
There was another cry, followed by a lower voice. Hanna was murmuring to him, maybe trying to relax him back to sleep. From the sound of his angry riposte, Matty was having none of it.
Pulling back the covers, Richard swung his legs out of bed, glancing down to check he was covered enough to be seen. His plaid pajama bottoms hung from his hips, his chest bare and glowing under the glare of the lamp.
He walked across the expensive carpet and out into the main room, pushing the door open quietly in case Matty had already dropped back to sleep. Hanna was pacing the wooden floor in her bare feet. The lacquer on her nails was almost black in the half-light. Matty struggled in her arms, his hands beating her back as she made a doomed attempt to placate him.
“Everything okay?” Richard’s voice was soft as he approached her, but she jumped, nevertheless. Hanna looked up at him, her eyes wide, giving him an apologetic smile.
“I’m so sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you up. He escaped from the cot. It must be shallower than the one we have at home.” One of the straps of her camisole had slipped down her shoulder revealing smooth, alabaster skin. It looked like porcelain in the dark room.
“Is he okay?” Richard’s brow furrowed. “It must have been a long way down.”
Hanna smiled. “He’s fine. He made it into this room before I was even aware what was happening. I swear he has a bright future ahead of him as an escape artist.”
As if he realized they were talking about him, Matty wailed again, his tone taking on a desperate edge. He looked up at Richard with red-rimmed eyes, his face screwed up in anger.
“Do you want me to take him?” Richard’s voice was still low. He was distracted by her skin. He could remember the way it tasted.
“I think he’s frightened, he doesn’t recognize where he is. I feel a bit disoriented myself.” Their eyes caught and locked, and for a moment they were silent, feeling the blanket of energy pushing down on them all. Then Matty opened his mouth again and screamed.
Richard reached forward and ran his hand across Matty’s cheek. It surprised him enough to quiet him momentarily while he took in the change. “Hey, Matty, it’s sleep time,” Richard murmured, his hand gentle but firm.
“Daddy.” Matty reached out to him, his voice a plaintive wail. Richard scooped him up, relieving Hanna of the burden, holding his son tightly against his chest in an attempt to make him feel safe. It seemed to work; his breathing became slower, more regular, and his hand moved up to his mouth, thumb extended. Richard rubbed his back, swaying gently in time to a silent rhythm, his head buried in his son’s hair.
He smelled so good.
“Shall I try to put him down?” Richard asked, looking up at Hanna. She was standing by the dining table, fiddling with the kettle.
“Yes, please. I think I’ll put him in the bed with me. I don’t want to risk him falling out of his cot again, it could have been so much worse.”
Richard walked into her room, the fragrance both familiar and enticing. It reminded him of lazy days in London, and frantic nights in New York. Matty yawned, thumb firmly stuck in his mouth, and let Richard lay him on the undented pillow, his eyes fluttering under the weight of his fatigue.
“Try to sleep.” He leaned forward and kissed Matty’s cheek, the plump skin smooth against his lips. Matty sighed, twisting his body until he was lying on his side, legs curled under his diapered rump. He stayed for a moment, watching his son as his lips worked themselves against his thumb, the occasional slurp breaking the silence of the night.
“Sweet dreams,” he murmured, walking out of the bedroom and pulling the door closed behind him. He glanced around, spotting Hanna sitting on the plush upholstered sofa, her legs curled beneath her, hands wrapped around a mug of tea.
“I made you one, in case you’re thirsty.” She pointed over at the table. Richard walked over and retrieved the cup. The steam rose up as he lifted the mug to his lips, hot sweet liquid spilling over the rim into his mouth. He swallowed it like a dying man.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Hanna’s reply was rigidly polite. Richard wondered what would crack the barrier; bring it falling down until all that was left was raw wounds and honesty.
“I never got to apologize for the ambush at the airport.” He smiled nervously, trying not to look at her too closely. Even though the pajamas she had on were fairly conservative—a tank and long, black pants—they were strangely erotic to look at, knowing she was bare underneath. He knew all too well what she looked like when naked.
His conflicting emotions were hard enough to handle in the daylight, let alone the dark gloom of night.
“It wasn’t your fault. I knew I had to see them at some point.” She took another sip, soft lips touching china. He watched as she swallowed, eyes closing momentarily to savor the tea.
“I thought it went surprisingly well, considering.” Richard sat down on the sofa beside her, his legs inches from her feet. He wanted to lift them up, put them on his lap and rub them.
He didn’t.
“They’re always gracious. I know it must have been hard, being civil to me after all that’s happened.” Hanna reached forward and put her cup on the coffee table. “They seemed to like Matty, though. That’s all that matters.”
“It will get easier, you know, every time we tell people.” He watched her breath hitch when he said the word we. “Things can only get better.”
She smiled, lighting up the dark room. Despite her tiredness, and the tension of the day, she was still heartbreakingly beautiful, like a work of art. Since becoming a mother, her breasts were rounder, her cheekbones more defined. But it was the inner change that affected him the most, watching her interact with their son. He could so easily fall in love with the way she adored Matty.
Hanna cleared her throat. “I haven’t told my dad yet. I was going to visit him after telling you while I was in New York. I guess I’ll catch up with him after we arrive.” Her brow crumpled.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be having a talk with my mother when we get back, too,” he replied.
Hanna raised her eyebrows. “It never ends, does it? Just when you think the hardest part is over, something else comes up to take its place.”
Richard reached his hand out, then pulled it back, running his finger over the pattern of the sofa. Lifting his head, he looked at her, his expression serious. “You know, when I came to London to find you gone, I thought I’d never be happy again.” Her face stilled at his words. “I thought it would be so easy; I’d come to your flat, sweep you off your feet and carry you back to Manhattan.”
Hanna leaned toward him, eyes glistening. She looked like she wanted to say something, but her lips remained still, her teeth worrying the bottom one.
He took another breath, not sure where he was going with this. He wanted to tell her—needed her to know—just what he’d been through. But to hurt her was to hurt himself.
“I feel like I’ve just existed for two years, like I put things on hold. And to know that I could have spent those two years with Matty and with you…” His voice broke before he could finish his sentence.
“I’m so sorry.” Hanna scrambled to her knees, grabbing his hand and pulling it against her face. “I know I fucked up everything. If I could go back and change it I would.” Her tears moistened his fingers, and he moved his thumb against her cheek, wiping them away. “I hate that you missed out, and I h
ate that I believed you were still with Meredith. Even worse than that, I had a piece of you with me, and you had nothing.”
Richard twisted his hips, turning to face her. Her skin was smooth under his rough fingers, pulled taut against her cheekbones. Just a few inches and he could caress her neck, tangle his fingers into her hair. Pull her against him until their lips…
He shook his head, trying to empty it of conflicting emotions. He wanted to pull her onto him, kiss the holy shit out of her, and grind his aching body against hers until she was begging him for more. But there was a deeper, angrier part of him that wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled, scream at her until she was begging him for mercy.
He needed to go to bed, alone. He didn’t trust himself not to hurt her. He couldn’t depend on her not to hurt him. The web just kept getting stickier.
THE FLIGHT TO New York was as fraught as they’d expected. At first, Matty had been distracted by the movies on the screen in front of him: Hanna pointing out his favorite characters as she tried to stop him from taking the earphones off his head. Then he’d gone through a manic twenty minutes halfway through the flight, trying to escape from them and run down the aisle, not understanding that he needed to sit still. Richard had held him, walking him around the cabin until his head nodded heavy with sleep, before laying him across their laps, hands stroking as he dreamed peacefully.
They didn’t speak of the previous night. Hanna’s tears, and his own embarrassing response were buried at the bottom of their bigger troubles. Matty was their shield and their glue, binding them together while allowing them to ignore everything else that went on between them.
“I’ve asked the staff to prepare rooms for you and Matty,” Richard said, his hand stroking his son’s hair. “I’ve arranged for a bed instead of a cot, in case of any more Houdini escapes.”
Hanna tried to crack a smile. “He’ll have to stick to safe-cracking and base jumping instead, I guess.” She met his gaze. “Thanks for letting us stay while I look for something more permanent.”
It was early evening when they arrived at his apartment. Matty was surprisingly subdued, as if he’d worn off all his energy on the plane. His head lolled against Hanna’s arm as he stared out of the car window, his teeth scraping rhythmically against his thumb. Occasionally, something would take his interest and he’d point, using single words to ask what it was. Hanna would patiently say the word, explaining more about it, and Richard tried not to watch the way her lips moved as she spoke.
He was going crazy having them so close to him, but it would be so much worse when they moved out. He wanted to find a way to keep them near, so he could watch over them, and make sure they were safe. It wasn’t enough just to have them in the same city, he wanted them under his roof.
Jack brought their luggage up, putting Hanna’s cases in her room, unsure of what belonged to her or Matty. She’d packed a smaller bag with their overnight things, and quickly bathed him before putting him in a snug onesie covered with pictures of cars. Richard lingered in the room, watching his son play with the plastic toys he’d asked Lisa to order for him, smiling as he crawled from the plastic garage to the kitchen, his eyes wide with delight.
“It looks like Toys ‘R’ Us just threw up in your apartment,” Hanna observed, watching Matty bang a plastic saucepan against his head. “It seems so incongruous.”
Richard scratched his chin. The apartment clearly hadn’t been decorated with children in mind; a glance at the white walls and raw silk upholstery was enough to give that little snippet away. But somehow, having his son here, being surrounded by childhood paraphernalia, attracted him to the apartment more than any thousand-dollar designer could.
“I just ordered the basics. We’ll have to work out what else we need.” He caught her eye. Her chocolate brown irises were huge, and she stared right back, her lips slightly parted. Then she looked down, eyelashes grazing her cheeks, her fingers trembling as she reached for their son.
“I’m going to put him to bed. We’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON he was waiting in Central Park, standing at the duck pond and watching the children throwing bread. Hanna and Matty were due to meet him at 1:00 p.m., but it was already quarter past. He was starting to worry.
Somebody threw something heavy in the pond, and the large splash startled the birds, causing them to flap their wings and skim the water in their haste to escape. Richard craned his head, spotting a group of teenagers standing across the water from him, laughing uproariously at their own foolish actions.
“I’m so sorry we’re late.” Her voice was thick, her eyes rimmed with red. Matty ran toward him and grabbed his suited legs, sticky fingers pulling at the worsted fabric.
“How did it go?” He didn’t need to ask. Her expression said it all.
“My dad was difficult. Told me I was just like my no-good mother. Then he called Olivia who shouted down the phone, and I could hear her say Matty would be better off if we had him adopted.” She was staring at the ground, her fingers twisting at her bracelet. He wanted to reach out and calm her movements.
“I should have gone with you. I wanted to.” He was going to do it; he needed to—for her sake as well as his. Stepping forward, he squared his shoulders, one hand reaching out to touch her arm. She glanced up at him, eyes shiny, opening her mouth to say words that came out silent.
The next moment she was in his arms, her slim frame enveloped by his. Richard hesitated momentarily, trying to work out where best to put his hands, before placing them in the middle of her back, rubbing her through the thin material of her dress.
“I’m so sorry she said that,” he murmured. “You know she’s wrong, though. Matty’s been the best thing that happened to both of us in a long time.”
“He said he didn’t know me.” She sobbed into his shirt. “That he didn’t want to know me. I know I lied to him by omission, but he was so cruel.” She lifted a hand from his arm and wiped her face, dark smudges of mascara smearing across her finger. “He reacted so much worse than you did, and you had so much more to blame me for.”
“I’ve got so much more to thank you for, too.” Richard scooped Matty up in his arms, and the three of them held each other like a real family. He wanted to close his eyes and inhale the aroma of happiness. “We still have a way to go before we sort everything out, but at least we’re both willing to try.”
They walked over to a bench, and he watched the way the muscles in her calves flexed with her movement. In the week since they’d been back in New York, she had caught the sun from spending her days with Matty in the park, showing him the animals and letting him run free across the grass.
In the evenings, he’d come home to his apartment with a heart so full it was almost painful. To see Hanna standing in the kitchen, preparing Matty’s tea, cut him to the core. It was such a pleasant burn. He had to question himself; was he still attracted to her for who she was, or was he just wanting the perfect family unit? The way his body stirred whenever she bent over or leaned down so that the smallest swell of breast was showing told him it was the former.
She was busy pulling Matty’s lunch from her oversized bag, scrabbling around for her baby wipes and a bib. Matty leaned back on the bench, swinging his legs back and forth, and singing to himself using made-up words.
“Did your dad even look at Matty?” Richard knew he was pulling at scabs, but found it hard to believe Philip would reject his own flesh and blood. It reminded him of a harsher, more painful confrontation he needed to have with his own mother. One he was putting off.
“Just a glance when Matty pulled some papers off his desk. Then he huffed and picked them up, telling me the office was no place for a child.” She ripped the foil from the yogurt pot, dipping the spoon in before raising it to Matty’s mouth.
“Maybe you need to give him time. He’s had a lot to take in.” He suppressed a smile, aware his words referred to himself as much as Philip Vincent.
“
I’ll let him call me when he’s ready; if he’s ever ready.” Hanna plucked a wipe and smeared it across Matty’s face. He scrunched up his nose in protest, twisting his head to evade the cloth. She tickled him under the chin, enough to make him giggle, and then lunged forward, catching the yogurt before it dribbled from his mouth. Her expression of victory was enough to make Richard grin, and she turned to catch his eye, her own smile brightening her features.
“What?” she asked.
“You were looking so pleased with yourself,” he replied. “Like catching a bit of yogurt was tantamount to winning a Pulitzer or something.”
“If you had to do as much laundry as I have, every dollop on a baby wipe is a major win.” She leaned forward and rubbed the wipe on Richard’s face, the sweet aroma of the cloth invading his senses.
“Hey! I haven’t eaten any yogurt today.” He grinned, leaning forward to pick out another wipe. “If anybody needs cleaning up, it’s you.” She tried to scoot away, wriggling her behind along the bench. Richard mirrored her every move, following her like a stalking lion. He was inches away from her face, and he watched her expression change as she looked up at him, her breath hitching at his proximity.
Her tongue darted out, moistening her lips, and a high color appeared on the apples of her cheeks. From the corner of his eye he could see Matty still swinging his legs, slowly eating a banana while he stared at the birds swooping down from the trees.
Richard leaned forward, dragging the wipe against Hanna’s skin, cleaning away the mascara smudges that had gathered from crying over her father. Their gazes locked, blocking the rest of the world out. Their laughter faded beneath the intensity of their connection, lips loosening and dropping until it was replaced by need.
“Your skin is perfect,” he whispered, his fingers dragging along her cheekbones, his attempts at cleaning her face abandoned. “I’d forgotten how soft it was.”
Hanna swallowed as he continued to caress. She reached out and put her hand under his jacket, sliding it against his waist. His thin cotton shirt did nothing to dull the sensation of her touch. He wanted to pull it out from his waistband and push her hand inside, encourage it up until her palm rubbed against his bare chest. It wasn’t enough just to look at her anymore. He needed to feel.
