After Dark (The Night Owl Trilogy #3)(39)

“C … cruel? I’m the cruel one?”

“When would I touch your sister, Hannah? Not in a million years. What combination of drugs and drink could induce me to fool around with her? None. And not because she isn’t attractive”—he spun and loomed over me, his face thunderous—“but because she’s your goddamn sister. It would be wrong. Revolting. I would never—”

“Shut up!” I shrieked. My arms trembled. “Shut up or I’ll hit you, and I don’t want to f*cking hit you.”

“Do it. It would be preferable to your reading from that—”

I shoved him. He didn’t move.

“Try harder,” he snapped.

I planted my palm against his chest and pushed. Mmph! This selfish son of a bitch. He barely wavered. I pummeled his chest with my fist, big tears rushing to my eyes.

“Sometimes I hate you!” I puffed.

He caught my jaw. Fingers like iron drew me up short, wrenching my face toward his. I froze, my eyes going round.

Matt brought his mouth to mine.

His smoky breath touched my lips.

“And sometimes I hate you,” he hissed, “for doing it with him. To him…”

His glare scoured my face—I held my breath—and then he let me go. I staggered back, flattening myself against the deck door. Holy shit.

“I thought we were past that,” I whispered. A tear dropped from my chin.

“So did I. And now you come to me, reading it to me.” He glared hell at the manuscript.

“Because you plan to publish it. How can you be so dense?”

“You knew I planned to publish it all along. What the hell is your problem? You realize Night Owl is for sale online, yeah? That the paperback will be in every bookstore in America come September? What the f*ck, Hannah?”

“This is different. Matt, the truth.” I slapped the chunk of papers. “The … the f*cking truth about me helping you fake your death, about Nate, about—”

“It doesn’t matter that it’s the truth. It will be sold as fiction. As far as I know, unless a book is libel, no court of law can come after you for—”

“What if they can? I lied to the police for you! I gave actual … false reports.”

“Shall I phone Shapiro and have him confirm that your fears are unfounded?”

Matt gaped at me. I gaped at him. I did not seriously want Shapiro, the Sky family lawyer, embroiled in yet another fiasco with me and one of Matt’s books. The Night Owl situation had been hairy enough.

“Fine, the … legal stuff … even if that weren’t an issue. What about the rest?”

“Let me just—” He rubbed his mouth. “Let me get this straight. You expect me … to refrain from publishing Last Light … because it’s true?”

“Uh … yes?”

“Ha…” He cocked his head and half-smiled. “Ah—I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. The…” He shook another cigarette from his pack. Ugh, I really wanted him to quit. My angry text at work probably sent him on a smoking tear, and just when he was tapering down. “The answer is no.” His expression grew calm and almost haughty. He turned away again.

I stood there, staring at his back in a daze.

The answer … is no? I wasn’t asking him not to publish the book; I was telling him not to. It couldn’t happen. Fucking wouldn’t happen. All day at work I’d tormented myself with the possible ramifications of Last Light seeing the light of day. Legal … social … familial ramifications. Was Matt suffering some sort of disconnect from reality?

Not to mention the awkward-as-hell situation he’d put me in with Pam.

I threw the manuscript at him.

As I twisted away, I saw a page lick into the air and go sailing out over Denver.

“Hannah,” he growled. He snatched at the stray papers.

I stalked inside and locked myself in our bedroom.

That douche-canoe could sleep on the couch. Again. Fuck, we needed a bigger place.

I booted up my laptop and sat on the bed, simmering. I expected Matt to come storming down the hall, banging at the door, but I heard nothing.

God, he could be so infuriating! And this wasn’t a joke—wasn’t up for discussion.

I listened to angry music (Eminem), hopped off the bed and paced, and finally opened Gmail and sent a message to Matt. Deep breaths …

Subject: Ultimatum

Sender: Hannah Catalano

Date: Monday, June 30, 2014

Time: 5:11 PM

Matt,

I don’t know how to reason with you right now. You’re being crazy. You absolutely CANNOT publish Last Light. Your aunt already seems to hate me. How much more do you think she (and the public) will hate me when they know I helped plan and execute your fake death?

Do you want people to hate me?

And don’t tell me people will think the book is fiction, because they won’t. Also, don’t you DARE compare Night Owl to Last Light. This is so different. My reputation is at stake here. So is Nate’s. The book portrays me doing drugs, hooking up with your brother, and basically letting you risk your life.

You would have to be seriously unfeeling to even THINK of publishing it.

That said, I know full well that I can’t stop you from doing what you want. You always do what you want. You’re a spoiled brat, do you know that? Golden boy with green eyes. It’s really hard to love you sometimes.