Last Light(73)

“What?” Nate’s voice was breathless.

“I can’t explain it all now. Please, will you let it go?”

“Matt, of course … I…”

My words were a blow to Nate, I could see that. He reeled and touched the wall. And God, I felt like a criminal. All these months he’d been pursuing Night Owl, imagining he was doing me a favor, and probably focusing on the case in lieu of worrying about me. Now I yanked it out from under him.

“I’m sorry, Nate. I should have told you. I didn’t want to risk the contact, but I should have … told Hannah, and had her tell you. Something, I don’t know.”

“It’s…” Nate paced the narrow width of the hall. “I had no idea. It’s nothing like your other books, it’s—”

“Vulgar,” I murmured.

“That, too.” He rolled his eyes. “How could you publish such a thing? Did you spare one thought for Hannah?” Nate turned on me, his gaze hardening. “You didn’t even change her damn name. How could you?”

He took a swift step toward me and I moved to meet him. We bristled in silence, glaring into one another’s eyes.

“It’s my book. Our story. Don’t tell me what I should have done or shouldn’t have written. It’s my writing, Nate.”

“Oh, you and your precious writing.”

“What about it?” I got in Nate’s face. There was a time when Nate could beat me handily, but we were older now and equals. “I love Hannah. She knows I love her.”

“Does she?” Nate’s temper defused with a sigh. He backed down, and I backed down. He turned away. “Go see about it. I’ll call Shapiro tomorrow.”

“Don’t be angry with me.” I moved around to look at Nate. “You can’t be.”

He smirked and shook his head slowly. “Don’t I know it, brother.”

“I have to go, Nate. We’ll talk soon. Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

We embraced again.

“How do you plan to come back to life?” Nate said.

“I don’t know. With a bang?” I nudged him. “Nah, but really … I’ll contact Pam. If she doesn’t kill me or drop me, she’ll help me negotiate something with the press. She has all these”—I waved a hand—“connections. I’ll tell you, though, it’s going to be f*cking painful.”

Nate nodded and smiled at me. So much emotion had boiled over in that hallway, it was hard to believe he was smiling again.

“You better get back to your boy,” I said.

We shook hands and Nate grasped my arm.

“And you get back to your girl,” he said.

I didn’t want to wait for the elevator; I didn’t want to watch Nate walk off. I took the stairs down to the lobby. As I breezed through the opulent space—white marble walls, high ceilings with gilt molding—my fingers went for the hat and sunglasses in my coat pocket.

I stopped my hand. No, no more of that.

I walked out into the bustle of Fourteenth Street. I searched for Mel’s bright blue car. People pushed around me. A show must have just ended at the arts center or opera house.

Before long, I heard a silvery giggle and a gasp float over from a group of women.

“It is!” one said, elbowing her companion.

“You’re crazy,” said another. “Stop staring.”

I glanced at them.

The bold one, the slender woman who spoke first, approached me.

“You’re M. Pierce,” she said. She pointed at me with her cigarette. “I know it’s you. I saw a thing about you in the Post.”

“In the flesh,” I said. I shook her hand and she laughed giddily.

“You’re terrible!”

“Quite.”

Mel’s car came around the corner. I excused myself and gestured for Mel to roll down the window. I leaned in. “Hey, kid.”

“You look smug,” Mel said. The noise on Fourteenth Street was outrageous. We shouted to one another.

“Well, I’m going to see Hannah. Going to fix everything. And it feels good to be alive. Pass me my duffel bag, will you?” I pointed to the bag at the foot of the passenger seat.

Mel wedged it out the window. I slung the strap over my shoulder.

“You’re going,” she said.

“We’re just a few blocks from here. I thought I’d walk.”

Melanie nodded and fluffed her hair. “Fine, get going.”

“Mel, it’s been real.” I held on to the edge of the window. “Look at me.”

She glared at me with bleary eyes. “It’s been surreal, Matt.”

I unzipped my bag and pulled out my notebook. I tossed it into the car.

“My next book,” I said. “It’s not complete, but you can review it for your blog, huh? Or put it all over the Internet, right? Mail it back to me.”

I couldn’t get a smile out of Mel. She hugged the notebook and drove away with big tears slipping down her cheeks. I turned and headed up Fourteenth Street. The crowd seemed to be moving against me, which made me laugh. People smiled as I passed. Everyone was in a great mood because it was spring and tomorrow was still the weekend.

Now and then, I heard my names in the crowd. Matthew Sky. M. Pierce.