Night Owl(51)

I parked on Pearl Street and tucked the envelope under my hoodie. Memories washed over me as I jogged to the alley where the DYNAMITE sign shone like a beacon. I laughed and paced the narrow backstreet.

God, I wanted to pat myself on the back. I had a good plan here. My brainstorming paid off. Chrissy was the key. Chrissy liked me. She would take my envelope to Hannah, I knew it.

The rain stopped and the night air cooled sharply. I hovered around the entrance to the club. I checked my watch. 11:00 p.m. Chrissy was probably inside.

A beefy looking bouncer emerged.

"No loitering pal."

"I'm waiting for a friend."

"Oh yeah, you got a friend in here? Get in or get lost."

I had planned to catch Chrissy going into work or leaving, but maybe the bouncer had a point. I could find her inside. Fuck though, I didn't want to see Hannah's sister topless.

"Okay," I mumbled, patting my pocket.

Shit. I left my wallet at the hotel. The bouncer glowered at me.

"Get lost ya bum," he said, advancing.

I darted up the alley and pressed myself against the brick wall out front. No way, I didn't need another round of assault charges, and I didn't need to be filing them either.

Hours passed as I waited out front. I jogged sporadically to keep warm. I shivered and sagged against the damp bricks.

Fucking Colorado with a cold night in August.

Around 3:00 a.m., a familiar voice jolted me from my stupor.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Chrissy called, her voice echoing down the alley. "Ha! Pretty sure I won, try harder girl."

I would have recognized her voice anywhere. It was Hannah's voice, just a touch huskier. Relief rushed through me. Fuck, I wanted to cry. This was it.

Chrissy stalked out of the alley. She made a beeline for a street lamp.

"Chrissy!" I shouted. I pulled out the manila envelope and hurried toward her. She turned. A huge grin split my face. "Hey, it's me! Matt!"

Chrissy was rummaging in her purse. I pushed back my hood. A plume of pepper spray erupted in my face.

"Fuck!" I cried, twisting away. I clutched my face. The envelope flew from my hands.

"Fuck you, you douchebag!"

I heard Chrissy's heels clacking away from me. I gasped for air. My skin was on fire. My nose and eyes and throat burned. When I opened my eyes, the world blurred around me.

"My envelope," I wheezed.

I got on my hands and knees and began to feel around on the sidewalk.

"In the puddle, bro," someone said. I looked toward the voice. I made out a lanky figure holding a phone. Was he filming this?

My hand splashed onto the sodden envelope.

CHAPTER 22

Hannah

I STOPPED READING the news about Matt after the pepper spray video went viral.

It was pulled from YouTube the same weekend it appeared, but by then it was everywhere. One site posted it under the title M. PIERCE TRIES TO SUBMIT MANUSCRIPT TO STRIPPER. Even Fit to Print linked to the video.

I didn't talk to Chrissy about it. Really, there was nothing to say.

With July behind me, I knew I had to focus on making some sort of life without Matt. Until then, I half hoped and half feared he would force himself back into my life, but that was a dream. He could never make it right.

I scrolled through my pictures of Matt and wondered who the hell he was. A beautiful man. A stranger. A liar. A global bestseller. An author I had admired for years.

Had I ever really held him in my arms? Did I dream our time together? Like a ghost, he slipped away from me.

With a new phone number, I only got calls from my family.

My new inbox was empty except for emails from Pam.

According to mom, Matt's nighttime drives past the house stopped.

I wondered what had been in the envelope Matt tried to give Chrissy. I watched the video as many times as I could stand it. I have to admit, it did look like a manuscript.

Whatever it was, it sat in a puddle for over a minute while Matt reeled and groped around on the sidewalk. It was probably ruined.

And Matt...

My beautiful lover on his hands and knees, with no one to help him. His intentions were probably ruined, too.

We were finally, truly over.

At work, I blazed through the tasks Pam gave me. I never wanted downtime. I worked through my lunch break and brought work home. When my eyes ached from too much reading, I hit the gym and ran on the treadmill until I wanted to collapse.

And that's what I did. I went home, collapsed, woke up, and headed to work.

The hollowness inside of me didn't shrink. It expanded until it seemed to press at the limits of my being. I became less than a shell of myself. I was a fine limning—a suggestion of Hannah Catalano.

One day, I thought, I wouldn't even be that.

I understood how people fall apart.

I understood how dangerous it is to let someone become your whole life, and how powerless we are to prevent it. Never deny me, Matt once said. As if I had a choice.

Pam plopped a manuscript onto my desk at the end of August.

It was rare for Pam to hand me anything; usually I picked through the slush pile myself or found the day's work waiting on my desk.

I slid out the manuscript.

THE SURROGATE, no author.

"What's this?"

"A manuscript," she said dryly.

Ugh. No Mercy Pam. Yes, I could see that it was a manuscript.