“Look at you, defending her.” Chrissy’s nostrils flared. “I don’t want his help. Give me a fucking cigarette, would you?”

“No,” he said. He flashed an aggrieved look at me. “I think you should go…”

Me? Go? Chrissy was my sister.

With stinging eyes, I rushed toward my car, bumping past drunken strangers. I yanked open the trunk and snatched up all the plastic grocery sacks, and I lumbered back down the alley to where Seth and Chrissy were quarreling.

“You don’t get to pick and choose who helps you.” I set the load of groceries at Chrissy’s feet. “Matt bought all this food for you, so you and that baby can be healthy.”

Her eyes bored into me.

“He’s a judgmental asshole, and you’re not far behind, all of the sudden.” She kicked the nearest bag, hard. Something inside popped. I pictured Matt shopping for those groceries—looming in the aisle, glaring at the selection of whole-grain breads and inspecting each loaf in his angry way—and I dove down, gathering the bags away from Chrissy.

A slippery trail ran onto my shirt.

Broken egg.

I gasped and tears squeezed out of my eyes. I tried to stop them, but as soon as I tried, a torrent followed. I swore under my breath and swiped at my cheeks, smearing egg.

Strong arms closed around me. Seth guided me to my feet.

“Thank you for the food. Leave it; I’ll get it. Where’s your car?”

I pointed blindly and he guided me away from the light and stink of the club.

“There you go,” Chrissy called. “Help poor Hannah!”

Seth deposited me behind the wheel of my Civic. I sat there blubbering, an eggy, teary mess. He strained across my lap and snagged my phone.

“Matt’s been calling you,” he said. “I think you should call him back.”

At the thought of Matt’s anger—here I was with Seth, whom Matt had effectively ordered me not to see—a new surge of tears seeped into my hands.

“Hannah, calm down. I’ll—” My phone started to ring. “It’s Matt.” Seth hovered on the edge of my vision, holding out the phone while I sniffled and sobbed. Where was all this emotion coming from? Guilt … confusion … fear. Oh God, Matt was going to be so pissed.

“Can you take this?” Seth said.

I shook my head furiously.

He turned away and thumbed the screen. He brought my phone to his ear.

“Hello, Matt.”

Chapter 22

MATT

I overpaid my cab and launched out into the street.

Hannah’s Civic was parked in a metered spot and I could see her sitting behind the wheel. No sign of Seth or Chrissy.

I ran to her.

The driver-side door lurched open and I pulled her out.

“I’m sorry,” she bleated.

“Don’t be. What the hell happened?” I took in her red-rimmed eyes, dry cheeks, and stained shirt. Seth hadn’t given me details on the phone, and I hadn’t listened too well. Hannah is parked outside Dynamite. She’s fine, but she’s emotional. I think you should come get her.

I cussed him out for being in Colorado.

I threatened him.

I threw All the King’s Men across the living room.

I was still shouting into my cell when he hung up.

“I drove to my parents’ to meet up with Chrissy,” Hannah mumbled into my shirt, “and Dad said she was here with some guy and I lost it, ’cause I knew it was Seth. She was drinking. She was crazy. Matt, she hates me.”

She snuffled loudly and I cupped her face.

“Hey, hey. No more crying. It’s okay. Are they gone now?”

“Yeah. Seth”—she dragged her fist across her nose—“wanted to stay with me, but I made him leave, because…” She looked up at me with watery eyes.

“Good call,” I muttered. “Goddamn it, Hannah…” I clenched my teeth.

We held one another, standing on the sidewalk, and I rocked her gently.

“She kicked your groceries,” she whispered. At that, she nearly started to cry again, and I whispered in her ear that it was all right, and that it was over.

“She’s hormonal and confused. Don’t think about it now. Give me your keys.” I put Hannah on the passenger seat like a baby. Lifted her in, buckled her seat belt. She didn’t protest. She touched my hands and forearms wonderingly, as if my gentleness were a miracle.

Maybe it was a miracle.

I wanted to punch a hole in the nearest anything.

I plugged in my phone and shuffled a playlist for the drive back to Denver. When the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ “Wedding Song” came on, I reached over and rubbed Hannah’s thigh. She’d been mostly quiet, looking out her window. She filled me in on some details—Seth seemed high but genuinely concerned for Chrissy, they were doing a paternity test, she gave him the check—and I didn’t push her for more.

At the condo, I undressed her and we showered together.

She kept giving me quick, wide-eyed looks.

“It’s okay,” I told her again and again. I washed her hair. I stroked her body, nothing more. Afterward, we made coffee and sat on the couch.

I blew a curl of steam off my mug and smiled at Hannah. “Coffee at midnight. Sounds like some bad indie band, am I right?”

She smiled back at me and nodded.

“Bird, talk to me.”

“I’m … worried about him.”

I swallowed a mouthful of coffee. It scalded my tongue. Anger, which I had been tempering all night, rumbled inside me. Clouds massing for a storm.