Hector incoming, it reads.His car just pulled up.
My heart bounces up into my throat, and my vision narrows even more.
Bang, bang. There he is. He stands backlit by the patio light, looking like the Ghost of Christmas-Yet-To-Come finally here to claim me. I back away, needing a wider stretch between us. Otherwise, I might curl up into the fetal position and begin to cry.
I’m comforted momentarily, thinking the door is locked, but Hector has a key. I can’t bear to look him in his stupidly handsome face. He’s not even wearing a coat.
“Where are you going?” he asks. Maxim grabs the packed suitcase and lugs it up with his usual strength and speed. I don’t want him to witness this, but I also don’t want to be left alone with Hector.
Alone with Hectoris what got me into this mess in the first place.
“Back to New York,” I croak.
“What? You said you were staying. You said youwould stay.” He’s pleading, eyes puppy-dog dreary. A bungee cord, like the one we wrapped around the Christmas tree, constricts my heart, making me feel faint.
“That was before you…” I can’t even complete that sentence. The betrayal burns through me at lightning speed.
“Before I what? Matthew, what are you talking about?” he asks like he doesn’t have a clue. A spectacular act of duplicity. His face crumples up when I hold out my hand to keep him from coming any closer. If he punctures my personal space bubble, I might scream as loud as the piercing wails inside my head.
“This was the plan all along, right?” I ask, not looking at him or caring if he even hears.
“What plan? What are you talking about?” he asks.
“Make a profit off my big mistake,” I mutter, ravaging the closet for anything left behind. “Think the worst of me like you have since day one.” I’m laughing uncontrollably for no good reason. “Up there on your righteous high horse. Ha! You have everybody fooled.”
“I have no idea what you’re saying.” He nearly gets hit with one of my wieldy, wayward kilts as I fling it off its hanger.
“Get out of the way,” I command. He’s standing between me and the last open bag.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
The rage becomes too much. Krampus grabs hold of my voice box, lowering my pitch and pushing out frightening, protective words. “You’re a liar and a bottom-feeder and a fake, and I’m the stupid asshole who believed you were different.”
Shock covers up the confusion on his face. “You…you don’t mean that.”
“Don’t tell me what I mean,” I growl. I get to my suitcase and stuff and tug until I’m almost tearing the seams apart. “Have a merry little Christmas and a happy fucking new year at home.”
God,home. Why won’t that word stop assaulting me with its evasive meaning?
“Home? Please. Let’s sit and talk.”
I scoff. “I don’t want to talk to you after what you did. My mom told me everything!”I believe it started with an H.She knew his name. She just didn’t want to say. She needed me to make the conclusion for myself.
“Your mom? Matthew, please, stop for a second.”
“No,youstop pretending you care!” I shout.
He’s got his hackles up now. “Does it look like I’m pretending, dude? I chased you here to make sure you were okay, and now you’re just up and abandoning me, this town,us.”
“This town is a joke, and there is nous.”
“Matthew.” His tone dips to a calmer place, and his eyes are twin probes, attempting to placate me. I won’t be a rag doll to his whims.
“Don’t ‘Matthew’ me! There is nous,” I hiss in a tailspin.
He puffs out his chest, stands his ground, and asks as evenly as possible, “What if we do that mental event-planning thing again?” His strong-willed composure has never been more infuriating, especially as he tries to help me using my own anxiety-coping mechanisms.
“Screw the event thing and screw you too!” I’m right up in his face now, heartbeat in my ears.
