Page 20 of Matteo
“Why not?” There were so many reasons, but I couldn’t think of a single one right now. Because I needed him. No, nothim. I just needed someone, and Hannah wasn’t here. “You can talk to me, Ari,” he said, the rough edge of his voice warming me instantly.
“It’s nothing,” I murmured, intent on resisting the emotions flooding me.
For several heartbeats, there was only the sound of running water as his eyes pinned me with that look.
“Don’t push me away, Ari,” he finally said. “You’re hurting, and I want to help you.”
I shook my head, a constrictive ball forming at the base of my throat. Finally, I relented. “I—I can’t shake it off. I keep seeing those dead girls. Hearing screams and seeing blood—” My voice trailed off.
He tightened his grip, the wet fabric of his suit heavy against me. He tucked me in so my head was under his chin, the roughness of his stubbled cheek soothing. I soaked it in, needing his strength.
“It’s stupid, I know,” I murmured.
“It’s not stupid. You’ve witnessed something traumatic and came face-to-face with a killer. That leaves a mark.”
“I don’t see you freaking out.”
“It wasn’t me staring down the barrel of a gun today.”
“Technically you did. And you’re a killer too, but that… doesn’t freak me out.”
“Let’s not get lost in the technicalities.”
“I haven’t had a chance to check on Francesca. Is she alright?”
The vibration in his chest as he chuckled infused me with a strange kind of calm. He shifted us so he could cup my face, then brushed droplets of water from my cheeks with his thumb.
“I checked on her. She’s sound asleep with a smile on her face. I’m more worried about you.”
I blinked water off my lashes. “Don’t be.”
“But I am, so let me take care of you.”
“Hannah won’t be happy…” His expression darkened. I didn’t know why I said it, but the words were out in the open and there was no retracting them. “I meant?—”
“I know what you meant, Ari,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But Hannah and I never were and never will be.” He let out a sardonic breath while he studied me with a disappointed look in his eyes. “Was it Hannah I kissed all those years ago?”
I laid my head back on his chest, the wet material of his suit against my cheek.
“We agreed to never talk about that,” I reminded him, although it was a good distraction.
“Not true. You threatened to tell your dad and get him to beat me up,” he said, humor lacing his tone.
I scoffed. “As ifyourdad would have ever allowed that.”
“Maybe, but then you also offered to bake me cookies. Remember?”
I sighed wistfully. “I do. It’s a good stress reliever.”
“Want to go bake now?”
“And wake up the whole house? No, thank you.” I barely convinced Mom to let me sleep alone tonight. “Besides, I baked earlier. I’m sure there are crumbs left over.”
“Even those were wolfed down. Maybe we can have some gelato?” he suggested, smiling boyishly. Matteo loved ice cream as much as I loved my Nutella. “You know how much I love it.”
“I do. Why do you think I learned to make it from scratch?” I admitted, distracted by images flipping through my mind.
“I’m flattered.”
