The Man Who Stepped Back

Hannah saw Evan before she saw Damen's missed calls.

He stood beneath the streetlamp opposite the clinic, wearing the camel-colored coat she had helped him choose the previous winter. At the time, she had liked how grown-up he looked in it. Tonight he looked like a man waiting outside the wrong door until somebody had the misfortune to open it.

She stopped with her hand on the clinic handle.

"You look better," he said. "I had to hear about the hospital from somebody else."

"I did not ask anyone to call you."

"You did not answer me, either."

A car passed between them, its tires hissing through a puddle. Hannah considered stepping back inside. Denise was still in her office, but the clinic would close in ten minutes, and Evan knew where she lived.

She stayed beneath the awning, leaving the door at her back.

"I told you I needed you to stop contacting me."

"You told me a lot of things when you were upset. We are both under pressure."

The familiar wording made her stomach turn. Everything became plural afterward. They were tired. They were stressed. They had let an argument get out of hand, although only one of them ever had bruises.

"We broke up, Evan. That has not changed."

He crossed the street. "And now you are talking to Moretti?"

She kept her face still. "He helped me when I fainted."

"He does not help people for nothing. You are a nurse with a cheap apartment. What do you think he wants from you?"

Her cheeks burned, partly because he wanted them to. "You need to leave."

"I waited all night for you."

"I was in a hospital."

"And you could not send me one message?"

He reached for her arm. She stepped back, but his hand closed around the place that still ached beneath her sleeve. Pain flared sharply enough to steal her breath.

"Let go of me."

"Stop making a scene."

She pulled free, striking her shoulder against the doorframe. The clinic bell rang behind her. Evan glanced toward the glass, and she saw him judge how much of their conversation could be heard.

A black car stopped at the curb.

Damen stepped out without waiting for the driver. He looked first at Hannah's face, then at the hand she held against her arm.

"Come here," he said to her.

Evan turned. "We are having a private conversation."

Damen did not look at him yet. He held Hannah's gaze until she moved away from the door and stood beside him. Only then did he turn his head.

"You were asked to leave."

"You have no idea what is going on between us."

"I know enough about your contracts with the Halden Club to recognize when you are exceeding your responsibilities."

Evan's mouth tightened. The club was one of Falcone's businesses; Hannah knew the name from nights he had come home boasting about important clients.

"You cannot threaten my livelihood over a disagreement with my girlfriend."

"Your former girlfriend," Hannah said.

Both men looked at her. Her pulse hammered, but she repeated it.

"I am your former girlfriend. You do not get to keep changing that because you dislike it."

Damen shifted slightly, leaving her visible instead of speaking over her. She noticed and loved him a little for it before she could stop herself from thinking the word.

Evan gave a short, ugly laugh. "You will regret embarrassing me."

Damen moved then, just one step. Evan backed away before he could disguise it.

"You should go home," Damen told him. "You should be alone when you decide how expensive you want tonight to become."

Evan looked toward the car, where Marco stood watching. He adjusted his cuffs, buying a few seconds of dignity.

"I will call you when you are thinking clearly," he told Hannah.

"I will not answer."

He walked away. She watched until he reached the corner, unable to believe he had actually gone.

Damen turned toward her. "Did he hurt your shoulder?"

"I hit the door. It is nothing serious."

"May I see your arm?"

She hesitated, then lifted the sleeve herself. The old marks were fading; his fresh grip had left a red band above them.

Damen inhaled slowly through his nose. For an instant she saw the man other people feared, and a tremor passed through her.

He saw that, too. His hand, which had started toward her, lowered.

"Would you like me to take you home?"

She nodded. "I would."

Marco opened the door. Inside, Damen adjusted the heat and waited while she found the seat belt with clumsy fingers. He could have done it more quickly himself. Something in her loosened because he did not.

They drove in silence until the clinic disappeared behind them.

"He did it," she said.

Damen looked at her.

"The bruises. I know you already knew, but I need to say it properly. Evan did it."

He let her have the silence afterward.

"I used to think I could see it coming," she continued. "If he had a bad day, I could be careful. If dinner was late, I could explain before he noticed. It is humiliating how much time I spent becoming good at that."

"You were trying to get through the evening."

His voice held no astonishment, no impatient question about why she had stayed. She pressed her fingers against her lips until the need to cry receded.

"I did leave him," she said.

"I heard you tell him."

She looked out at the passing storefronts. "Nobody has ever made him step back before."

Damen's reflection watched her in the glass. "He should never have been that close to you."

At her building, he accompanied her upstairs. She wanted to protest that she could manage two flights, but she was grateful for every footstep behind her.

On the landing, she stopped.

A splinter of wood lay beside her mat. The new lock hung crookedly in the frame.

Damen caught her elbow before she touched the door. "Stay behind me."

He called Marco, then pushed it open. From the landing, Hannah could see drawers emptied across the floor, a kitchen chair overturned, her clean laundry scattered beneath the window.

She could not make her mind understand it. She had bought that lock herself. The hardware clerk had told her it was a good one.

Damen returned from a brief check of the rooms. "Nobody is here. Marco is coming up."

She stepped inside, moving as though she might wake someone. On her pillow lay a photograph of her and Evan at a summer wedding. He had drawn a circle around her face in black ink.

Her phone buzzed.

You cannot keep me out of my own life.

She showed Damen the message. His expression settled into a coldness she had not seen before.

"Take what you need for tonight," he said. "We will deal with the rest."

She looked at her bed, at the small violation waiting where she had expected to sleep. For the first time, asking for help felt less frightening than pretending she did not need it.

"If I ask you to take me somewhere he cannot reach me, where would we go?"

Damen held out his hand.

"You are coming home with me."