Free The Making of Matt by Nicola Haken Page B

“Like you disgusted him?”
    “Pretty much. Let me guess, homophobe, right?”
    “He’s a fucking everything-phobe. If you don’t live your life exactly the way he does, you’re destined to burn in hell. I don’t know how Ashley doesn’t see it. We used to be so similar.”
    “That’s probably for the best. One version of you is about all the world can handle.”
    “Screw you.” Matt laughed, his first genuine one of the day as he tugged on the cushion wedged behind his back. I knew from the mischievous spark in his blue eyes he planned to use it as a weapon, so I jerked back, accidentally throwing him off balance and causing him to drop the vodka bottle.
    It ricocheted off the edge of the coffee table before shattering into pieces and raining onto the floor. “Shit,” I muttered. “Sorry.”
    We both bent down to clean up the mess at the same time, bumping heads on the way.
    Matt rubbed at his forehead. “Holy fuck, I think you cracked my skull!”
    “Dramatic much?” Snickering, I started to pick up the shards of glass, collecting them in the palm of my free hand. “Shit!” I dragged in a sharp breath through gritted teeth, wincing at the sting of the fresh cut on my finger.
    Concern clouding his eyes, Matt reached out to take my hand but I snatched it away. “You’re bleeding,” he noted. “Let me take a look at it.”
    “I got it,” I snapped, before quickly picking up the piece of glass that was stained with my blood.
    “Fine,” Matt said, holding up his hands in the air. “No need to go all Norman Bates on my ass. Jesus.”
    “Sorry,” I replied in a softer tone. “Why don’t you get another bottle while I finish here?”
    “Sure,” he agreed, getting to his feet. “Do you need a band aid?”
    “That’d be great. Thanks.”
    Matt’s eyes narrowed as the cogs began to whir in his brain. “Um, do you know where I keep the band aids?”
    Shaking my head, I laughed. “There’re some in the main bathroom. In the cabinet above the sink.”
    When Matt disappeared, I swiftly gathered the rest of the broken glass and put it in the trash which I took straight outside. My finger had stopped bleeding by the time I got back inside so I rinsed it under the faucet in the kitchen before running the vacuum around the main living space to eliminate any tiny stray fragments I might’ve missed.
    Feeling flushed and a little lightheaded, from a mixture of tiredness and alcohol, I wandered outside through the sliding glass doors onto the decking surrounding the pool while I waited for Matt. Relaxing back onto a wooden lounger, I wondered where the hell he’d gotten to. Then I caught his reflection in the glass doors, changed into only a pair of sweatpants and carrying a loaded laundry basket.
    Standing up, I walked over to him, trying not to focus on the delicious ridges around his firm abs. “I could’ve bled out by now.”
    “Shit, the band aid! I decided to take a shower and then I kinda forgot.”
    “You have the attention span of a mosquito.”
    “Sorry,” he said. “Do you still need one?”
    “I’m good.” I waggled my finger in front of him. “It’s just a scratch,” I added, my eyes flitting between his face and the basket in his arms, confusion causing my brow to crease.
    “It’s full,” he explained, his voice saturated with sadness.
    “It can wait till tomorrow,” I said, attempting to take the basket from him.
    He shook his head, keeping his grip around the wicker cylinder. “She’d kick my ass if she knew the only place I had left for dirty clothes is the floor.”
    I smiled in agreement and realized, that even though it was something as menial as laundry, it was his way of communicating with his mom, letting her know that he was doing okay, that even though she was gone he still intended to do as he was told.
    I followed Matt into the utility room and watched as he began to pop what I assumed was his first ever load of laundry into the machine. “Wait!” I leapt