Page 70 of Savannah Royals
I bend over to break while Matthew chatters on about logistics. Blood rushes in my ears, muffling my attention as though my head is stuffed with cotton.
New Year’s with Matthew, New Year’s with Matthew…
New Year’swithoutPaul.
I can scarcely fathom it.
We’re just finishing our first game when Mellie stumbles over with Bobby Marino in tow. From underwater, I hear Matthew suggest something that sounds like “doubles” for the next game. I mechanically begin to rerack, but Mellie latches onto my arm. Her fingernails dig into my skin.
“Kaaat,” she hisses, fluttering anxiously.
“What?”
She widens her eyes and starts convulsing her neck to the right. Her nails are still embedded in my forearm.
“Mellie, what’s gotten into you?” She’s like a cat on a hot tin roof.
“Kat!”she hisses again and jerks her head, more directly this time. Straight toward the billiard room door.
When I follow her eyes, the floor drops beneath me.
There, silhouetted in the doorway, stands Abe.
“Kat, what is he doing here?” Mellie whispers.
At this point, we’ve attracted the attention of the gentlemen.
“Um,” I breathe, “I’m not sure.”
“Kat?” Matthew’s tone is uncertain.
It’s easy enough for him to follow my gaze. Abe’s dark skin stands out in the lily-white room, branding him an outsider. But his chin is high, his three-piece suit immaculate. Even still, a number of scornful eyes are turned his way. My heart contracts painfully. The upper lip of my wolf curls, instinctive. Protective.
“Beg pardon.” I shake my head, clearing it. “I must excuse myself. I’ll be right back.” I give Matthew’s cheek a quick, reassuring kiss.
“Kat!” My roommate’s hiss is downright deadly this time.
“Right back.” I look at her.Please, Mellie,I internally beg.Help me out here. Just once. Please.
I cross the room to Abe in seconds and grab him by the arm. I squeeze harder than strictly necessary as I pull him aside.
“What are you doing here?” I demand. My gaze darts, unconsciously, back to Matthew. When I see him staring, I drop Abe’s arm, as though burned.
“Pleasure to see you too, Katarina.” Abe’s nod is formal as he plays the gentleman.
“Don’t toy with me. Paul or Tony had better be in a ditchdyingright now.”
“Not quite,” he admits.
“Then what. Are you. Doing here?” I punctuate the words. “And where in the world did you find this suit?”
“You’re not the only one who can play dress-up, Kat.”
I stare at him. Wait. All too aware of the unforgiving attention of half the room still on us, on the black man daring to talk to a white Academy girl. Centuries of racial divide run deep in Savannah, webbing their way into the very foundation of society, like the vine-like, underground tunnels of the Catacombs themselves. The lines may blur in the blue-collar bayou, but not here. Not in polite Savannah society. By walking into this room tonight, Abe has made himself immensely vulnerable.
“Why would you risk showing up here, Abe?”
Eventually, he sighs. His eyes flick over my shoulder toward Matthew.
