Chapter 8: The Loft

Ronan lived over a hardware store on Penn Avenue.

The stairs were outside, wooden, and the third one gave under my foot.

He opened the door before I knocked.

"You found it," he said.

"You said it was over a hardware store. There's one hardware store."

"There are two."

"I picked the one with the sign that says Keogh and Daughter."

"That's my uncle's," he said. "Come in."

The room was one long space with a brick wall, a bed behind a curtain and a kitchen made of three cabinets.

The whole back half was desks.

There were six monitors, a stack of hard drives and a chair that had been fixed with tape.

I put my duffel on the floor.

Then I walked over to him and hit him in the shoulder with my fist.

It was not a slap.

I hit him hard enough to hurt my hand.

He did not step back.

"Again, if you want," he said.

I hit him once more.

He took it with his jaw clenched and his eyes open, and when I dropped my arm he said, "Better?"

"No."

"I thought not."

I was breathing hard.

He went to the kitchen and put a kettle on, and did not say anything while it boiled.

It was a relief.

Corrine had never once been quiet when I was angry.

He handed me a mug and I held it with both hands.

"The bed's yours," he said. "I'll take the couch."

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