TW: References to drug use

Chapter 8:

When Seph learned about what had happened to Frankie, she felt scared. Sure, Frankie gets on her nerves—he's a sexist dudebro fuckboy—but hearing that he had to go to the hospital made her queasy. She wanted to congratulate Underwood after the fight, just wanted to talk to him, really, when she received frantic text from Mamma telling her to 'PICK UP YOUR PHONE NOW,' followed by a heated phone call in the gym restroom. By the time Seph hung up, the only people left in the gym were herself, Jess, and Mike. Underwood had apparently outdone himself with the liver punch he executed on Frankie—at least according to Mike. And from that, a dark realization dawned on Seph: Underwood controlled the fight the whole time, and his defined blow on the right side of Frankie's torso was completely unnecessary to win. Hayden "The Unseen" Underwood wanted to hurt Frankie Mars, badly, and he did. None of that sat well with her, and in the moments when her mind wanders towards the subject, her stomach twists into knots.

After the upheaval at the gym finally settled, her and Jess split fare on an Uber back to campus and Seph took the metro home. Arriving at her apartment didn't bring the usual strange mixture of relief and sadness; instead, it conjured up a mixture of fear and resentment. Seph got home an hour later than the time she had promised Mamma she'd be back, and Mamma was not having any of it.

"Baby girl," Mamma said, massaging her temples, "when you say you gonna be home at a specific time, I expect you to be home by then. No later."

It was the exact same argument Seph had with her mother while she was at the gym. The same argument they've been having since she turned 18, and even before that. 'The world is evil,' her Mamma always says, 'and you need to protect yourself.' Seph has understood this since she was a small child, and she knows that she is more than capable of protecting herself now, yet Mamma still treats her as if she's a baby.

With everything that had happened during the day—the gym, Underwood, Frankie, even Jess—Seph had long since run out of her patience.

"Mamma." She forced her voice to come out hard and edged. It was her sword, and her words would cut deep. "I am not a child anymore. Can't you see that?" She paused, gauging the stunned look on her mother's face. Fear's cold hands gripped her: what was she thinking? She didn't want to hurt her mother, the person who she loves most in this world. From her oldest memories, it has only ever been the two of them: mother and daughter against the dark realities of the world.

Even so, the sharp words sitting right at the tip of Seph's tongue had the power to maim and mutilate not only her mother, but also their entire relationship as mother and daughter. With that knowledge, fear's bitter clasp tightened. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and when she opened her eyes again, it was with a newfound resolve. I have to do this, Seph thought. This would be her one and only chance to express to her mother her true feelings; if she backed down now, she would always be under her mother's thumb. She pressed on: "I'm an adult, Mamma, a full-grown woman with adult responsibilities. And I know what you're gonna say: I have a long way to go. I'm only legally an adult because of some arbitrary number. But I already know that, all right? I know that my cooking could use some work, and that I don't have my own place yet, but I'm working on those things.

"I'm doing my best for myself but I'm also doing my best for you, and I wish you would see that when I come home late, it's not some diss or 'screw you' or whatever you think it is. I'm busy, Mamma. I'm going to school; I'm working; I'm trying to maintain relationships with people—please! Please understand! I love you, Mamma. No, don't interrupt. Mamma, please, just let me finish. Thank you. I love you, I love you, but I can't be your little kid anymore.

"Every time I'm late, you think I'm out doing drugs or getting wasted or, heaven forbid, having sex with random strangers. I'm not doing any of those things, Mamma! And even if I were, those would be my choices! You—you can't control me anymore, Ma, so stop trying to. You've got my wings tied, Ma, and I just wanna fly. You gotta let me fly. I know I'm your baby…and I know that you love me, and I love you too, but you need to treat me like the adult I am."

Seph stopped, nearly breathless, and drained of all energy, as her mother stared at her for the longest time in disbelief. When Mamma finally decided to speak, whatever word she had intended to say came out as a strained weep, and both women cracked. This is it, Seph thought. I broke my mom. After all the hardship they endured together, and all the love they had for each other, Seph's need to be free is what would destroy her mother. Guilt flooded her senses. She needed to do damage control, so she wrapped her arms around the most beautiful, courageous person she's ever known, and she held on tight.

It was a long night, and Seph isn't sure how long they cried, or who cried more. She only knows that her mother—her amazing, resilient, brave mother—is fragile right now, and so she needs to be gentle with her, no matter how much she wants to be free—needs to be free. Surrounded by the smell of roasting coffee, and listening to the gentle ebb and flow of Angie's singsong voice, Seph can almost lose herself in the pattern of her hollow job. Almost, because, constantly spinning and firing on all cylinders, her mind refuses to let go of things, and all she can think about is the pain she's caused her mother.

And behind that, Underwood, the nefarious invader, scratches and digs for purchase in her thoughts.

When he arrives at the coffee shop, new book in hand and a quiet dog padding behind him, he's dressed like he at least gives damn.

"Seph." Last night, her voice was a sword; today, his is a spear. She can't ignore him. "Are you free after work today? I feel like we should talk."

Seph only has one class after her shift, and it's at 4:00. She nods, silently agreeing, silently consenting to have another interaction with this man, this stranger, because he's right: they need to talk. She needs to be thinking about her mother right now, and maybe, just maybe, talking to him will ease the tight hold he has over her focus.

"My shift ends in an hour."

Underwood nods. "There's a fish and chips place nearby. We can have lunch; it'll be on me."

Seph knows the place he's talking about. It's called The Hungry Shark, and she has to pass by it every time she goes to work. It's a popular lunch spot; she feels comfortable with the idea of going there. Let's see who you are, Mr. Underwood…

Temptation that night was strong; so strong, in fact, that Hayden could see the syringe dancing before his eyes, backlit by strobe lights. Ten years of sobriety, down the drain, all because of the guilt he had from sending a kid to the hospital. Guilt and loneliness and a desire to escape suffering would be his end. It wouldn't be hard to find a dealer, get up to his old ways again…

He stared at his phone for a long time, thumbing through his extensive list of contacts until he found her. Had he really stooped so low that he was deciding between sleeping with a prostitute again and relapsing on heroin?

"Fuck." Hayden ran his hands through his hair. "Pull yourself together already." A furry forehead nuzzled his cheek, and Hayden soon found himself with a 60-pound animal curled in his lap.

"Thanks, buddy, I love you too."

A vibration on the sofa broke the short reprieve from his dark thoughts. It was a call from his sister. He considered ignoring it, but he knew that doing so would only have one outcome: he would have heroin-fueled sex with Mindy Greene. It'd be mindless, desperate sex, and probably awful for both parties. From there, he'd spiral into tempest of self-hatred and destruction that would inevitably end in death. Isolated and alone, that was the only future he could see from within the confines of his apartment. There would be no coming back from this—no chance at redemption. The temptation was too strong, and he was too weak, and if he did not heed the call of this distraction, it would be over.

"…Hello?"

"Hayden! You picked up! You had me worried there for a while…"

What could he say to that? He hadn't spoken to his sister in months. He didn't even know how to talk to her anymore.

"Hayden? You there?"

"Uhhh, yeah—sorry. How've you been, Sis? Still working at that family counseling center in Maryland?"

"I've been doing great! I'm in Annandale now, but I'm still working for the same company. Glad to be out of Baltimore, though. I really should've never left home, to be honest... Anyway, that's not why I called. I'm heading back into D.C. this weekend for some training and I was wondering if we could get together, maybe catch up. There are some things we need to discuss…some things about Mom. Also, are you okay? Zane and Peter told me that you haven't been feeling well."

Here was an arm to hold him, if he could only reach out and grab the hand. Hayden took a deep a deep breath, clenched his sore fist. He refused to throw everything away tonight.

"Sure, Sis, that sounds great. When can I expect to see you?" He ignored the question of how he's been feeling; she'd find out soon enough.

"Wonderful! I'll be in on Friday. I heard that the city opened up a new salsa dancing nightclub…"

"Hestia, you know that I hate those places—"

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'? I can't deal with nightclubs, Sis…"

"No, not that—you just called me Hestia."

"What? No I didn't."

"Yes you did! Hayden…what's going on? Do you—do you know my name?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Hes"—he stopped before he could dig himself further into the hole. He couldn't remember her name! No, that wasn't right; he couldn't remember her name correctly. He definitely remembered a name, though: every time he pictured her brown hair and her kind, gray eyes, his mind shouted HESTIA.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, "Look, I don't have time for this right now, Sis. I'll see you on Friday."

"…All right…but we are going to that salsa dance club, so I would bring a date if I were you."

"Hestia—"Shit, he did it again.

"I'll see you Friday. Love you, little brother."

"…Love you, too." Hestia.

The line clicked, and that was the extent of their conversation. All in all, it wasn't much, but it did manage to push him off the tracks of an incoming freight train. Hestia—shit, again—has a way of calming him down. Maybe it's the sound of her voice, or the fact that as children they had to be the ones to take care of each other; either way, her call, and his answering of it, averted a crisis.

"Mr. Underwood?"

Hayden blinks, remembers whom he's speaking to. She's not beaming at him anymore; instead, she's eying him with suspicion.

"Mr. Underwood, the waitress is here," she says.

"Call me Hayden, please."

"…Hayden, the waitress is here."

He orders a Bruce Burger and an Arnold Palmer to drink, while Seph orders the Orca Boat fish and chips platter with some lemonade.

"So," Seph takes a small sip of her drink, "you said we should talk. Let's talk." She eyes the bruised knuckles on his left hand.

He purses his lips. "Well, about your friend, Frankie, I—"

"Frankie isn't my friend."

"…Regardless, I just wanted to apologize."

"Ha! You should be apologizing to him, Mr. Underwood—Mr. Hayden—not to me." It takes a special kind of person to make Seph feel sorry for Frankie Mars. That special kind of person is Hayden Underwood.

"I did apologize to him, Seph. I wanted to apologize to your other friend as well, because she seemed pretty upset by the whole thing, but I couldn't find her in all the chaos after the fight. I'm going to pay for his ER visit, too."

Seph takes another sip from her glass. Underwood seems earnest enough. Still... "Why would you do that?"

Underwood shrugs, flexing the fingers of his left fist. "It's the least I could do after my punch sent him there."

Seph squints at him, incredulous. "Why'd you even take that shot in the first place, though? He only ever got close to you in the first round, and that was when you were taking it easy on him. I know he said something to you, but boxers trash talk all the time. I like you, Mr. Underwood, or at least I thought I did, but now you're coming across as a psycho."

"You like me? I'm touched."

"I will throw this drink in your face."

The sound of his laugh melts Seph's heart into a gooey, warm mess. "And I'm the psycho."

"Hayden."

"Look," he says, suddenly very serious. "I don't know what your relationship with that Frankie kid is, and you've got no reason to believe anything I'm about to tell you, but he's bad news." He's like my father, Hayden almost says, but she doesn't need to know that. Seph nods slowly, weighing each of his words. He continues. "This probably isn't my place to say, but I feel like you should know. When we were in the clinch, he said some horrible things about you. Don't ask me to repeat what he said, because I won't. Just know that his remarks were rather…well, predatory. Sick. You can take what I tell you and throw it out, if you want, and I wouldn't blame you if you did, but I feel better now that you know."

Frankie said gross things about her? Seph believes it. She's heard him say things about her ass when she's had the misfortune to walk past him. His words are always whispered jokes to his dudebro friends, but she can hear them. It's not like he's careful.

"So yes, boxers talk trash. But he wasn't talking trash; he was being a creep. I suppose I didn't have to punch him in the liver, but I couldn't stand being in the ring with him anymore, so I chose to end the fight early. If that makes me a 'psycho,' then I guess I can't argue."

He crosses his arms, gets that faraway look in his eyes again. He's off somewhere else, hiding in that big, law school-trained brain of his. Shoulders slumped, and the expression on his face stuck somewhere between a frown and pout, he reminds her of a sad puppy. He keeps flexing his left hand, and Seph figures that he might've injured it during the fight.

"Hayden."

A couple blinks, and he returns from whatever deep daydream he was in, flexing his fingers once more. With a strange rush of courage, Seph reaches across the table, takes his left hand in her right one. Someone sucks in a breath—it might be her, or it might be him, there's no way to know, because a literal shock pops between their hands as she covers his sore knuckles with her palm.

"You should see a doctor about this," she says, gently, ever so gently, massaging the heavy, and nonetheless fragile bones of his hand. "You're obviously in pain. Might've broken something when you punched that jerk's lights out."

Hayden's mouth has gone dry. He can't remember the last time he's ever held hands with anyone; it's an intimate touch that he didn't realize he's craved. Seph's ministrations are soft, and yet they ease the soreness that's managed to develop there. He slowly twists his hand in her grip, and gently turns hers so that the palm faces up.

"I thought you were mad at me," he says, tracing the contours of her palm with his thumb. He's never felt skin this soft before.

"Who's to say I'm not?"

She's smiling again, and it's bright like the first break of dawn in spring. Damn, he wants to kiss her.

Eyes the deep blue of a cold winter sky gaze up at her. "Are you?"

What in the world is she doing here, flirting with a billionaire? Why is he even giving her the time of day? She's a poor, black girl in college who's still trying to figure out what she wants to do with her life. Can't even take care of her mom. She's nobody.

Her smile's gone, and she's pulled her hand away. Shit, did I do something wrong? Hayden wonders.

"Seph?"

She sniffs, wipes some tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "S-sorry. I've just got a lot on my mind right now." God, she's making a fool out of herself in front of this guy.

"There's no need to apologize, Seph." She can't look him in the eye right now because if she does the levies will freaking break, and there's only so much embarrassment she can handle in one day.

The waitress comes with their food, hot and fresh out of the kitchen, and Seph's stomach rumbles, but she's lost her appetite. She wipes her eyes again, forces a smile.

"I'm not mad at you." The tears threaten to come out again, but she holds them back. "I just…I don't like seeing people in pain, y'know? I didn't see Frankie writhing on the floor because…" She trails off, leaving Hayden hanging at the edge of her words. "Look, it doesn't matter. I didn't see him, but my friend told me what happened, and…it freaked me out, okay? I don't even like him; he gives me the creeps. But I just…I just don't like it when people get hurt, not even guys like Frankie." Oh no, the tears are here. She's falling apart in front of one of the richest men in the world. Boy, will I have a story to tell Jess…

"S-s-sorry. God, I'm such a mess right now. I'm—I'm not usually like this, I swear."

Calloused fingers under her chin lift her head up. There's concern in his voice and kindness in his eyes, and why is he being so nice to me?

"Seph, you don't have to apologize. I get it. Believe me, I get it."

The whole thing is ridiculous—she's blushing, she's crying, she's a storm of emotions and he's seeing all of it.

"I have to—I have to clean myself up. I'll be right back."

He nods. "The restrooms are that way. I'll be right here."

When she returns from the ladies' room, she half-expects their table to empty, but he's still there, reading Jurassic Park. He hasn't even touched his food.

"You could've started without me, you know."

"Feeling better, I see. And I could've, but I figured that'd be quite a rude thing to do on a first date."

"Oh." Seph takes a bite out of her fish fillet. One plus: it's still warm. "So this is a first date now?"

Hayden shrugs, takes a large bite out of his burger. After he swallows the first piece, he replies, "Only if you want it to be, Seph."

"Well, if this is a first date—holy cow, these French fries are good—I feel like I've made a terrible first impression."

"Not in the least."

Seph's still not convinced. "Okay, welllllll, if this is a first date, then I guess we should get the typical first date stuff out of the way."

He leans back in his chair, playfulness written all over his face. "I'm game. Shoot."

"Okaayyy…" Crap, what can she ask him? Don't ask something lame, don't ask something lame, don't ask something lame. "What's your favorite color?" Nailed it.

"Hmmm. You know, believe it or not, I haven't been asked this question in a while. Let me think…yellow. Yes, yellow is my favorite."

"Really?" She didn't mean to sound so surprised. You're blowing it, Seph. "Um. I guess my next question is: why?"

Hayden shrugs, takes another bite out of his burger. "I dunno, really. It reminds me of the sun, I guess. Those crisp days when winter starts to change into spring. Sunshine on the mountain and a fresh breeze on a clear day. Yellow reminds me of all that."

"Wow, that was corny."

"Bahahahaha, okay, okay. Now it's your turn. What's your favorite color?"

"Blue." Like the color of your eyes. Seph's grateful that he can't see her blush.

"Really?" he asks, mimicking her earlier surprise. "Why?"

"Oh no, you're not gonna get me with that one, mister."

"What can I say? It was worth a shot. Next question."

She doesn't hesitate; she has to know. "How old are you?"

His brows shoot up at that, and for a moment she's afraid that she's stepped over the line and this whole thing—whatever it is—will come crashing down. When he finally answers, his words come out slowly and deliberately.

"I'll be turning 39 next month." Seph tries to stay pokerfaced, but doubts that she's able to hide her surprise. Obviously, she knew that he was older than her, but not that much older.

"Is that a problem? You don't have to put up with me if it is. I only wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday, and I…I got way ahead of myself. I'll…stop talking now." He's not pale, but he's not dark, either, and Seph can see his cheeks flush.

"It's not a problem." Really, it's not—at least, not for her. Mamma, on the other hand, is definitely going to have a problem with Seph dating a man even older than she is. Although…it's not like her mother would ever have to know. "You're just—you look young, is all. I thought you were still in your 20s."

He chuckles. "No, Seph, not for a long while now."

Once they get past that hurdle, the rest of the "date" goes smoothly. They ask each other simple icebreakers, nothing too personal or on the nose, like the age question. He went to the University of Virginia for undergrad, got his law degree at Northwestern. He's got two younger brothers, one who's also a lawyer, and another who works as an environmental lobbyist, and sister who's a counselor. Of his parents, he wouldn't say much; just that he's adopted, and that he changed his name to Underwood when he turned 18. Seph could tell it was a touchy subject, so she left it alone.

When he asked her what she wanted to do with her life, she debated on whether to tell him her pipe dream or give the standard 'I don't know.' Screw it, she decided. If he thinks it's dumb, I can always leave; I don't owe him a thing.

"I want to be a Disney Imagineer," she told him. "That's my dream." That got them started on a debate about which Disney movie was the best, where her passion matched his logic, and of which there was no clear winner. In the end he said, "Go become an Imagineer so I can finally visit Disneyworld." It sounded strange to her that Hayden Underwood, son of a billionaire and now a billionaire himself, had never gone to Disneyworld or even Disneyland on the west coast, but she decided to leave it alone. If he was comfortable about sharing that part of his past, he would.

"Challenge accepted."

Altogether, they spent around three hours in the restaurant, just talking and enjoying each other's company. He wasn't pretentious; he took her silly questions in good humor and volleyed back some equally silly ones in return. It was easy, being with him; like coming home to an old friend.

When she finally realized what time it was, and that she would be incredibly late for class if she didn't leave ASAP, he wrote his number on a napkin, gave it to her.

"My sister is coming into town on Friday and wants me to go to a salsa-dance-club-thing with her. Would you do me the honor of being my date?"

In her rush, Seph said, "Let me think about it." But who was she kidding?

Later on that night, with her mother asleep and Seph safely insulated within the borders of her bedroom, she called him and told him, "Yes."