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“Did we sleep together last night?” I asked the woman in the kitchen. She spun around and looked at me like I was a green creature who fell from the sky wearing a silver onesie. I blinked a few times, trying to figure out if I was hallucinating or if this was real.
“I would stab myself in the face before sleeping with you.” Elle pursed her lips and got back to washing the dishes. “No. I saw you zigzagging on the street and mumbling something about your dad and Rosie. I tried to call your girlfriend, but she didn’t answer, so I figured I’d offer you a place to stay. I took the couch. You owe me a massage gift card. Just putting it out there.” She hitched one shoulder.
Rosie.
I thanked Elle and ran out, not even bothering to grab my coat. My phone died sometime yesterday, and I had to plug it in the charger to read her messages. I tried calling her a thousand times, but she didn’t answer. There were a pile of missed phone calls from the rest of the guys, but I ignored them. My next phone call was to Millie. It went straight to voicemail. I called Rosie’s parents. Nothing. Finally, my screen lit just as I was about to call her again and it was Vicious. I pressed the phone to my ear.
“I don’t know where she is,” I answered, terror gripping me by the throat. “Fuck, Vic, she’s not in her apartment, and she didn’t have the keys to the Hamptons house, so I have no clue where she went.”
“She’s in the hospital, dickbag. Her lungs are collapsing. Her liver is not functioning, and she can barely breathe. Congratulations, you fucked up royally,” he said in his dry voice.
I collapsed onto a stool in my kitchen, clasping the back of my neck so tight I drew blood.
“What hospital?”
“I’m not telling you shit, man. No one wants to see you here.”
“I need to see her.”
“Not happening. I will beat your sorry ass if you try, and even if you somehow manage to get past me, her dad will shoot you straight in the fucking face. Stay away.”
“Vicious,” I growled.
“What the fuck were you doing? What was more important than opening the door for your sick girlfriend?”
Getting drunk, I thought bitterly. Then it dawned on me that that was exactly what she did. Clawed at the door desperately when I was sitting in a bar by a fireplace, drinking hard liquor.
Asshole, asshole, asshole.
“Is she awake?” I asked, already grabbing my keys. He heard and tsked, telling me it was a bad idea.
“She comes and goes.”
“I need to see her.” I was a broken fucking record that would not stop spinning until it got what it wanted.
“You already said.” Vicious didn’t seem impressed by my persistence. “It doesn’t look good. The LeBlancs are distraught. Millie looks like hell. Not a good time to come here.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, you should.” Vicious’s voice was grave. “Timing is everything.”
It was, and we knew it. Timing brought Millie and me together, even though we shouldn’t have been. Timing tore Rosie and me apart, even though we should have been. Timing was also what brought us back together.
I was going to defy timing. For her.
“Tell me where she is.”
“Not happening.”
“Vicious, I will ruin your ass if you don’t tell me, and we both know that I’ll find out at some point.”
No answer.
“Vicious.”
Nothing.
“Vicious!”
The line went dead.
I had a feeling my heart was going to do the same soon, if I didn’t find her.
I found out where she was hospitalized an hour later. Made Elle call Rosie’s parents, promising her a spa weekend wherever she fucking wanted, and made my way there. Took the Mercedes that sat unused for months and drove there like I was being chased by demons. And I was. Those demons made me drink. They made me responsible for the fact that my girlfriend was dying in a hospital bed.
Hey, asshole. You deserve to die, too.
My dad kept on calling, killing my battery in the process. Hundreds of times. Mom, too. My sisters left voice messages and texts to last for centuries. Fuck ’em. Well, not my sisters. First, gross. Second, they probably only knew what my parents wanted them to know. They would never forgive Eli. Fuck, how could my mom take him back after what he’d done to her? I made a mental note to ask her that when my life wasn’t covered chin-high in shit. Whenever that would be.
I parked by Good Samaritan Hospital in the Hamptons and approached the receptionist asking for Rose LeBlanc. She told me to go fuck myself, but in nicer words. The bottom line was that the LeBlanc patient was not accepting any visitors who weren’t family. I couldn’t tell for sure where the order came from—her or her parents—but the outcome was the same.
