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Dr. Duma gives my mom a frown and reviews the chart once again. “Actually, you should be here for another two days so that we can monitor that heart arrhythmia that you had. After that, someone from the rehab will be here to collect you.”
At the mention of rehab, she starts protesting loudly. I let out a sigh of frustration. I had meant to gently break the idea of going to rehab to her because I figured she would freak out. Not only does my mom not care to fix her drug and alcohol problems, but she doesn’t think she has a problem in the first place.
“Mom!” I snap sharply, bringing their attention to me. “You overdosed on heroin and had a fucking heart attack. Your loser boyfriend dumped you out of his car on the curb in front of the hospital. Don’t you think it’s time to get your shit together? Paige was all alone. Something could have happened to her.”
I see a flash of fear and remorse in her eyes before it’s replaced once again with defiance. I don’t know if it was for Paige or herself, but at least she still has some emotions buried deep down. “Watch your mouth, Hollie. I’m still your mother and I don’t need to go to rehab. Occasionally I like to party. So what? It’s not like I have an actual problem. I’ll slow down some.”
I can’t help but toss my hands in the air. The woman is completely delusional, not that I expected anything more from her. “It’s more than that Mom, you almostdied. You need to go to rehab. Please. If not for yourself or for me, then at least for Paige. She’s still in high school. She needs you.”
Mom looks like she’s about to continue protesting when Doctor Duma interrupts this awkward family interaction that she’s unwillingly become a party to. “They’re scheduled to have someone here to accompany you to their facility in southern California the day after tomorrow, so you’ll need to make your decision quickly.”
“There must be some mistake. I don’t have a rehab lined up yet. I need to make some calls and see if I can get her into some sort of state program. If you have any recommendations for that, I’d be grateful to hear them.”
She looks at the notes once again before continuing with a frown of confusion. “It says right here that she has a room reserved at Bridges in California and when I spoke to Mr. Clarke, he mentioned that she already had a place to go.”
If I was attached to the same sensors as my mother right now, I’m pretty sure they would have recorded the moment that my heart stopped. A few seconds later, it kicks back into motion, beating furiously in my chest, trying to make up for the beats that it missed.
“Mr. Clarke?” I ask, just in case I’m having auditory hallucinations now.
“Yes, Archer Clarke. I spoke to him on the phone earlier today before your mother was transferred to me. Is something wrong?”
It all makes sense. The billing that’s being taken care of by a third party, the fancy private room, a new doctor, and now a rehab facility lined up. I should have realized sooner. This has Archer written all over it. That I didn’t see it earlier is a testament to how distraught I’ve been over the past day. God, could it have only been twenty-four hours since my disastrous date with him?
Why would he do this? He doesn’t owe me anything. He’s already made it clear that he never wanted to see me again. Hell, he even threatened to have me arrested. How did he even find out I’m here? I don’t know whether to laugh in disbelief or cry because I fucking miss him. But it seems my body has already made its choice when I feel a tear slip down my cheek and land on my shirt.
“But, why?” I ask the doctor, hoping she’ll have some insight for me. She spoke to him, after all. I glance at my phone and don’t see any missed texts or calls. He didn’t even bother speaking to me before he did any of this.
“I’m sorry, Miss. Simmons, you’ll have to ask him. He only told me you’re both to receive anything that you want and the best care and treatments that we can provide.”
Maybe I’m not really here. It’s possible I’m a few floors below locked in the psychiatric ward because I feel like I’m in crazy town right now.
“Isn’t that your boss?” Mom asks, her voice dripping with venom and loathing.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to see other patients. I’ll be by later to check in with you.” Doctor Duma places Mom’s chart back into the holder at the end of the bed and exits the room, leaving me to face off against my mother.
“Mom, he isn’t even my boss anymore,” I try to explain.
“I should have known there was no way you were making all that money by being some man’s personal assistant. What a fucking slut.”
“Mom!” The fact that she’s calling me names doesn’t hurt. She’s called me much worse before, and she’s not even wrong about my relationship with my boss, so there’s no use denying it. For a little while, I was more than his assistant. “You don’t understand. Hell,Idon’t understand. There’s no reason for him to do this. He hates me. I don’t even work for him anymore. I already told Paige I’m moving back here to help and be with her while you’re in rehab.”
“No.”
The word is said so harshly behind me, I spin around, almost losing my balance. In the doorway is the object of our current argument himself, Archer Clarke. Even though his clothes are rumpled and it doesn’t seem like he’s shaved or even slept, he still looks better than any man I’ve ever seen.
Hell, has he gotten even more handsome since last night?
“Are you trying to leave me, angel?” I almost burst into tears at hearing him call me angel again. Almost. Instead, I remind myself of how cruelly he spoke to me last night before he cast me aside like I always knew that he would.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, letting the hurt that’s inside me seep out into the room. “It’s not like there’s anything keeping me in Seattle. I don’t have a job or anything.” He physically flinches, and I’m not sure if it’s because of my tone or the words I spit at him.
“This is the boss?” Mom asks, reminding me she’s in the room with us. She lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “It fucking figures. Just look at him.”
His eyes leave my face for a moment to flick over to my mother, but quickly return right back to me like she’s of no consequence. “Can I speak to you in private, please?”
“The last time we spoke in private, you wouldn’t even listen to me. Why should I even bother?” I cross my arms over my chest and I know I appear defensive, but frankly, I’m scared. Scared, he’ll say something to break my heart all over again. Scared, he’ll say something and draw me back in just to leave me ruined.
His eyes have turned imploring as he asks, “Please, Hollie? For just a minute. If you don’t like what I have to say, then I swear I’ll leave and never come back. I’m only asking you to hear me out.”
