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.
I loitered around the waiting room because there was nothing they could do to stop me from staying. Called Vicious, Millie, and Rosie every two minutes. Kicked the vending machine a few times when my mind strangled me with guilt. Pulled at my hair. Made promises to Rosie that she couldn’t hear. Broke those promises. Thought about creative ways to sneak into her room. Remembered I didn’t even know what her room number was. Cursed some more. Generally acted like a fucking madman.
I was losing it, and it wasn’t pretty.
Vicious came out of the elevator a few hours later and strolled over to me, not even half-surprised to see me there. He clasped the back of my neck, just about ready to pull me into an embrace. Fuck no. This wasn’t a daytime soap opera. Though I did find out that his beloved hero, Eli Cole, was actually a manwhore, fucking douchebag of the worst variety.
“You look like shit.” His lips barely moved.
“Fucking coincidence, you ain’t Victoria’s Secret material yourself.” I cocked a brow.
He laughed.
The fucker actually laughed in my face. Rosie was fighting for her life, and he looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Well,” his mirth died abruptly, “you acted like a little shit, too.”
“How is she?” I rubbed my eyes, feeling like I hadn’t slept in years.
“Not good,” he admitted. “Stable, though. She sleeps a lot. And she makes that rattley sound when she breathes. Like her lungs are full of rusty needles.”
Kill. Me. Now.
He knew. He knew by just looking at me that there was no point giving me grief for everything that had happened. I was already in the gutters of life, trying to claw my way out and back into Rosie’s universe with bleeding fingers.
“What happened?” Vicious started walking toward the Starbucks across the road, and I fell in step with him. As much as I hated to be the underdog around Vicious, I had to recruit him to my side. That, in itself, felt impossible. We always went head-to-head. I think that was what had kept our friendship alive. The constant battle.
“The mother of all shitstorms.” I ran a hand through my hair and punched the nearest wall. Fuck, I was going to tell him. Because I had to. Because of Rosie. “In bullets: I’m adopted. Up until now I thought that my parents adopted me from my slutty aunt who got knocked up by a no-show piece of shit. Turns out the no-show piece of shit is actually hot-shot lawyer Eli Cole. He slept with his wife’s sister while they were already married and decided to keep it from me for thirty years. Just, you know, in a fucking nutshell.”
“Fuck,” Vicious hissed, stopping to look me in the eye, making sure it wasn’t all a big, fat, sad joke. After that, we took our coffees and sat down by the window overlooking the hospital. The thought that she was so physically close yet mentally far messed with my mind. It felt like the end of everything. The world. Us. Her. “That’s some heavy mess. I had no idea Eli was capable of out-dicking us,” Vicious said, probably referring to the fact he dipped his dick in his wife’s sister.
“It’s in the genes, I guess.” I stroked my chin thoughtfully, taking a sip of my cup of Joe. “Who fucking cares, Vic? Seriously. She needed me, and I stood her up. She needed me, and she stood in the rain waiting on me. I should burn in hell. In fact, I bet you’d be happy to light the fucking match.”
Vicious offered me an uncommitted shrug, moving his teeth across his lower lip.
“What?” I elbowed him.
“I mean, honestly? Who hasn’t fucked up? I fucked up with Emilia so many times. I did things that were far worse. But she wasn’t sick. That’s the only difference. She was there to accept me when I finally pulled my head out of my ass and started groveling.”
“And you think Rosie is not going to make it?” I cleared my throat so I wouldn’t choke, and there was not enough air in the fucking room as I waited for his answer.
He looked down. “I’m not a doctor, but I’d be lying if I said her prognosis is good.”
“I have to speak to her.” I angled my body to face him, clasping both his shoulders and forcing him to look at me—look at my grief. “You need to help me, Vic. I can’t not see her right now. You realize that, right?”
He measured me, silent and cunning. His lips were pressed together. He was thinking.
“What do you want?” I scrubbed my face. “Name your price.”
Holy fuck, we were doing this again. This. Negotiating each other’s happiness. Fine. Whatever. Everything had a price tag. Especially in Vicious’s world.
“What would it take for me to get to her?”
Nothing was a hard limit. I think he knew it.
“I want fifteen percent of your shares in Fiscal Heights Holdings.” He served me my own medicine and shoved a good amount of it down my fucking throat. I didn’t even think about his request before the words left my mouth.
“Take them. They’re yours. Now get me up there. I need to see her.”
“Twenty,” he said. Fucker.
Straight-faced, I said, “Yours.”
“Twenty-five. All of your shares. Mine. Sign it tomorrow morning.”
“Take all my shares. Take my clothes and my apartment and my inner organs. Let me see her. Reason with the LeBlancs.”
He got up, finished his coffee in one gulp, and set his cup down.
“The thing is, Mr. Cocksmacked, I don’t need any of your shit. But I’ll help you. This is the hard part, by the way. Even if her parents would let you see her, the LeBlanc sisters don’t go down easy.”
I stood up, finally allowing a smirk to grace my face.
“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m a very good tackler.”
What makes you feel alive?
The struggle. To breathe. To live. To not let go.
THE MUTTERS BEHIND THE CLOSED door awakened me. Whoever stood there lost their patience quickly. The stomping on the floor tipped me off. Then the voices started bleeding into my ears and the puzzle pieces fell into place.
Mama raised her voice. “I don’t actually care. My daughter is very sick, and you were well aware of that. You know her, after all. Now go away, boy, and don’t you come back here. Rosie is fighting for her life, and make no mistake, I blame you for it. What makes you think she’ll want to see you?”
“Mrs. LeBlanc.” His voice had an edge I couldn’t decode. Dean Cole wasn’t the groveling type. “I apologized. Let your daughter decide for herself. I assure you, she wants to hear me out. Ask her.”