Page 72 of It Happened on a Sunday

Sly

As her tour manager’s gaze meets mine, I can see on Jace’s face that Marco’s already told him about Vivian.

“Where is she?” demands the woman by his side. She’s petite, with light-brown skin and black hair and the kind of polish you only ever see on people high up in show business.

Add in the teal suit and the dark circles under her eyes, and I hazard a guess. “Bianca?”

Her eyes narrow. “Sly.”

“She hasn’t woken up,” I tell her as the guilt somehow burns even hotter and brighter inside me. “But I’ll take you back. They’re only letting two people in the room at a time, and Pauline’s still with her.”

“That’s okay,” a guy I don’t recognize tells me. “We’ll rotate out. But we’re setting up shop in here. Do you know the wifi?”

“I don’t,” I tell him. Scrolling hasn’t been a priority for me over the last twelve hours.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find it.” He holds out a hand to me. “Bryan. I’m Sloane’s in-house publicist. I assume with what we’ve just found out about your team, you don’t have anyone you need us to coordinate with?”

“Coordinate?” I ask blankly, shaking his hand on instinct.

“The messaging. There’s a lot being said in the press right now, and we’ve been holding back until we knew for sure what happened. Now that we do, we’re going to get the truth out there. Sloane will not go down for your agent’s mistakes.” He practically spits the words at me. Well deserved.

“Of course not.” I look back at Sloane’s manager. “You want me to take you there now?”

She starts forward. “I can find it on my own, thanks.”

“One more thing.” Bryan sighs, and there’s a sincerity in his eyes that surprises me. “You really should have someone you trust working on this right now. People are already freaking out that you weren’t on that plane to San Diego.”

“The woman I love is lying in the ICU unresponsive. Someone I trusted did that to her.” My voice breaks, but I don’t even care. “I promise you, Bryan, what people on the fucking internet think about me right now isn’t even on my radar.”

I turn back to Bianca, shocked to see a grudging respect in her eyes that definitely wasn’t there before. “You sure you don’t want me to take you to her?”

“Actually, I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”

“Wait.” Olivia, the woman who first introduced me to Sloane all those months ago, steps forward, a guitar case in her hand. “We brought one of Sloane’s favorite guitars. Can you take it back with you?”

“Sure, but I don’t think she’ll know it’s there.”

“Yeah, but you said Pauline’s in there, right?” Jace asks.

“She is.”

He nods. “Medicine might not be able to reach Sloane where she is, but music might. Most of her life, it’s all she’s ever had to hold on to. Maybe she can reach for it one more time.”

My throat tightens up so much at his words that I don’t trust myself to speak. I do, however, take the guitar, because maybe Jace is right. At the moment, I’m willing to try anything.

I’m silent as I walk Bianca through the maze of hallways that makes up the intensive care unit. But about halfway to Sloane’s room, she says, “You look like you just lost the last fight in a tabloid cage match.”

“That’s about how I feel, too.”

She nods, her lips pressed together like she wants to tell me something but isn’t sure she’s going to.

I want to tell her that whatever she’s got to say to me is nothing compared to what I’m saying to myself.

But I don’t, because she loves Sloane, and if telling me off will make her feel better, she deserves the chance.

“I was prepared not to like you,” she finally says as we round the last corner.

“Fair enough,” I answer. I don’t like myself very much right now, either.

“But you look like you’ve been suffering right along with her.

And while I’m pissed as shit at your agent, I think you should cut yourself a little bit of slack.

I’m a manager, and while I’m very transparent with Sloane, there are still a lot of things she doesn’t know.

Not because I’m hiding them, but because she doesn’t need to. ”

She takes a long breath as we stop in front of Sloane’s room, then blows it out slowly as she reaches for the door handle. “What I’m saying is, if your agent was actively trying to hide whatever the fuck vendetta she’s got against Sloane, you never would have seen it. Not unless she wanted you to.”

I have no idea what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. Just take a deep breath of my own as Bianca pushes open the door.

I can barely bring myself to look in there.

Can barely bring myself to face her knowing I’m the reason all this is happening.

Knowing I’m the reason she’s clinging to life by a string.

Only the fact that I’m carrying her guitar gets me over the threshold—that, and the fact that it’s been nearly half an hour since I last checked on Sloane.

I need to see for myself that she’s still breathing, still alive.

It breaks me all over again to see her looking exactly the same as when I left her. Pale. Bright-red hair the only shock of color against the white hospital sheets. Like she’s asleep, but not the kind that brings rest. The kind that steals time.

“She hasn’t moved,” Pauline says as she puts the book down and stands to hug Bianca.

“Jace sent her guitar.” I take it out of the case and lean it against the wall in the space between the bed and Pauline’s chair. Right where she can reach it when, not if , she wakes up. “I think he was hoping you might play her something.”

Pauline nods but doesn’t say anything. I can see it’s not because she doesn’t want to—it’s because she’s as choked up as I am.

So instead of trying to say anything else, I press a hand to Sloane’s foot, squeeze slightly so she knows I’m here, and manage to choke out, “I’m sorry,” before I head for the door with some vague thought of getting the fuck out before I hurt Sloane any more.

Only to run straight into Camila.

“When did you get here?” I ask, confused.

“I’ve been here all along,” she replies. “I was parking the car, but then Lucia called and said you were still in your suit from last night, so I went and grabbed you a change of clothes. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks. I’m more than ready to get out of this damn dress shirt.” I glance down at her empty hands. “Where’s the bag?”

“Not so fast.” She links arms with me and starts pulling me down the hall. “You get it after you eat.”

“I’m not hungry—” I start.

“Yeah, that’s what I heard. But abuela Ximena is freaking out about you, so you’re going to take a few bites of something at least.”

“I already feel like shit,” I tell her even as I allow her to drag me toward the waiting room. “You really think manipulation is the way to go?”

“Whatever works,” she shoots back. But instead of taking a left to get to the waiting room, she drags me to the right.

“This isn’t the—”

“Will you just let someone else be in charge for a second?” she huffs as she steers me to the middle of the hallway and a glass door marked Outdoor Patio .

A quick glance through one of the windows tells me Lucia and abuela Ximena are already outside, waiting.

When I shoot Camila a questioning look, she shrugs. “I was perfectly happy in the waiting room, but abuela figured you wouldn’t want Sloane’s entire team listening in on the conversation we’re about to have.”

And with those ominous words, she pushes the door open and heads outside.