Page 41

Ava

My eyesight slowly adjusts to the unfamiliar bedroom. A fan spins above, and the soft breeze cools my skin. My leg glides across silk sheets, and the twinge of muscular pain reminds me of the accident. My fault.

Thank god the person I hit is okay. Although he’s probably feeling as sore as I am today. The sound of metal crunching and tires squealing is ever present, puncturing the quiet. A deep, heavy sadness reverberates through me.

Over the years, countless friends and connections have relapsed.

Logically, my brain accepts relapses are a risk of addiction, and I am not at fault.

I wasn’t there. I wasn’t in the room with him.

And if I had been there to try to stop him, he would have found a way.

That was Reid’s journey. I need to be thankful that it has not been, as yet, my journey.

There but for the grace of god go I… and all that.

But he was reaching out. I didn’t answer his calls.

I wasn’t there when he needed me. Why? Self-preservation?

God, that possibility sucks. But my inner therapist’s voice consoles me.

I’ve been through too much to do anything other than prioritize self-preservation.

I loved Reid, but I love myself more. And that’s okay.

Choosing my mental health over Reid was the right choice.

And being his crutch wasn’t an option. Addiction doesn’t work like that.

Telling myself that doesn’t alleviate any of the down emotions. The sadness. The hopelessness. I thought I’d talked him through it. I thought I gave him the tools he needed. God, I was so wrong. So fucking wrong.

The bed I am in is enormous. Instead of two sets of pillows at the head, there are three sets. The middle pillow is untouched, but the far-left pillow, by the edge of the bed, is indented. Someone slept with me last night. Jack? A nurse?

I push my palms against the mattress, and my ribs contract as I rise. The pain elicits a moan, and I keel over. My head throbs. My body feels like a monster slammed it against a wall repeatedly. Or someone took his boot and kicked my ribcage over and over and then my face for good measure.

To my left, a small folding table sits with a silver tray.

An entire beverage service including an orange juice carafe, water, silver containers with lids I would guess contain coffee, cream and sugar, and two blue pills are on a small silver circular dish.

With a shaky hand, I lift the handwritten note.

Ava,

Text me when you wake. A nurse is outside the bedroom. You told the hospital you didn’t need a pain prescription, but these pills are nonaddictive and will ease your discomfort.

There is a remote control on the bedside table. It controls the shades.

Jack

My thumb brushes over the handwritten note. So thoughtful. And kind. I set the note down and push off the bed. The moment I stand, a dim glow of lights along the perimeter of the room flick on. Motion-activated. Fancy.

When I return from the bathroom, I press a button, and all around the room, shades rise. I squint into the bright light. The ocean glistens under a mid-day sun.

Midday. Damn. The hospital must have given me something to sleep. I haven’t had a bad experience with medication, but given my history, it’s unnerving. Someone set up an entire beverage service while I slept. I must have been comatose.

A deep baritone reverberates through the cracked bedroom door. “Is she up yet?”

A woman’s voice I don’t recognize answers. “I believe so. I think I heard her moving around, but I’ve been giving her some time.”

“Do they have you stationed out here?”

I can’t hear the woman’s response, but I move to the door to greet my friend.

“Patrick?”

“Hey, there she is.” He reaches for me, his thumb lightly touching my cheek. “Whoa. Those black eyes have really set in.”

“I look like I’ve been in the boxing ring,” I joke, stating the obvious. My bruising pattern is strange, but I tried not to fixate on it when I went to the bathroom. Dark scabs pepper my forehead.

“Are you just getting up now?”

A middle-aged woman in scrubs comes to the doorway.

“I’m Felicity. I’m a registered nurse. I’m here should you need anything. How are you feeling?”

“Sore. But okay.”

She looks me over, studying me. “Are you hungry?”

My stomach rumbles. “Yes.”

“I’ll go down and get you some breakfast.”

“Oh, you don’t need—”

“There’s a chef awaiting my instructions.” Felicity smiles. “I’ll have him whip up something healthy and that will be okay on your stomach. Is there anything you don’t like?”

“I’m not a picky eater.”

“Great. I believe there’s coffee and hot tea set up, but will the two of you need anything else?”

“You’re a nurse, not a waitress.” What the hell does Jack have her doing?

She smiles. “It’s fine. He’s paying me well. And besides, getting you fed is important. We’ll see how you respond to eating. I think you’re going to be absolutely fine, but it’s probably a good idea to take the elevator today and not the stairs.”

Patrick places his enormous hand on my shoulder and steers me back into the bedroom as he thanks Felicity and assures her he’ll get me settled with coffee and water.

He moves me to a set of chairs that face the ocean, and I obediently sit.

“Patrick, this is insane.”

He chuckles. “This is the way the Sullivans do things. This is their world. We’re just in it. Enjoy it while you can.”

He brings over two cups of coffee in dainty white porcelain cups and saucers. The warm coffee soothes my throat.

“You let them medicate me.”

There’s not an ounce of apology in Patrick’s expression. “How are you feeling today?”

I’m sore as hell, both physically and mentally. But he can tell that by the fact I’m moving around like an octogenarian.

“Did the police file charges?”

Sometimes when people overdose, they could’ve been saved, and we stock Naloxone in all the units for that purpose. Sometimes, though, their friends are too high or too scared to help.

“You talking about you or the folks who just got kicked out?”

I frown over the rim of my coffee cup. I didn’t think about me.

“You have a ticket for running a red light. What the hell were you thinking?” He shakes his head. “As for the others, not to my knowledge.”

“Who was with him?”

Patrick shrugs. “Two women, and a man not in our program. I don’t have much information.”

I stare at my friend, trying to figure out if he really doesn’t have much information or if this is some sort of protective thing. “Police will obviously try to figure out where the heroin came from. I don’t think they had much on them.”

Patrick tried to warn me about Reid. He told me he wasn’t stable, and I shouldn’t let him back into our center.

I didn’t listen. But Patrick’s a good enough friend he won’t state the obvious.

Not today, when it’s clear as hell this is all my fault.

Reid’s death, the others…the person at the intersection. Fuck .

We sit, sipping coffee from dainty saucers and watching the occasional bursts of white against the navy backdrop.

I’m wearing a mauve satin pajama set that I definitely do not own but that mysteriously fits me perfectly, sipping coffee from fine china, while comfortably perched before an astounding, wide open ocean view. Low-level nausea stirs in my belly.

“Ava, you’re up.” Sophia’s bright, cheerful tone has me turning too quickly, a sharp pain lights my neck, and I grimace.

“Patrick, can you set this table up in front of her?” Jack holds both a tray with a silver lid and a small folding table. Sophia also has her hands full with a serving tray.

“Guys, I’m not an invalid.”

Sophia laughs. “Get used to it. Dad is all about taking care of those he cares about. Trust me. I had every meal in bed my first two weeks home.”

She’s smiling, but a dagger of guilt strikes when I think about the reasons she was under a physician’s care. It’s very different from my situation. She was innocent. I’m not. And, while all this is very sweet, it’s completely unnecessary.

“There are egg whites and toast. Some fresh fruit. Sliced banana. I can get you anything else, but Felicity was aiming to take it easy on your stomach for this first meal.”

He lifts the silver lid, and my mouth waters. God, I really am starving. Scrambled egg whites don’t usually have an aroma, but sprinkled with salt and pepper and possibly an additional spice, they smell divine. I take a large bite and close my eyes, reveling in buttery goodness.

“I’ll come back up to check on you later. Take it easy today. Felicity is going to check you over, but she thinks she won’t be needed.”

“She won’t. I’m fine,” I mumble through a mouthful of food.

Jack’s expression softens. It’s almost a smile. “I’ve got a meeting. I’ll be back. Sophia, why don’t you come in and visit with Ava after her friend Patrick leaves? Give them some time together.”

“She can stay. I’m not gonna be here long. I’m heading back home today,” Patrick says.

Sophia ignores Patrick and leans over me, giving me a hug. It’s awkward because I’m holding a fork and there’s basically a tray table in my lap.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” With her lips near my ear, she adds, “You scared us.”

Jack stands at the doorway, holding the door, waiting for Sophia.

My eyes must have widened into saucers, and his brow furrows, the way it does when he doesn’t understand.

He didn’t hear her. But what she said doesn’t really mean anything.

She doesn’t know anything. She just means they were all worried about me.

I would never want to scare anyone, but a warmth blossoms knowing that someone did worry about me. And not just a single person.

Patrick, Sophia, and Jack. They all care.

Patrick has a wide smile, and he sits back holding his coffee with one pinky swung out, absolutely entertained.

As soon as the door closes, he says, “A financial arrangement, my ass.”

I roll my eyes and continue shoving food into my face. After I’ve eaten, I have an overwhelming desire to shower and put on clean clothes that are my clothes and not something a grandmother would wear.

Patrick and I take the elevator to the main floor, and he steps out, hugging me goodbye and promising he’ll call later. Then I continue down to the basement level and my bedroom, because riding a glass elevator with an ocean view is completely normal and standard procedure.

The guest bedroom has been cleaned and straightened. Not a single item is out of place. That’s par for the course in this house. I push open the closet door and freeze. It’s empty. Even my suitcase is missing.

I return to the elevator, my slippered feet gliding over smooth marble.

On the main floor, I exit and head to Jack’s office.

He may be in a meeting, but he can press mute.

I lightly rap on his office door, twisting the knob before he responds.

He’s in a meeting with two other men in suits.

Jack rises and asks them to step out and give him a minute.

“Is everything okay?” He pulls the door closed, and his hands immediately fall to my shoulders.

“My clothes.”

“What’s wrong?”

“They aren’t in my closet.”

“You went downstairs?” He towers over me in my slippers, and it’s as if he’s lording over me.

“I took the elevator,” I defend. “But where are—”

“I told you I was moving you upstairs.”

“Into your room?” He’s insane.

“It’s safer. Don’t fight me on this.”

“Sophia will suspect something. I think she might already.” I can’t believe he’s doing this. It’s insane.

He blinks.

“We’ll talk later.” And with that, he opens his office door, ushers me out, invites the men in, and closes the door to hide inside.