by Ivy Layne
"What the fuck? You don't have to be such a bitch."
I flinched. Vance and I had had some spirited disagreements, but he'd never, ever called me a name. The worst he'd ever said was Sugar Magnolia, because he knew it annoyed me. Hearing him call me a bitch, after getting the same from my fiancée last night, tipped me over the edge.
Setting my hands on my hips, I adopted the chilliest version of my headmistress voice and said, “Get your drunk, lazy ass out of bed. Amy overdosed on drugs. She's dying in your bathroom. Paramedics are on the way. I suggest you put on some clothes and look like a semi-coherent human being before they get here."
Blood drained from Vance's face, and he jerked to his feet, his head swinging on his neck as he looked from the bathroom to me and back again.
Too furious to talk to him, I walked around the bed to the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet lid, holding Amy's cold hand in my own. I prayed with every ounce of faith in my heart that she kept breathing until the paramedics got here. But if she didn't make it, I wasn't going to let her die alone.
I saw movement at the open door. Vance leaned against the door frame, his face sheet white, bloodshot eyes wide and panicked. He'd managed to pull on a faded pair of jeans.
"Put on a shirt," I snapped. I don't know why it mattered to me. Amy was more important than whether Vance was dressed or not. I assumed he'd be coming to the hospital with us, and I didn't want to have to wait while he got dressed. Faintly, in the distance, I heard sirens. Hoping I was right, I gave Amy's hand a squeeze and said, “Hang on, help is almost here. Just hang on."
Her chest moved in tiny increments as she breathed. My eyes were fixed on the faint shift of her T-shirt over her ribs. As long as I kept seeing that small flutter of fabric, I knew she was still alive.
"Is she . . ." Vance trailed off. I didn't look at him. I couldn't look away from Amy.
"Will you please just go get dressed?" I said flatly. "The paramedics are almost here, I hope, and I'm assuming you'll want to follow us to the hospital. You can't do that without shoes or a shirt, so get fucking dressed. Now."
I was done with babying Vance. It was one thing to watch him drink and fuck his way through life. I didn't like it, but it was his life, not mine. But this, seeing a woman I liked hover near death, I couldn't take it anymore.
I didn't have time to think about what that meant. The door flew open, and the paramedics rushed in. Seeing them, I lowered Amy's hand to her lap and stepped out of the bathroom to give them space to work.
I couldn't see what they were doing. There were too many people in a small space, and I wasn't hovering because I didn't want to get in the way.
By the time they were strapping Amy down on a stretcher, Vance had emerged from the other bathroom looking panicked but clothed. He'd even taken the time to brush his hair and pull it back with a rubber band. He watched with wide eyes as they moved Amy to the front door, headed for the elevator.
To me, he said, "Is she—"
I shook my head and went to get my purse. "She's hanging in there. We'll follow them to the hospital."
I poured my cooling mocha into a travel mug and filled one for Vance, desperately needing the caffeine. There was no point in rushing with the paramedics blocking the doorway. I shoved a mug into Vance's hands, and we followed them out.
Sitting in the waiting room at the hospital was a new form of torture after the rushed fear of the past hour. Vance didn't have any contact information for Amy's family. Not even a roommate. All we could do was sit and wait. And wait.
We didn't speak. I had no idea what Vance was thinking. I wasn't sure what I was thinking either. I'd started my day pissed off at Brayden. And pissed at myself for putting up with him, if I was honest. Finding Amy, the fear that she might die, the regret that I hadn't woken them earlier, and anger at Vance for letting his life get to this point in the first place—it was all tangled up inside me in an unruly knot of emotion.
I didn't want to talk to Vance. I wasn't sure what I would say, and I didn't want to regret it later. I had enough regrets as it was.
Finally, a doctor came out to tell us that Amy was stable. Vance went to talk to someone in administration, probably to make sure they knew the bills would be covered regardless of her insurance situation.
When he came back, he sat in the chair beside me, his eyes on the floor, and said, "I'm going to stay until they let me see her. You should go home. Take the day off. I'll call you later."
I nodded my head and stood up, my throat tight.
"Before you go," he said, "can I borrow your phone for a second? I left mine at the loft."
I nodded again and handed him my phone, relieved when I saw him pull up his brother’s number. Aiden must've answered right away.
"Hey, can you come down to the ER? I'm okay, but I've got a situation and I need your help."
I took my phone back when he was done. He still wouldn't meet my eyes. I was torn. Part of me wanted to run screaming from the whole mess. The other part didn't want to leave Vance on his own. I was furious with him, but I knew he was scared.
"Go home, Magnolia," he said. "Amy is going to be okay, and Aiden will be here in ten minutes. You shouldn't have had to deal with any of this. I just want you to go home."
My throat still tight with everything I hadn't said, with the tears I wouldn't let fall, I gave a brisk nod, picked my purse up off my seat, and left.
Vance didn't want me there. I didn't want to be there. I just didn't want to leave him on his own.
I ended up picking Scout up at Vance's loft and going home. I spent the rest of the day outside, weeding. I hated weeding, but it kept my mind off Vance and Amy and my fight with Brayden.
That night, just as I was sitting down to dinner alone in front of the TV, there was a knock at my front door. I was surprised to find Aiden Winters there, his suit rumpled and his brown eyes tired.
"Hi, Maggie. May I come in?"
"Of course," I said, stepping back to let him enter. Aiden followed me back to the kitchen.
"Can I get you anything?” I asked. “Beer? Wine? Tea?" I wouldn't normally offer Aiden Winters tea, but he looked like he could use a cup. He shook his head. Catching sight of my tray in front of the TV, he said, "I'm interrupting your dinner."
"It's okay."
"I wanted to update you on the situation," he said. I nodded, my chest tight as I braced for bad news. "Amy is doing okay. The doctor said it was close, but you found her in time. She wants to go into rehab, and Vance and I helped her get that set up."
I nodded again, sensing Aiden wasn't done. I was right.
"Vance," Aiden started, then stopped and swallowed hard. "Vance called me because he's decided he'd like to get some help. Once we were sure Amy was settled, we spent the rest of the afternoon looking for someplace that would be a good fit for him. We found a clinic in Colorado that specializes in addiction treatment with a combination of counseling and a lot of outdoor activity."
Sheer relief broke open the knot in my chest, setting free the tears that coursed down my cheeks. I was very sorry that Amy had come so close to dying. But if the result was that they were both going to get help, I was a little grateful, too.
"Tell me, honestly, was it Vance's idea, or yours?" I asked.
His voice rough with emotion, Aiden said, "It was his. Thank fucking God, it was his. I tried not to push. I didn't want him to feel like he couldn't talk to me when he needed help, but he always said everything was fine even though—”
"I know. I know." I scrubbed the heels of my hands against my eyes.
Vance was going to try to stop drinking. I wasn't going to fool myself into thinking he had an easy road ahead of him. He didn't drink for fun. He drank to escape the demons riding him. If he wanted to stop, he was going to have to face those demons one way or another. But when Vance wanted something, he never gave up. If he'd decided to get sober, he would do it. I had to believe that.
I dragged in a shaky breath and looked at Aiden
, whose dark eyes were suspiciously glossy. Aiden was reserved. The rest of his family called him uptight, but he wasn't cold. He loved his family more than anything. If I was relieved, I couldn't begin to imagine how Aiden must feel knowing that Vance was at least willing to try to stop drinking.
"So," I asked, "how long will he be gone?"
"At least six weeks, possibly twice that," Aiden said. "I'm hoping he stays the full three months. He won't have much communication with the outside world, but if you're willing to, he asked me to ask you to continue working while he's gone."
"Of course I will. I'm not going to walk out on him. Not now." I'd been on the edge of doing that this morning, but everything had changed. If Vance was willing to try, I wouldn’t abandon him.
"I told him you weren't going to quit. He feels awful about this morning—"
"It's over," I said, cutting Aiden off. I didn't want to talk about everything that had happened that morning. I didn't want to think about it. Vance's refusal to wake up. Amy's shallow breaths and blank eyes. The needle and the spoon.
I didn't want to think about any of it. It was over, everyone was alive, and they were both going to get help. That was all that was important.
“You shouldn’t have been in that position,” Aiden insisted. "No one would blame you if you quit, and Vance knows it."
"If he's getting help," I said, "then I'm willing to let it go. I don't want to punish him for hitting bottom, Aiden. I just want him to get better."
"Me too, Maggie. For the first time in years, I think he might get there."
I walked Aiden out and locked the door behind him. It was going to be a long three months without Vance, but I'd wait as long as he needed me to. After months of worrying, I finally had hope for his future.
CHAPTER FOUR
MAGNOLIA
* * *
T-MINUS SIX MONTHS
* * *
The door swung open before my key hit the lock. Vance stood there, shirtless, beads of sweat rolling down the golden planes of his chest, catching on the sparse blonde hairs before tracing out the lines of his eight-pack. Holy Christ, the man needed to start wearing a shirt when he worked out. Loose athletic shorts clung to his lean hips, dipping down just enough to show the edge of his tan line.
In the three months since he'd been back from rehab, Vance had transformed. Gone was the dissolute playboy with the sallow skin and bloodshot eyes. Before his drinking had gotten out of control, Vance had always been into fitness. Now that he was sober, he'd taken it to a new extreme.
I got it. He had to do something with the darkness that had driven him to alcohol. It was still there. He just channeled it into his art and his workouts. The result was a studio filled with pieces and a body I couldn't tear my eyes from. I almost didn't notice the bag in his hands as I walked in and he closed the door behind me.
Vance pushed the bag toward me. "Here, take this and get changed. We have a meeting at noon."
I took the bag, noticing the label of a local sports gear shop in the Highlands. I didn't know what was in the bag, but it couldn't be good. I wanted a cup of coffee, stat. I did not want a bag of sporting goods.
"What's this?" I asked, trying to push the bag back into Vance's hands. He stepped away and shook his head.
"You've been dodging me for a month," he said. "You're going running with me."
"No way," I said. "I don't run. I am not a runner. I have no interest in being a runner. Your fitness kick is great and all, but don't drag me along with you."
"Nope, not accepting excuses. I've got everything you need. Running clothes, brand-new shoes, and I even got a step tracker and set it up. You spend too much time sitting. It's not good for you."
"Vance, I'm a grown woman," I said, trying to hand him back the bag. "I don't need anyone to tell me what to do."
"I let you talk me into those kale shakes, didn't I? Even when I was still drinking? Do you have any idea how disgusting they tasted when I was hung over? But even then, I knew you were worried about me, so I drank them anyway. Every day."
"It's not the same," I protested, knowing it was the same, but I really didn't want to go running. Did I mention I hated running?
"It's exactly the same," Vance said. "You stopped going to yoga classes and you've been depressed. And you sit almost all day. You need to get some exercise, and since I get way too much, you're coming with me. Think of it as multitasking. We'll talk business while we run."
I burst out laughing at the idea that I'd be able to talk and run at the same time. Gasp for breath and run, maybe. Carry on a conversation about business? No way in hell.
Vance's blue eyes narrowed on me, and I knew it was useless to argue. Easier just to go running with him than to try to talk him out of it. The same determination that had carried him into sobriety was now focused on me. Crap. I knew him well enough to know I was wasting my time trying to resist.
"Fine," I said, "but I'm really getting sick of people telling me I'm fat."
I bit my tongue the second the words were out.
I hadn't meant to say that. I knew Vance didn't mean to hurt my feelings, but I was a little sensitive about the whole issue. I didn't like to admit that the reason I stopped going to yoga was Brayden's reaction to seeing me in a tank top and yoga pants. After that, I couldn’t stop thinking about the other women in class looking at my giant ass every time I bent over.
I tried to pretend I hadn't said a word and went to walk past Vance to change in the bathroom when he grabbed my arm.
"You are not fat, Magnolia. This is not about weight. This is about you coming with me so we can both get some exercise. That's all. Whatever that twat has been saying that's messing up your head, don't pin it on me."
Automatically, I said, “Don't call him a twat. It's coarse."
"Did he make some comment about you being anything less than gorgeous?" Vance asked, his arms crossed over his chest. I tried not to notice the way the position made his biceps bulge. I shrugged and tried to walk past him. He stepped in my path, blocking me.
"Magnolia, did he? Did he say something stupid and shitty that hurt your feelings?"
He already knew the answer. I wished he would stop pushing. Things weren't great with Brayden. I barely saw him lately, and when I did, he felt more like a roommate than a fiancée. That didn't mean I wanted to talk about it with Vance.
"Can we just let it go?" I asked, tugging my arm out of his grip. “I’ll go change and we’ll go for a run, but don't complain when I slow you down."
Thankfully, Vance dropped the subject. I escaped into the bathroom and changed into the clothes Vance had picked out. I should let him shop for me more often. He had great taste.
I pulled out gray leggings with pink and purple wavy vertical stripes that looked streamlined but whimsical. A matching pink and purple tank top went with the leggings, along with a pink jog bra that would keep my breasts from hitting my chin when we ran. Of course, everything fit, including the running shoes.
I wasn't too sure about the step tracker, but I fastened it on my wrist anyway. I didn't like the idea of anything monitoring my activity, but I did like apps and gadgets, so I was willing to give it a shot. I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and left the bathroom, hoping Vance wasn't planning on running that far. If he was, he was destined for disappointment.
My eyes widened as I saw he had a leash on Scout. "Are we bringing the dog? I don't think he runs," I said. That wasn't entirely accurate. Scout could run, and when he did, he was fast, but that was only for short distances or when it related to getting food. Running for the sake of running? My dog was no more into that than I was.
I underestimated Scout's devotion to Vance. He trotted happily beside Vance as we headed for the elevator, looking like he went running every day and couldn't wait to hit the pavement.
"That pink looks good on you," Vance said, sounding offhand. His eyes, laser sharp, skimmed me from head to toe with a focus that made me want to squirm. "Pink doesn't always work
on redheads, but it's perfect on you."
I flushed and looked away. "It's a little tight," I said, fidgeting. I hadn't worn anything like this since my last trip to yoga class, and I was self-conscious, especially standing next to Vance, who was six feet of chiseled muscle. He still wasn't wearing a shirt.
"It's not too tight," he said. "You look fucking fantastic. I don't know if I can run with a hard on."
"Sexual harassment, Mr. Winters," I said in my headmistress voice. "Behave." I'm not going to lie and say I didn't appreciate the compliment, but I didn't believe him. The running clothes fit me well, but they were still way too snug on my curvy frame.
"Just being honest." Vance's eyes flicked down to the front of his shorts, and mine couldn't help but follow.
Oh my God.
He wasn't kidding. The long, thick bar of his erection pressed against the flimsy fabric of his running shorts. My cheeks flamed, and my eyes shot to the ceiling of the elevator. Could you fake an erection? I didn't think so, but I wasn't an expert on male anatomy. Did that mean he really did think I looked good?
Doesn't matter, I told myself. Vance is out of your league, he's your boss, and you're engaged.
I was flattered, but that was as far as it would ever go. I wasn't going to look at the front of his shorts again. Definitely not. Maybe once. I snuck a peek and flushed hot all over again.
"You're going to have to stay behind me. I don't want to watch that bobbing in your shorts while we're running." I was trying for my headmistress voice, but I didn't quite make it. Instead of crisp, my words were husky.
Vance chuckled. "Okay, but if I'm running behind you, it's not exactly going to go away. Do you know what your ass looks like in those leggings?"
"Yes," I snapped. "Fat. It looks fat."
"If that's what you want to call it," Vance said, still laughing. "My dick disagrees."
I whirled and pointed my finger at him. "You behave, or I'm going right back upstairs and I'm not talking to you for the rest of the day."