by Cora Kenborn
I thought about my mom and little brother. They were probably reading her article right now. I half expected my phone to start ringing. This was what I’d be asked about in interviews from now on. It’d never be about the music anymore.
Because I let her in.
I turned my back to her. Looking at her while I shattered us both would destroy me. “Go home, Phoebe.”
“What about our bet? Don’t I get my free pass?”
Whatever I said next would chart the course for the rest of my life.
“Not when the screw up was premeditated. Leave me alone, Phoebe. And if it’s not too much trouble, try not to write about me again.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Phoebe
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” I said, slamming the front door. I tore through the living room on the way to my bedroom. I wanted nothing more than to curl up and shut out the world.
Gage narrowed his eyes, making no move to lift his head off of Parker’s chest as they cuddled on the couch. “You sure, Pheebs?”
They looked so happy that I wanted to throw up—again. “I just need to be alone.” I hurried into my room and slammed the door. Collapsing onto my bed, I allowed the tears I’d held in to finally fall.
The only other time in my life I’d felt such a deep cut, it literally almost killed me. I wouldn’t bleed from a broken heart, but functioning seemed laughable. I knew this would happen. It was why I kept walls around myself. Foolishly, I’d let him in, now I had to rebuild what he’d torn down.
Everything he said to me was justified. For once, we’d been drama-free, and I’d rationalized that telling him about the article would’ve blown that to hell. My justification was fucked, but I didn’t want to risk what we’d built. Procrastination served me well with a chorus of, “I’ll do it tomorrow,” or, “I’ve got time.” However, time had slipped away.
I’d probably lose my job once Helena made her call. I’d definitely lose the autobiography and any future with MetroGroup. Most importantly, I’d lost Julian. The realization escalated my panic, sending my pulse skyrocketing.
Fuck, not again.
I slapped the nightstand in search of my pink pill bag. I hated taking medication, but the pills were a necessary evil. They’d built a bridge from the dark place I’d lived in after the attack and served as a crutch in reclaiming my life after I left college.
Dragging my pill bag onto the mattress, I dumped out the contents. Depakote, Lexapro, Seroquel—finally, Hydroxyzine. The mood stabilizer, anti-depressive, and antipsychotic had become as routine as a cup of coffee. Chloe insisted that if I wasn’t properly medicated while in New York, I’d go batshit and stick my head in an oven.
Right now I needed to stave off an impending anxiety attack. Just a few Hydroxyzine. Not enough to off myself. No one had enough power to take my life from me—I’d proven that. I just needed to sleep.
Biting off the child-proof cap, I downed the capsules. In ten minutes, I wouldn’t have to think of him. Hell, I wouldn’t have to think of anything. I’d be passed out in a puddle of my own drool if there was any justice in the world.
I’d lost him. In the quiet of my room, my vision blurred with the pain of lost love. Somewhere along the way, I’d fallen in love with Julian Bale. I broke every rule I’d ever made for myself. What was I supposed to do with these feelings now? Panic escalated and forced my heartbeat into a furious rhythm, thumping so hard I swore it would explode out of my chest. Sweat poured out of me, and the room spun as I gasped for air.
Panic attacks didn’t feel like this.
Something was wrong. Rolling to the edge of the bed, I tried to stand up. My legs had turned to jelly and buckled underneath me. I hit the floor, and the room spun so fast I was sure I’d be sick. My lungs clogged and I gasped, panicked from my body’s lack of response.
I need Gage.
Every move felt like I was crawling through thick mud. Finally making it to my bedroom door, I flung it open and collapsed on the hardwood. Nausea took over, and I vomited. Arms hauled me upside down as blows to my back rattled my teeth.
“Oh my god, Phoebe! What’s wrong? Jesus, Parker! Call 9-1-1, now!”
“Gage,” I whispered. Violent tremors shook me as tears rolled down my face. “I…don’t…wrong…feel.” Why couldn’t I form words correctly? Light began to darken as worlds collided. “Mama?” I murmured.
“Parker, hurry! Her fucking face is blue!”
“They’re on their way, baby. Keep her talking,” another male voice echoed from far away.
Gage wiped my mouth with his shirt. “Hold on, baby doll. Help is coming. Don’t leave me. You hear me?”
“Gage?” If my heart hadn’t already exploded, it would’ve broken when his voice shook.
“Yeah, Pheebs?”
“You. Love.”
“Phoebe Ryan, don’t you dare fucking close your eyes! Do you—”
Silence washed over me and blanketed me in cold darkness.
***
The bright light hit my eyes, and I immediately closed them. Why was everything so damn white? I tried to swallow and groaned. My throat felt like I’d eaten a handful of glass. Muted humming filled my ears. Where the hell was I? The last thing I remembered was falling and a crushing pain in my chest.
Am I dead?
It certainly was bright enough to be heaven. Opening my eyes wider, I focused on the room. The slow beeping and wires resembled a hospital room.
I’m not in heaven, I’m in hell.
Lowering my eyelids, I gave myself millimeters to adjust to the blinding whiteness until I could focus. Hard breathing turned my attention to the left. A man sat beside me, his hand tightly clasped around mine. His forehead rested against my arm. From the soft sounds he made, he was asleep. Familiar floppy blond hair caught my attention, and I smiled. The thin skin on my lips cracked and split from tension.
“Gage?”
He shot straight up, and his bloodshot eyes searched until they settled on my face. “Oh, Pheebs, thank god! He pulled me into a hard hug, squeezing tightly.
“Gage! Gage, I can’t breathe. Too…tight.”
He released me and grinned, his face exhausted. “Sorry.” As his smile faded, he slapped my arm and scowled.
“Ouch! What was that for?”
“Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again, you hear me? I’ll kill you.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “That’d be defeating the purpose, wouldn’t it?”
“You know what I mean. I can’t believe you’d OD over some guy, Pheebs.”
His accusation registered, and anger roused within me. “I didn’t OD, Gage.”
“Pheebs, you had a seizure, threw up, and fainted in front of me. I know an OD when I see one,” he accused.
I felt myself shake. “Gage, I’m telling you, I didn’t OD.”
“The pills were on your bed, Phoebe. I saw them myself.”
“Yes, because I took two.” I held up two fingers. “Two, Gage. I’m not suicidal!”
As our argument escalated, high-pitched beeping from multiple machines filled the room. Within seconds, a swarm of nurses barreled through the door. Pointing to Gage, an older one with graying hair barked orders, moving in between us. “You, get out.” She shoved rough hands under my shoulder and pushed. “You, roll on your left side until I tell you to move.”
Gage disappeared from my field of vision, and I protested. “Gage, don’t leave!” Panic set in again.
“Calm down, Pheebs. Nobody’s making me go anywhere. Right, Brunhilda?”
I glanced over my shoulder. The nurse pursed her lips, attempting to mask a smile. Jesus, was there anyone he couldn’t charm into submission?
“Fine,” she said, staring him down. “But if those blood pressure monitors go off again, I’m clearing the room.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Gage flashed her his trademark smile. “I’ll be the perfect angel.”
She snorted as she adjusted my wires. “Somehow, I doubt tha
t.” Stopping at the entrance to the room, she called to me. “Miss Ryan, stay on your side until the doctor comes in.”
As soon as she left, I flipped over, scowling. “Thanks a lot. Now I have Nurse Ratchet on my ass.”
“You’re a horrible patient. She told you to stay on your side.”
“How long have I been here, Gage?” I asked, ignoring him.
“The ambulance brought you in last night. You’ve been out for over fifteen hours.”
Frustrated, I took inventory of the IV bags and wires protruding from my body. “I just took anti-anxiety pills. I’ve taken them for years. This has never happened before.”
He wiped the tear that rolled down my cheek. “I don’t know, baby doll. All I can tell you is you scared the fuck out of me last night.” His face paled, and his eyes clouded. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Hey.” I reached for his hand. He cursed under his breath and turned away, swiping his own eyes. “Gage, you can’t get rid of me that easily, all right? We’re Ohana, remember?” I searched his eyes, waiting for him to complete our private Lilo and Stitch joke.
“And Ohana means family,” he finished as a tear escaped from behind his hand and rolled down his cheek.
We sat in silence, bonding over a silly line from a Disney movie. That silly line spoke volumes between us as surrogate siblings. Neither of us moved as the door opened again, and a throat cleared. I turned toward an older man with a balding comb-over in a white lab coat.
“Miss Ryan, I’m Dr. Reid. May I speak to you privately? It concerns your test results.”
Gage pushed his chair back with a heavy sigh, but I placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. “You can say whatever it is in front of my brother.”
Grinning sheepishly, Gage dropped his chin to his chest. I wasn’t lying. As far as I was concerned, Gage Harlow was my brother.
“As you wish. You may have been told that you were brought in for a drug overdose—”
“But I didn’t…” I interrupted.
He held up a hand. “Please let me finish, and I’ll answer any questions you or your brother may have.” I nodded and he continued. “After we pumped your stomach and talked with Mr. Harlow, we discovered something interesting.”
I glanced at Gage. “What was that?”
“Mr. Harlow claims the medication he found open was hydroxyzine capsules.”
“Yes, I took two. I have a prescription.” I didn’t like where this was going.
“I understand that, Miss Ryan. What I’m trying to tell you is the lab found no trace of hydroxyzine in your system.”
My brain refuted what he was telling me. “I don’t understand. That’s impossible.”
“What we found,” he continued, “was enough hydromorphone to induce an immediate cardiac arrest.”
“Hydromorphone?” I began to shake.
“The brand name is Palladone. It’s normally prescribed for adults with severe chronic pain. Usually only patients who are narcotic tolerant and already using other narcotic medications can take it. Overestimating the amount of hydromorphone needed can cause death from the first dose. You’re lucky to be alive, Miss Ryan.” He gestured to Gage. “If your brother hadn’t acted so quickly, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
The shaking intensified. “Gage?”
Thankfully, he knew me and took over. “Dr. Reid, we’re a little confused. Phoebe doesn’t have a prescription for Palladone. If you’re insinuating she took it illegally, you’re wrong.”
Dr. Reid adjusted his glasses. “Actually, I wasn’t suggesting anything of the sort. When we pumped Miss Ryan’s stomach, we found traces of the dark and light green capsules in which hydroxyzine is normally packaged.”
“Now I’m really confused,” Gage said, throwing himself into the chair.
The doctor stared directly at Gage. “The pills Miss Ryan took out of that hydroxyzine bottle may have looked normal, but there was no hydroxyzine inside of them.”
“What are you saying?” I whispered, finding my voice.
“I’m saying those capsules were filled with two hundred milligrams of Palladone, Miss Ryan. Either your pharmacy should be investigated or—”
“Somebody tried to kill me,” I finished for him. The reality of what actually happened sank deep into my mind. It was happening again.
Silence surrounded us until Dr. Reid cleared his throat.
Oh shit, what now?
“There is one other thing to discuss, Miss Ryan.”
“Please don’t tell me there were more drugs in my system,” I pleaded.
“No, but…are you sure you wouldn’t like to speak privately?” He eyed Gage once more.
“He stays.” I needed him now more than ever.
“There’s one other thing in your blood work that needs to be addressed.”
I squeezed Gage’s hand for support. I didn’t know how much more information I could take. “Okay.”
“We need to schedule further testing to see if there’s been damage, but hormone levels show you to be about five weeks pregnant, Miss Ryan.”
The floor felt like it’d just dropped out from underneath me. I was sure I’d misheard him. “I’m sorry, I thought you said pregnant.”
“I did,” he said. “I take it you weren’t aware?”
“That’s not possible,” I finally managed to whisper. “I’m on the pill.”
“As you know, Miss Ryan, birth control pills are only ninety-nine percent effective, even when taken correctly.” He looked at me accusingly. “Did you miss any doses?”
Thinking clearly wasn’t an option. “I-I don’t know.”
He glanced at Gage then turned back to face me. “I’ll give you and your brother time to discuss this. I’ll send for an ultrasound to make sure the pregnancy wasn’t terminated by the overdose. Try to rest until then.” As quickly as he’d barged in, he was gone.
“Pheebs—” Gage started, his expression shocked.
“This can’t be happening,” I interrupted, willing it to be untrue. “Gage, I can’t be pregnant. It isn’t possible!”
“Baby doll, it explains a lot. You’ve been sick, super tired, you get up to pee at all hours of the night…and not to be an ass, but you’ve been bitchy as hell lately.”
Pregnant?
I couldn’t have a child. For fuck’s sake, I still acted like one most of the time. I couldn’t be anyone’s mother. How the hell would I tell Julian? He probably wouldn’t even give me the chance.
“Pheebs, if you want, I can call Julian for you and have him—”
“No,” I said, forcefully gripping the rails of the bed.
“What do you mean, no? You sure as hell didn’t make this baby by yourself.”
“No!” I repeated, shifting my stare, daring defiance. “No one is calling Julian, or anyone connected to him. He’ll know nothing of what happened. Especially not about the baby.”
“Phoebe, come on,” Gage argued, smacking the bedrail. “That’s not fair! He deserves to know.”
I calmed my voice, determined for him to hear me. “Why do you think I was attacked?”
“You think the stalker did this?” he asked, his eyes wide.
“I don’t think, I know. Helena said she’d come after me because of the article, and she was right.” I grabbed his hand. “Don’t you see? I caused this. I provoked her and she retaliated.”
“What does that have to do with your new baby daddy?” he said, crossing his arms.
“It has everything to do with him. Look what she did to me for just being with him. What do you think she’d do if she knew I was having his baby?” I watched his jaw tighten. “Exactly. The only way I can protect all of us is by staying away from him.”
“I don’t like this, Pheebs.”
“You know he wouldn’t stay away if he knew, even if it was just out of obligation. You’ve got to let me start acting like somebody’s mom here. Jesus, for once, I’m not thinking of myself.”
“Fuck, Pheebs,
” he said, blowing out a long breath.
“Yeah,” I said, slightly laughing. “Fucked pretty much covers it.
After a long pause, Gage squeezed my hand again. “I know you don’t want to think about this, but are you going to be all right to go back to the apartment? I mean, some pretty fucked up shit went down there. No one would blame you if you couldn’t handle it.”
I honestly hadn’t even considered it. How did I feel about it? Was the fear strong enough to give up everything I’d built and return to the life I’d run from? The answer didn’t take long to figure out. When you had two monsters trying to take your life, you chose to fight the one most easily defeated—the one that didn’t know your every weakness.
“I’m not running anymore,” I told him honestly. “Besides, where the hell would I go? It’s not like either one of us has family here. We have no one but each other, and we live together. No,” I steeled my jaw, “we’ll go home. I’ll be damned if that bitch will run me from my own home. But she’ll never catch me unguarded again.”
“Pheebs, I promise, you’ll never be alone again,” Gage said, kissing my cheek. “I’m with you on this…both of you. We’ve got this, you and me. I’ll take care of us. Ohana.”
I finally succumbed to the tears and broke down in his arms. “Ohana,” I sobbed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Julian
Two weeks without her and it felt like every day was a fresh kick in the balls. This must be what hell felt like.
I’d tried to keep busy, but no matter where I went something always reminded me of her. I sang her song, and I wanted to hit someone. Every reporter wanted to know if I was still dating the Vinyl reporter who outed my stalker. Every time I smelled coconut, my fucking cock got so hard I could chop trees with it.
Phoebe Ryan’s ghost wouldn’t leave me the hell alone, and it pissed me off. Sleep was the only time I got any kind of reprieve. When my head hit the pillow, I gave silent thanks to the makers of heavy window blinds and Vicodin. The sleep was always deep, but it was far from restful. When I woke up, the cycle started all over again.