“I agree. We make a good team.” Her gaze dips to my lips.
Something has grown between us in these past few months. It’s not the overwhelming and crazy chemistry Lilah and I always had, more of a mutual respect and fondness for one another. But it’s obvious we’re both curious what would happen if we took the leap and actually tried dating for real.
“We do make a pretty good team,” I say, leaning in another inch.
“Let’s hope the box office numbers think so, too.” She follows my lead and raises her chin so that our lips are only an inch apart.
“Adelaide, what would you say if—”
“James! Christ, finally.”
I turn my head and crease my forehead when I see Keane twenty feet away and racing toward us.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask.
He stands with his hands on his hips, gasping for breath, before he speaks. “I got a call.” He inhales a deep breath. “It’s Lilah. Apparently she ODed and—”
I haul him to me by the lapels of his tux jacket. “Is she alive? Is she okay? What hospital?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know anything other than that she ODed and she’s at Sinai.”
“Fuck!” I drop my hands from his chest and push through the crowd.
The valet approaches me outside the hotel, looking starstruck and a little wary at the same time. “Can I help you, sir?”
I didn’t drive here myself. I was dropped off by a driver, but I’m not waiting around for that. “I need a cab or an Uber… something.”
He nods quickly, obviously responding to the urgency in my tone, and jogs to the podium near the doors the porters use, where he picks up a phone. He exchanges a few words with whoever he’s speaking to and hangs up. “They’re going to let a cab through. Should only be a minute.”
I nod and pace. I push both hands through my hair and stop walking, pulling on the strands. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t pushed her away, I could’ve kept an eye on her, made sure she stayed above surface level.
Desperation claws at my insides while I wait for the fucking cab.
I yank my phone from my inside pocket to check the time and find a list of missed calls.
Damn it. I forgot to take my phone off silent when we left the awards.
Using my thumb to open the screen, I pull up the missed calls and see a bunch from Keane, my manager, and one at the bottom from Lilah. My heart seizes as I press the voicemail button and bring my phone to my ear. Lilah’s message plays first, since hers is the oldest, and I listen, my heart constricting at the desperation in her voice.
Her words, sounding so hopeless, reverberate through my head and I collapse to my knees on the concrete.
If she isn’t okay, I don’t know what I’ll do. I realize now that if I thought I can survive without her, I was kidding myself. Lilah is as much a part of my life as the cells that make up my body. And if she’s gone, there’ll be nothing left for me.
Chapter Twenty-six
Jimmy
The cab doesn’t come to a full stop in front of the Emergency Room when I toss a hundred-dollar bill in the front and push the door open. I race through the sliding doors.
The place is packed with people. Some old, some young, babies sitting on their mother’s laps. I spot the desk in the far corner and push past a woman escorting an elderly lady with a walker. I startle the nurse when I come to an abrupt stop in front of the desk, and she narrows her eyes.
“I’m looking for Lilah Robbie. She was brought in here by ambulance,” I say, panting from a mixture of rushing here and stress increasing my heart rate.
She purses her lips. “Are you related to her?”
“No, but I…”
The corners of her lips tip up, and instead of judgment, her eyes now hold disbelief. She’s figured out who I am.
“Oh my God!” she screams, then leans forward as if we’re sharing a secret. “Are you James Crawford?”
It’s clear I’m going to get further with this woman if I play to my celebrity status, so I smack on my most charismatic smile and do what I love—act. “Can you keep a secret?”
She nods with vigor.
“I am.”
The nurse, whose name tag reads Leslie, bounces off her seat. “I knew it. Oh, I loved your last movie—where you played that soldier? You were so good in it. I can’t believe you’re standing here in front of me right now. James Crawford!”
I glance behind me to see if anyone is paying attention or has their cell phone out for a picture, but everyone here appears too deep into their own misery to be concerned. “Thank you, that’s very nice of you. Now do you think you could tell me where my friend Lilah Robbie is? She was brought in by ambulance.”
“Anything for you,” she says and turns her attention to the computer, typing away on the keys. “Yes, she’s here. I don’t know her status, but she’s still in this unit. She hasn’t been moved yet.”
“Is she going to be all right?” I lean over the desk, my hands splayed in front of me.
“I have no idea. Why don’t I slip back and see if I can get an update for you?”
Relief worms through me. “I’d really appreciate that.”
“Okay, give me a second.” She heads farther into the unit behind her until she turns down a hall and I can’t see her anymore.
I push up off the desk and undo my bow tie. Unable to stand still with all this nervous energy and anxiety rolling through me, I pace with one hand gripping my hair and the other on my waist. She has to be okay. She has to be okay. She has to be okay.
The false assurances I give myself do nothing to make me feel as if she will.
A couple minutes later, Leslie returns with a grim look on her face. I stand in front of the desk, not moving, barely breathing, afraid to ask.
“She’s still alive,” she says with a matter-of-fact tone. “If you want, I can bring you back so the doctors can talk to you.”
“Thank you, thank you!”
Leslie points at the large set of swinging doors to the right of her desk. “Head through those. I’ll buzz you in.”
Wasting no time, I move to the door.
The energy back here is completely different. While outside in the waiting room, the feeling was morose and stagnant, behind these doors, there’s a not-quite-frantic feeling permeating the air.
Leslie approaches, smiling, and I return it with an awkward one of my own.
“Follow me.”
I wish she’d pick up the pace. It’s as if she’s out for a Sunday stroll, and it’s all I can do not to put my hands on her shoulders and push her to move faster.
She brings me to the very end of the row and stops outside a curtained-off space. “Nurse Rangefield?” she calls through the blue fabric.
An older woman with shoulder-length, curly brown hair appears around the curtain. She’s all business and glances at Leslie reproachfully before setting her gaze on me.
“This is him,” Leslie says. “This is James Crawford.” Her eyes are wide again.
“So I see,” Nurse Rangefield says, not looking as impressed as her coworker.
“How’s Lilah? Is she going to be okay?”
She opens her mouth then looks back at Leslie. “Shouldn’t you be back at your desk by now?”
Leslie startles as if she was woken from a trance. “Oh, right. Sorry.” She grips my forearm. “It was really great to meet you.”
I shake off my irritation at her lack of self-awareness—this is not the time or the place—and smile anyway, then I nod and turn back to Nurse Rangefield.
“She was unconscious and barely breathing when the ambulance arrived. According to them, there was evidence of heroin use, so they administered Naloxone. That helped, but she still hasn’t regained consciousness. Her pulse and heart rate are unstable still, and because we don’t know if she stopped breathing for any period of time before the ambulance arrived, we’ll have to do some tests to make sure her brain function is fine. It’s no
t likely she stopped breathing and regained the ability on her own, but since she was alone, there’s no way to be sure.”
I try my best to understand everything she’s telling me, to examine its meaning piece by piece, but I’m rolling over the same word over and over again. “Heroin? Are you sure?”
“That’s what the EMTs reported. Said it was pretty apparent.”
I push a hand through my hair, the lump in my throat increasing. “What are her chances of being okay?”
This woman has been hardened by her job, that much is clear. But for a moment, I swear I see pity in her eyes. “She’s not out of the woods by a long shot. Right now, we’re trying to get her stable so we can run some more tests. These next few hours are critical as far as her long-term prognosis.”
My chin falls to my chest and I suck in a shaky breath. “Is there somewhere more private I can wait?” I know it’s far-fetched to think that somehow the press won’t get wind of this and show up here.
“Sure, this is LA after all. There’s a private waiting room for your type just down there.” She points behind me, and when I turn, I see the door she’s referring to.
“Thank you.”
She turns to head back behind the curtain.
“Can I see her first?” I ask, needing to set eyes on her to see how bad she looks.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible right now, Mr. Crawford.”
“If anything changes though, you’ll come find me?” I ask with raised brows.
“I will.” She gives a curt nod and ducks back behind the curtain.
I stand, unmoving for a moment, stunned by the news. Heroin? I’d understand cocaine, alcohol, but Lilah has always stayed away from the really hard stuff. I foolishly took that to mean she had some self-control and some desire to turn her life around.
Then again, why wouldn’t she? What was left in her life to keep her afloat?
She’d lost me.
Slow steps lead me to the waiting room. Because I know if something happens to Lilah, the guilt and loss will shackle me for the rest of my life.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Lilah
The first thing I notice is the taste in my mouth. Funny that something so ridiculous would be my strongest anchor. My neck twitches and my head aches.
Something feels weird on my arms, and something warm is on my hand. I try to move my arm, but a pinch on top of my hand stops me.
“Lilah?”
Something about the voice, some quality to it, makes me feel safe. I want to figure out who it is, but I’m so tired.
* * *
The next time I wake, I want to move. My entire body aches and my hip hurts in this position. I gather all my strength and try to shift my body, but I can’t.
“Lilah, can you hear me? That’s it, baby, see if you can open your eyes.”
That voice speaks again.
A squeeze on my hand alerts me, and I try but fail to squeeze back.
“Lilah, wake up, honey.”
The voice is so familiar…
Jimmy.
Jimmy is here.
I might not smile on the outside, but I smile inside. He came back for me.
I open my eyes and light filters in for a moment before the demands I’ve placed on my body take their toll. Sleep calls to me again. Even though I want to see Jimmy, I’m not strong enough to fight off its hold.
* * *
I notice the soft sound of equipment around me. A small hum and an intermittent beep. I’m not lying flat on my back; my front half is raised. I think I’m in the hospital.
The same grip that has been present on my right hand every other time I tried to wake up is still there. This time, rather than wasting energy trying to move my body, I concentrate on opening my eyes.
After a few tries, I pry them open into small slits, but I close them immediately from the glare of the overhead fluorescent lights. After a few seconds, I open them again, better prepared this time.
Jimmy sits in a chair beside my bed and holds my hand, leaning forward, asleep.
He looks awful. There are bags under his eyes and his clothes are rumpled. His hair is mussed and not in his sexy, effortless way. In a way that makes me think he hasn’t seen a shower in a while. Even so, it’s been so long since I’ve seen him that I can’t help letting my gaze travel up, down, and all over him.
I open my mouth to say something, but my throat is so parched, it’s painful.
I squeeze his hand. I’m so weak.
I swallow the little saliva there is in my mouth and croak, “Jimmy.”
His eyes fly open and he sits straight up. He’s looking at me as if I’m a figment of his imagination.
I force a small smile. I’m not sure why I’m here, but what I am sure of is that we haven’t seen or talked to each other in a long time.
“You’re awake.”
The relief in his voice makes my eyes well with tears.
He leans forward, hands extended as though he wants to cup my face, but he stops and glances at the equipment. “I should let the nurse know. They told me to let them know when you wake up.”
He seems unsure of what to do. Not at all like the man I know, who’s always so full of confidence and self-assuredness.
He disappears through the door, which gives me a minute to examine my surroundings. The hospital is clean, and my stay here must be on Jimmy’s dime. It’s a private room with a living room suite to my left and a full bathroom to my right.
I look down at my body. I’m hooked up to IVs and other equipment. I try to remember what brought me here. Was I in a car accident? I don’t think so. I don’t seem to have any casts or anything.
Before a recollection forms, Jimmy returns with a nurse who looks a few years older than he is. She gives me a professional smile as she approaches the bed and looks over the equipment. “Hi, Lilah, my name is Julie and I’m your nurse. I’m going to give you the once-over and call the doctor to let him know you’ve woken up, okay?”
I nod numbly.
Julie proceeds to poke and prod me while making idle chitchat. “I bet you’re thirsty aren’t you, darling?”
I nod again.
She looks over her shoulder at Jimmy. “James, can you please grab Lilah here a cup of water with some ice and a straw? You can ask one of the nurses at the station for help.”
How long have I been here that she’s talking to Jimmy like she knows him?
“Sure thing.”
I’ve been watching him, and he’s had his gaze on her the entire time, as if he can’t look at me. But why would he be here if it pains him to look at me?
Julie finishes whatever it is she’s doing and smiles at me. “You take it easy. James will be back with your water soon. Small sips when you get it. I know you probably want to guzzle it, but that’ll only make it come back up. You haven’t had anything solid in your stomach for a while now, so baby sips.”
I nod because it’s too painful to talk.
She smiles, squeezes my shoulder, and leaves the room.
A couple minutes later, Jimmy returns and sits beside me. I try to sit up so I can better hold the water, but it’s too exhausting, so I lean back against the pillow with my eyes closed.
“Here, let me.”
I open my eyes and see him holding out the cup, pointing the straw at my lips. I move a little forward, wrap my lips around the straw, and sip slowly. The cold liquid coats my tongue and cools the fire in my throat. Julie was right—I find myself desperate to finish the whole thing, but I do as she says, not wanting to experience what would surely be the painful process of bringing it back up.
After a few minutes and enough to relieve the worst of the sting in my throat, I lean back against my pillow.
Jimmy’s gaze meets mine, and there’s desperation in his eyes that I haven’t seen since that fateful night.
“What am I doing here?” I ask in scratchy, low voice.
His breathing stutters as he sucks in a big breath. “You don�
��t remember anything?”
I shake my head, afraid of what he’ll say.
“Derek found you at his place. You overdosed on heroin.”
His words shock me. I try, through the dull ache in my head, to pull up the last thing I did. Jimmy must realize I need a minute because he sits silently at my bedside, letting his words soak in.
I recall being at Derek’s, though I’m not sure if what I’m remembering is the last time I was there. The days and weeks have been a blur. A memory of him leaving forms in my mind, almost like walking through the fog and seeing something ahead but being not quite able to make it out.
Then what?
A TV. Something about a TV. Was I watching TV?
A beautiful red gown comes to mind and I know it’s Adelaide’s. I pick at that memory, trying to pull up the corners so I can see what’s underneath the picture of that dress. A minute goes by until the image is vivid in my mind, but finally I see Adelaide in that dress, standing beside Jimmy.
They’re on a red carpet. The Oscars! It’s the Oscars and I was watching it on TV… the word Jimmy echoes through my mind, but it’s not my voice saying it. It’s Adelaide.
And then it flashes in my head. She called him Jimmy. She called him Jimmy as though he was hers to do so, and then I…
I tense, and Jimmy squeezes my hand. I glance at him, and all the raw pain I felt rushes forward.
Jimmy clutches my hand in both of his and leans forward, holding mine to his lips. “Did you do it on purpose?”
I open my mouth to deny his unspoken accusation but shut it. “I don’t know.”
He cringes and tips his head down so our hands press to his forehead.
“I just wanted the pain to go away.”
His shoulders shudder and a sharp sob escapes.
This is what I do to him. This is why he’s better off without me.
All the joy of seeing my best friend, who is more than my best friend, washes away as the tide of shame bowls me over from the sight of him so undone.
“I’m sorry, Jimmy,” I whisper as tears tumble down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
All We Were Page 14