Chapter 27
Aspen
Just when I thought things couldn’t
get any worse.
Dawn crested, a pale glow creeping underneath the curtains, but the new day didn’t bring fresh hope. It brought despair, fear, and a deep sense of loss.
After Joz climbed into that cab, I’d had my driver follow him, but he’d lost us after a few blocks.
We’d driven around for an hour or so, but there’d been no sign of him.
I’d run the gauntlet of media waiting outside my apartment building.
Somehow, I’d managed not to rage at every single heartless bastard who’d taken a man’s personal thoughts at the worst time in his life and splashed them all over the internet for shits and fucking giggles.
When I eventually found out who broke into Joz’s apartment and stole that diary, I would rain fucking hell down on their heads. Because I would find them. Nothing would stop me until I’d unearthed that vile piece of shit and made them regret the day they were born.
Joz.
My chest ached, and my eyes stung from lack of sleep, but mostly, my heart was broken, because instead of holding onto me, of letting me support him, he’d pushed me away.
Where was he? I picked up my cell from the nightstand. Still no call or text. I briefly scanned the news outlets in case he’d reappeared, but the only news was of the bad variety. I tossed it to one side, wearing hopelessness like a weighted cloak.
I felt so fucking helpless.
I showered and dressed, drank three cups of coffee, and checked my phone another dozen times, even though the ringer was on, and if he did call or message, I’d have heard it.
I’m losing my mind.
I grabbed my coat. Sitting around here doing nothing was driving me crazy. Pacing the streets was a futile exercise, but it felt better than waiting for news that never came.
As I stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, the hordes of press were still hanging around outside, hoping to draw blood, to scrape another fragment of misery to fulfil their shitty little lives. I spun on my heel and beelined for the service entrance.
Once I’d checked the coast was clear, I put my head down and strode onto the street that ran behind my building.
Soon, the busy street filled with New Yorkers swallowed me up.
Luckily, they were too involved with their own lives to take much notice of a desperate woman with bloodshot eyes and rounded shoulders in their midst. I kept searching for Joz, praying I’d spot him in the crowd.
Deep down, I knew the chances of that happening were somewhere between no chance and are you fucking stupid, but that didn’t stop me scanning the faces for the one I yearned to see the most.
I must’ve walked ten or so blocks when my phone rang. I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. I almost dropped it, snapping out a hand just in time. My stomach plummeted at the caller.
Mike.
I swiped the screen. “Mike. Any news?”
“He’s in Bellevue.”
The ground disappeared beneath my feet, and I stumbled, hooking my arm around a street light to steady myself. “What happened?”
“He OD’d. Housekeeper found him lying on the bathroom floor of a motel in Harlem this morning.”
“I’m on my way.” I hung up, frantically flagging down a passing cab. He drove right by. “Goddammit!” When a second one didn’t stop either, I called my driver.
The five minutes he took to arrive at my location were the longest five minutes of my life.
Joz OD’d. He’d OD’d. A fresh torrent of hatred for the person who put him in this situation coursed through me.
I fervently believed in personal accountability, but I also believed that when something you thought was the worst thing that could happen to you actually happened, it had the power to derail even the strongest of people.
The private investigator I’d hired last night came highly recommended. I doubted it would be long before I knew who was responsible for stealing and then leaking Joz’s diary. They would rue the fucking day they crossed me.
What I couldn’t figure out was whether it was someone who hated Joz, or hated me. It just so happened he had a more checkered past than I did, and someone took a shot that there might be a skeleton or two just waiting to be discovered. Then they’d broken into a private residence and hit pay dirt.
Joz’s building was secure, though, which meant the person who did this was either known to him and had access to his apartment, or they were some fucking master criminal.
My thoughts were running riot, and I let them. Anything to take my mind off the crushing fear that if Joz survived, he’d sink further into depression and, as a byproduct, he’d begin regularly using again.
Not on my fucking watch. I would not let drugs steal him from me.
I would not allow a vicious stranger to take away the man I’d fallen in love with to further their own ends, whatever they were.
Joz was mine, and I was his. One way or another, we’d make it through this.
We had to. I couldn’t face the alternative.
As my driver turned onto the road leading to the hospital, my phone buzzed.
Mike: He’s on the fourth floor. Room 7B.
I typed out my thanks and was out of the car before my driver had come to a complete stop. No sign of the press. Good. The news mustn’t have broken yet that Joz had been admitted, although it wouldn’t be long before it was all over the wire.
I beelined for the elevators, texting Sam on the way and apprizing her of the situation. If anyone had the skills to spin this the right way, it was my head of PR. Stuffing my phone in my pocket, I jabbed the button for Floor 4, my fingers impatiently tapping the sides of my thighs.
Room 7B was halfway along the corridor on the right-hand side. A man stood to the right of the door, and as I approached, he moved in front of it.
“May I help you?”
“She’s okay.”
I glanced behind me as Mike drifted down the hallway with two cups of something hot in his hand. He passed one of them to me. “Didn’t know if you took sugar.”
“Thanks.” I took it from him. “Is he awake?”
Mike nodded. “They gave him naloxone, and there’s a nurse in there with him monitoring his vitals.”
Panic swelled within my chest, the thoughts of what could have happened overwhelming me. “He could’ve died, Mike.”
“I know. But he didn’t. Physically, the doctor said he’ll make a full recovery.”
“How long are they keeping him in?”
“He should be released tomorrow. They want to observe him and make sure there are no lasting effects. Plus, he took a bang to the head when he fell, so they’re watching for any signs of concussion.”
I nodded, then reached for the handle. Mike gripped my arm, stopping me.
“He’s in bad shape.”
“You said he was going to be okay.”
“I said physically he’d be okay. He’s spiraled, Aspen. He feels like a failure.”
“Did he say that?”
“Didn’t need to. I’ve known this guy a long time.”
I flinched at the not-so-subtle dig. “Shots fired and landed.”
Mike scraped a hand over his unshaven chin.
He looked as wrecked as I felt. “I didn’t mean it like that.
I just think you should prepare yourself.
You’ve only ever seen sober Joz, and that man is a different prospect from who you’ll see when you go in there.
Private thoughts he never intended anyone to see spattered all over the internet has sent him to a dark place. I wanted to warn you, that’s all.”
I nodded. “I hear you. I’d like to see him alone.”
“Of course. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
“Thanks.” I turned away, then turned back. “He’s lucky to have you, Mike.”
His smile was so sad, it broke something inside me. “Same.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I pushed down on the door handle and entered Joz’s hospital room.
A nurse stationed in the far corner glanced up from scribbling on a plastic clipboard with some papers tucked into the metal clip.
She smiled, then returned to her work. I shifted my gaze to the hospital bed, where Joz was in a half-seated position, oxygen tubes beneath his nose, and an IV buried in his arm, possibly giving fluids or anti-heroin drugs.
He was staring at the ceiling and didn’t look at me as I pulled up a chair and sat down.
“Hey.” I picked up his hand. He allowed me to, although he was limp and he didn’t return the squeeze I gave him. “Talk to me.”
Still no eye contact. “And say what?”
“Whatever you want to say.”
“I don’t want to say anything, Aspen.”
“Okay. I can roll with that.” I stood up and perched on the edge of his mattress, then lay down, folding myself into his side. I wrapped my arm around his waist and burrowed into his neck.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Being here for you.”
“You should leave.”
“Do you want me to leave?” Please say no. If he asked me to go, I’d have no choice but to abide by his wishes. But the man was hurting on a cellular level. I needed him to know I was ready to walk the hard path right by his side.
One word forced its way past his lips, choked. “No.”
“Then, I’m here for as long as you need me.” I squeezed him tighter, burrowed nearer. “I love you.”
“I’m damaged fucking goods, Spitfire. You should run as far away from me as possible.”
My heart soared. He’d used my nickname. My Joz was in there somewhere, screaming for help. I intended to provide that help. Whatever he needed for however long he needed. “I’m a terrible runner. My arms flail, and I do this weird thing where my legs kick out to the side. It’s comical, really.”
I could’ve sworn he let out the quietest huff of air, a semblance of a chuckle. “You’re a crazy bird.”
“I’m your crazy bird.”
I felt him shift, and when I leaned away, he was looking right at me. The pain in his eyes was almost my undoing, but he needed me strong. There was plenty of time to fall apart once he’d recovered.
“I don’t deserve you.”