Chapter 39
Rhys
Late afternoons bring a different crowd to the Quintus Hotel.
Some patrons linger after a late lunch. Others pass time at one of the award-winning bars before seeking an early evening hookup at the private adult club hidden right behind the hotel.
Others, like myself, are here to connect with a good friend who’s also a Dark Compulsion member.
“Here’s to a second career that eclipses the first.” Piers lifts his martini glass.
I laugh.
I clink my tumbler with his.
He takes a long swig of his straight martini, while I gulp down my Grey Goose on the rocks.
Although we’re sitting in the Golden Finger Whiskey Bar, it pays to be part of the owner’s small group of friends.
It allows us to order drinks that aren’t on the menu.
Neither Piers nor I are in the mood for whiskey.
“Even though I couldn’t make it to the red-carpet event that took place a couple days ago because I was at the International Beer Strategies Conference and got back in town yesterday from London, I placed my order for my SCORE Yours headphones in every design,” the blond man sitting across from me says.
“I also asked my executive assistant to coordinate things with our top performers so they can get their pick.”
“You’re a good friend. Thanks for the support.”
His eyes crinkle with amusement. “Please. My order is a drop in the bucket,” he says. “The product isn’t even out yet, and you guys are breaking sales records.”
“Beckett and I are thrilled. This is well beyond our expectations.”
“So, the consultant was a great investment?”
“Arianne was a phenomenal investment for our company and a hell of an investment for pretty boy Beckett.”
We laugh.
“I still can’t believe Christensen pressed the pause button on his manwhoring,” Piers says. “Now that he’s no longer sowing his oats, we can only rely on Collin Dennison to carry the torch.”
“You should talk,” I say. “Last time I checked, you were still single.”
“Oh, that hasn’t changed, but unlike Beckett, my dick never makes the first page of the entertainment publications or websites.”
“Good point.” I chuckle.
Forty-year-old Piers Somerville is my sponsor. Over the years, our relationship has transformed into a real friendship.
His journey resembles Beckett’s.
Where I rocked the audience with my flow, rhymes and smooth hip-hop moves, Piers charmed his devoted fans on the big screen. He was a child actor on top of the world who made a successful transition until he came tumbling down.
He believed he was invincible, therefore, untouchable.
He coped with the highs and lows of life with drugs.
Like me, he rose from the gutter of addiction—he now owns a successful craft beer company.
Once his life was in order, he started mentoring other addicts.
Neither of us takes our second wind of success for granted.
“Seriously, man, congratulations.” His amber eyes hold mine. “I’m really proud of you. You’ve come a long way. Not only with SCORE Yours, but in every aspect of your life and now… you’re dating the most coveted face in Los Angeles.”
“I can’t keep up with all the changes in my own life,” I say. “Why don’t you come over this weekend? I’d love for you to meet Keira.”
“I’d love that,” he says.
“Sunday afternoon work?”
“Absolutely—”
My phone rings, interrupting him.
“Let me turn that off.” I pull out my phone from the inside pocket of my suit jacket. I’m about to put it in silent mode when a text message flies across my screen.
The call is from Shane while the text comes from Collin.
I shake my head.
“What is it?”
I chuckle. “The Dennison brothers must be up to no good because they’re both trying to reach me at the same time.”
“Don’t hold back on my account,” he says.
“Let me see what they want.”
“Shane––”
“Rhys, it’s about Keira.” He’s out of breath.
“What about Keira?”
Piers cocks an eyebrow.
I shrug.
“She was in an accident––”
“What?” I sit up straight in my chair.
“The paramedics just drove off with her to the hospital,” Shane says in one breath.
My heart stops dead as my world comes to a careening halt. “Hospital? Accident? Keira?” I fire questions at him. “Shane, what the fuck are you talking about?”
He lets out a loud breath.
He does it again.
And again.
“Shane, you’re scaring the shit out of me. Talk to me, man.”
“Sorry. I’m still running on adrenaline. It’s all coming out jumbled and a little incoherent,” he says in a calmer voice. “Keira was on her motorcycle—”
“She went for a ride?”
“Apparently.”
“Where are you now?”
“Santa Monica.”
She’s a long way from home.
“Long story short, an asshole, too much in a rush to wait the freaking one hundred twenty seconds for the light to change caused a horrific accident when he ran the light––”
“Is she dead?” I grip the phone.
“No, no, no,” Shane says. “She’s in bad shape. I pray she didn’t suffer from a spinal injury. Goddammit, she landed pretty hard. By the time the paramedics arrived, she was unconscious, but she’s alive. She was spared.”
My heart thuds. I’m stunned, and it takes me a moment to process everything that just came flying out of Shane’s mouth.
“Rhys? You still there?”
I find my voice. “Spinal injury? Unconscious?” Jesus Christ.
“I’m not one hundred percent certain, but after what I witnessed, it’s my assessment. I was afraid to touch her, just in case. And yes, she was unconscious.” I was hoping I misheard him. “There’s a lot more to share.”
“Jesus Christ.” I rub my face with my hand.
“Collin and I would’ve contacted you earlier, but we didn’t want to leave her side. Not to mention, we didn’t know which hospital she was going to end up in. Once we knew, we wanted to warn you. That’s why he was texting you, in case your phone was on mute.”
“I understand. Which hospital?”
“UCLA Medical Center.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Okay. Collin and I are taking the McLaren he was test driving back to the dealership and then we’ll make our way there,” Shane says. “You might want to call Noah before the press is all over it.”
His chilling words turn my blood into ice.
“See you there,” Shane says.
I end the call, still in disbelief.
Jesus Christ.
The shocking news paralyzes me.
“Let me drive you,” Piers says.
My gaze lifts to his, but it’s like I can’t see him.
“Let’s go. I’ll drive you.”
I swallow before I can open my mouth. “I drove here.” My voice is monotone.
“You’re in no condition to drive, Rhys.”
I clear my throat. “You’re right. I can’t.” …because I’m obliterated.
The half-hour bumper-to-bumper ride is excruciating.
My stomach is tied up in a ball of nerves. I can’t even talk.
Piers doesn’t attempt to fill the silence.
He leaves me be with my thoughts.
Bless him.
Noah was on set when I called. It went straight to voicemail, so I texted him. He got back to me. He’s making arrangements to return to Los Angeles. I also called my mom, Arianne, and Beckett. They’re all meeting me at the hospital.
I let my mind wander.
Shane said she’s alive, but will she be okay?
Spinal injury?
Fuck.
It’s not like Shane has a medical degree. What if he’s way off base? What if things were to take a turn for the worse?
Noah wouldn’t survive this.
I let out a heavy sigh.
“She’s alive, Rhys. That’s all that counts.” Piers says as if he can read my thoughts. While we were making our way to his car, I filled him in on what Shane shared with me. “If you’re not happy with UCLA Medical Center, you have the means and influence to get her the best care in the country.”
He keeps driving.
My mind keeps going to dark places.
When we arrive at the hospital, a wall of reporters awaits. The minute they see us approaching, they rush towards us, and chaos reigns supreme in the parking lot.
I blink and shield my eyes as the night sky lights up like Christmas when the camera flashes burst to life. The reporters shout questions all at once, waving recording devices in my face.
Fucking vultures.
I lift a hand up. “Back off.”
They come at me with more determination.
“Back the fuck off.” Piers’s voice booms so loud, a few reporters jerk back. “I understand you have a job to do, but give the man a chance to breathe. He hasn’t even set foot inside the hospital. How the hell can he answer your fucking stupid questions?”
That does it.
Standing five feet ten, Piers might not be as menacing as Noah, but when he adds that don’t fuck with me grit to his voice, you better get the hell out of his way.
I nod my appreciation.
He nods back.
Inside, we make short work of navigating the hallways to where Shane and Collin are waiting for us.
I fucking hate hospitals.
Painful memories wash over me as a pang of panic hits me. The feeling spikes, engulfing me at an alarming rate. The floor feels like it’s about to cave in. My step falters and I brace myself against a wall, gripping it for dear life, as everything seems to disappear around me.
Goddammit.
“Rhys?”
Incapable of answering Piers, I clamp a hand against my chest as I struggle to breathe.
Shit.
“Memories of your dad?” Piers says.
I nod.
I can’t form words.
Piers comes and stands in front of me, and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You’re not the same man. You’re not going to go down that path again. You’re more equipped to handle difficult situations. You’re not going to slide. I won’t let you. Neither will your mother or your friends.”
I nod again.
I’m too choked up to talk.
“I’d worry more about Noah than a relapse. Your best friend won’t hesitate to carry your ass––fireman style over his shoulder––right back to rehab.”
I laugh a little.
I stand up straight.
“Your girl needs you,” Piers says.
“I’m good. Thanks for being here.”
“Don’t mention it.”
The last time I set foot in a hospital was after my dad had suffered from a heart attack. He spent many days in a coma. As he was fighting for his life, I was getting high. I refused to believe my superhero of a dad might not be invincible. If I got fucked up, I wouldn’t be able to feel.
Then, one morning, Dad flatlined. The doctors tried to resuscitate him, but it was in vain.
I was at an overnight binge party––one that involved copious amounts of booze, drugs, fucking, and watching others fuck––somewhere in Bel Air, when he passed away.
I’m still sick to my stomach at the way I dealt with that traumatic episode in my life.
I’m ill-prepared to be here, but Piers is right. I have to suck it up for my girl.
Shane and Collin jump to their feet when we enter the waiting room. The somber expression on their faces eats a hole in my chest.
“What is it?” I don’t bother with greetings.
“They just took her to the operating room,” Shane says.
Collin pats my shoulder. “She’s getting the care she needs.”
“Thanks for being there for her. I owe you guys.”
“That’s what friends do,” Collin says. “If you can’t be there for your girl, it’s our duty to step in.”
I nod.
The Dennison brothers are known for their unwavering loyalty. This is another example.
“Hey, Piers,” Shane says.
The three guys greet each other.
“Shane and I weren’t able to find out which room Keira is in,” Collin says.
“That information is reserved for family members only. We told the nurse she’s an orphan, and her brother lives abroad.
It didn’t help. When we explained her boyfriend would be showing up soon, she said you need to go to the nurses’ station when you get here. ”
“I’ll head there now.” I rush off.
After a few keystrokes, the black woman sitting behind the computer informs me someone will come for me when Keira is out of surgery. That’s all she had for me. At least, I have my girl’s room number. Resigned, I return to the waiting area.
Standing at the threshold, I call Shane over.
He approaches me. “So?”
“I’m on standby.”
“Figures.”
“Can you walk me through what happened again?” I’m desperate to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
“Everything happened so fast, it was almost a blur,” he says. “Collin and I were test driving a new McLaren he’s considering buying when we stopped at a red light. As were debating about the car, a kickass custom Softail Breakout bike catches our eye––”
“The Softail is my bike. I added Keira to the insurance.”
“The bike is in pieces…”
“The bike isn’t important. It’s replaceable. Keira isn’t.”
“Thank God for her quick thinking. It saved her life.” Shane gives me the play-by-play. “Once the police arrived, the area was taped off, so it’s not like I could get close, but based on the wreckage and the magnitude of the impact, I’m guessing the asshole responsible for the nightmare was drunk.”
Anger causes my lip to twitch. “Motherfucker.”
“The motherfucker didn’t make it.” Shane shakes his head. “He was propelled through the windshield of his car and crashed against the asphalt, face down. By the time the EMTs got to him, he was swimming in a pool of his own blood. Seems he wasn’t even wearing a seatbelt.”
“What about the other car? The one that was hit.”
“Not sure. The EMTs took the person to a hospital.”
“Okay, thanks.” The tale is as unbelievable as it was when he offered fragments of the story when he first called me.
Once Shane is done recounting the tragic facts, we join Piers and Collin in the waiting area.
As we do, my mom, Arianne, and Beckett arrive.
They’re full of questions. Since the Dennison brothers witnessed it all, I let them tell the story.
Hearing what Keira went through again, twists my gut.
If the motherfucker weren’t dead, I would’ve tracked him down.
When everyone is all caught up, the nail-biting procession of waiting begins.
We wait, and wait, and wait. After what seems like a lifetime, someone calls my name.
“Mr. Rhys Hartford.”
I jump to my feet. Pure adrenaline carries my legs as close the gap between me and the black woman scouring the room.
She looks me up and down. “You’re Keira Weatherly’s boyfriend?”
“Yes, I am. We live together.”
“I’m Dr. Cuthbert,” she says.
“Can I see her now?”
“Does Miss Weatherly have parents? Siblings?”
Is her evasiveness the precursor to bad news?
“No. I mean, yes.” I shake my head. Breathe. “Her mom passed. Same for her grandmother. Her father isn’t in the picture. Her older brother lives in New Zealand. He’s doing his best to return to LA as quickly as he can. So, right now, I’m all she’s got. Is she out of surgery?”
Dr. Cuthbert nods. “She is.”
“Can I see her?”
“We need to talk first.” Her expression is unreadable.
I’ve never before felt such dread, the ache in my heart unbearable.