Chapter Three
Magnolia
T-MINUS ONE YEAR
Iwas early to work, but I didn’t go in to wake them up right away. Later, I’d regret that. But Amy had been there most nights for the last few weeks, and I was getting tired of being their morning wake-up call.
Vance’s drinking had escalated. In the past month, it was rare to see him without a glass in his hand. The week before, he’d burned his leg badly while working.
We’d spent the afternoon in the emergency room, Vance silent and sullen with pain, me trembling in rage at his carelessness.
I hadn’t spoken to him for two days. He’d been lucky the burn on his leg was the worst of it. Between the blowtorch and the huge pieces of metal he used in his sculptures, he could easily kill himself if he kept working while he was drunk.
Even his family was getting concerned. No, that’s not accurate. They’d always been concerned. They just didn’t nag. His cousin, Charlotte, rode his ass the hardest, along with his oldest cousin, Aiden.
Charlie and I had struck up a friendship. We were the same age, and it turned out we knew a lot of the same people despite my going to school overseas. She’d confessed that the family was worried, but they couldn’t figure out what to do about it. I could relate.
I hated his drinking. Every time I smelled alcohol on him, it made me sick. Vance was impervious to nagging or suggestion. When I gave him a hard time about it, he either made a joke or changed the subject. He did the same to Charlie. Aiden, he shut out completely.
According to Charlie, only Vance’s twin sister, Annalise, could get through to him, and she hadn’t come home to Atlanta in almost two years. His older brother, Gage, was also absent, an Army Ranger serving in the Middle East.
His only immediate family was his younger brother, Tate, who was busy running two companies, one of which was a night club. Not the ideal choice to talk to Vance about his partying.
I still loved my job. I even loved Vance, in a way. Despite his drinking, we’d grown close. If I were being honest, I’d have to admit he was one of my closest friends. That’s why it was killing me to see him like this.
I never would have thought it was possible, but lately, he was even losing his looks. His golden skin had a sallow tone, and he’d lost some of his muscle as his workouts had tapered off.
He was turning a corner with his drinking, and I didn’t know how to haul him back.
I’d figure it out. We all would. I refused to think we’d lose him. But if there was a solution, I wasn’t going to find it today. I’d had a fight with Brayden the night before, and I was feeling raw, annoyed at the world, and in need of solitude.
Instead of hitting the coffeemaker and the blender, I went straight for my office.
A half hour later, I heard stirring in the bedroom and got up to make some coffee. I didn’t care if Vance and Amy wanted any, but I needed a cup. Ready to indulge myself, I got the coffee going and mixed up some hot cocoa and creamer for mine.
After being up half the night yelling at Brayden, I deserved some chocolate in my coffee. A good mocha could fix almost anything.
I couldn’t get the fight out of my head.
It had been so stupid, one of those fights you get into when you’ve been in a relationship for a long time.
The kind that starts over something small and escalates until you’re pulling up everything that’s ever bothered you until, by the end, you have no idea why you’re still fighting. Or why you're still together.
Brayden was in the last stage of his residency with a plastic surgeon and had suggested I think about getting some work done. I’d been a little upset.
Massive understatement.
First, I’m only twenty-three. And second, while I’m sensitive about my body shape, I’m not getting plastic surgery. I’d been planning on starting a workout program. Soon. Eventually.
While I’d been nagging Vance to stop drinking, he’d been nagging me to exercise more. He said sitting at a desk all day was bad for my heart. Maybe, but not as bad as drinking all day was for his liver.
While Vance wanted me to work out for my heart, Brayden was all about my ass.
Mainly that it should be smaller. He said my breasts would shrink when I lost weight, but I could get that taken care of too.
The women he mentioned as good role models were all super skinny, at least ten pounds underweight.
I was more like fifteen to twenty overweight. By my definition, not his. The thing is, I’d been basically the same size since the day we met. Just thinking of the argument had me adding another spoonful of cocoa to my coffee.
When I wouldn’t agree to get surgery or go on a diet, he started on buying a vacation home at the beach. With my money.
My Grandmother left me provided for, but she’d also left me her house. While it was gorgeous and had been in my family for generations, it was also a money pit.
Between the house itself, the carriage house, and the grounds, it took a chunk of cash to keep everything running. Since I was never selling my family home, I needed to be smart about the way I spent my inheritance.
My Grandmother had put some money aside in trust for the house, and I’d transferred a portion of my inheritance over as well—another thing that pissed Brayden off.
Not that the fight was only him yelling at me. I had plenty to say about his long hours and his always weaseling out of helping with the bills.
I didn’t have a mortgage, but there were still utilities, groceries, and a bunch of other expenses we should have been sharing. Technically, we did share them, but more often than not, he came up short on his half of the bills. I hadn’t minded at first, but lately, it was starting to bug me.
Especially when he said he was saving for my ring. That excuse wasn’t as comforting as it should have been.
I gulped at my homemade mocha, letting it scald the top of my mouth. Chocolate made almost everything better. A thump sounded from Vance’s room, then the sound of glass breaking.
Swearing to myself, I put the mug on the counter and strode to the door of the bedroom.
I’d check on them, but I wasn’t cleaning anything up. I’d put my foot down about that when one of Vance’s one-night-stands had puked all over the bathroom. I was his business manager, not the clean-up crew.
As usual, Vance was passed out naked in bed, the sheet pushed to the floor. It was a measure of how cranky I was that I barely spared him a glance. The bathroom door was open halfway, the light on, the room silent.
I stopped, struck by the eerie quiet. I’d heard something break. Shouldn’t the girl be cleaning it up? I didn’t even know who Vance had slept with the night before. I wondered if he did.
Suddenly nervous, I pushed open the door. It moved less than a foot before it struck something and stopped. I called out, “Hello? Are you okay?”
No answer. Vance shifted in the bed behind me but didn’t wake. My annoyance was turning to alarm. I edged closer to the bathroom and peeked around the door. What I saw made me dizzy with fear.
Amy lay on the floor, motionless, eyes open but unblinking, her arms splayed. A ceramic soap dish lay beside her, shattered. On her other side, I saw a leather folio with a zipper, hanging open, a burned spoon and a needle clearly visible.
Shit. Shit, Shit, Shit!
I pushed frantically at the door, shoving it open far enough to let me through. My heart pounding, I screamed, “Vance! Vance, wake up!”
Terrified of what I would find, I leaned in as close as I could. Amy didn’t react to my presence. I heard the faint rasp of her breathing, ragged and shallow, but there.
It took me too long to find her pulse, thready and faint. Her lips were tinged blue. So were her fingernails. Her pupils were pinpricks in her light blue eyes.
I thought I was going to throw up. I hadn’t had any idea she even used drugs. Did Vance know? Was he using drugs too?
Terror seized my chest. Bile rose in my throat. Was he just passed out, or had he overdosed too? What if he was dying, and I’d walked right past him?
I left Amy and slipped from the bathroom.
“Vance,” I shouted his name and pulled at his shoulder, trying to turn him over. He rolled to his back and spread out, one arm coming around me as I put my ear to his chest.
“Magnolia,” he murmured, tightening his arm. I barely heard him over the strong thump of his heartbeat. Relief flooded through me as I shoved away from him.
“Wake the fuck up, you asshole,” I shouted, shoving at him one more time. My phone was in the kitchen. Vance could wait.
I called 911 and was assured that they were on their way. After unlocking the street door so they could get in, I went back to Vance.
I was pissed. Scared, sad, and royally pissed.
Grabbing the nearest pillow, I whacked him in the face, yelling his name. If he didn’t wake up soon, I was dumping a whole fucking pitcher of water on his head.
I grabbed his wrist and leaned back, pulling until his torso rose a few inches off the mattress. Vance was seriously heavy, even though he’d lost some muscle mass in the last few months. I let go, dropping him, tears pricking my eyes.
"Wake up," I shouted, jerking on his arm, half dragging his heavy body across the bed.
My heart pounded in my chest. Cold sweat dripped down my spine. Amy was dying in the bathroom, and Vance was passed out. I didn't know what to do.
There was nothing I could do for Amy. The 911 operator had told me to leave her where she was once she’d determined that Amy was in a safe location. I just had to pray she could hang on long enough for the paramedics to get to her.
But Vance was another story. I'd already been at the edge of my tolerance with his drinking, but now he was leaving me to deal with Amy by myself. I was sick of the men in my life leaving me to deal with their shit on my own.