Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Vivian
I was on my third slice of pizza and my second episode of The Great British Bake Off when I realized my life had become a cautionary tale.
This is what happens when you let men make decisions, I thought, shoving another bite of pepperoni into my mouth. This is what happens when you trust Fitz with literally anything.
On screen, Mary Berry was critiquing someone’s soggy bottom with the kind of polite devastation only the British could achieve.
I related to that soggy bottom on a spiritual level.
My phone sat on the coffee table, face down, because I was not checking it. I was not thinking about Quinton at a bar with Colton. I was not imagining the inevitable disaster that was currently unfolding at The Rusty Nail.
I was fine. Totally fine. Just a woman, her pizza, and the soothing sounds of competitive baking.
“The texture is all wrong,” Mary said on screen.
“Tell me about it,” I muttered, reaching for another slice.
My day had started with such promise. I was going to break up with Colton. Clean break. Simple, professional, and then Fitz happened.
Fitz always happens.
I should’ve known better. I should’ve seen it coming. But no... I stood there like an idiot while Fitz charmed my boyfriend into a bromance and derailed my entire plan.
Now Quinton, my actual boyfriend, the man I was in love with, was at a sports bar with my technical boyfriend, pretending to be his friend.
This was fine. Everything was fine.
I took another bite of pizza.
On screen, someone’s cake collapsed.
“Same,” I said to the TV.
My phone buzzed, and I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Nope. I was not getting involved. I was not checking my phone.
It started ringing, and I looked at the screen: Winnie.
Oh no.
I answered. “Hello?”
“Vivian Marie Darcy, I am going to commit murder, and I need your help hiding the body!”
I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Jesus, Winnie!”
“MULTIPLE BODIES,” she continued, her voice reaching decibels I didn’t know were possible. “Five bodies. Maybe six if I count Colton, which I absolutely do because this is all his fault too.”
“Winnie—”
“Do you know how to dispose of a corpse? Because I don’t, but I’m willing to learn. I’m a fast learner. I have a shovel. I have access to medical waste disposal. I have motivation.”
I sat up straighter. “Winnie, what happened?”
“WHAT HAPPENED?” she shrieked. “What happened is that YOUR BOYFRIEND—”
“Which one?”
“—got into a bar fight with your other boyfriend and now all five of them are in jail.”
I blinked, and then I blinked again.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Jail, Vivian. J-A-I-L. The place where criminals go. The place where Fitz belongs permanently.”
“All five of them?”
“Yes. Quinton, Fitz, Gabriel, Nathan, and Hayden. All of them got arrested because Fitz—” She took a breath that sounded like she was trying not to hyperventilate. “Because Fitz cannot go five minutes without causing an international incident!”
I set my pizza down.
This was bad. This was very bad. “Okay,” I said slowly. “Start from the beginning. What exactly happened?”
“I don’t know what happened,” Winnie said, her voice still several octaves too high.
“I got a call from the New Haven Police Department saying that Fitzpatrick Lovejoy listed me as his emergency contact and could I please come bail him out because he’s been arrested for assault and disorderly conduct and—” She paused. “Wait. Why am I his emergency contact?”
“Because you’re the only person who tolerates him?”
“I don’t tolerate him. I endure him. There’s a difference.”
“Winnie—”
“And apparently I’m also Gabriel’s emergency contact, and Nathan’s, and Hayden’s, which makes NO SENSE because Hayden is a GROWN-ASS MAN who should have LITERALLY ANYONE ELSE!”
“What about Quinton?” I interrupted.
There was a pause.
“Quinton listed you.”
Oh God. “Of course he did,” I muttered.
“So now we both have to go to the police station and bail out five idiots who got into a bar fight like they’re extras in a bad action movie.”
I dropped my head into my hands. “This is a nightmare.”
“This is FITZ,” Winnie corrected. “This is what happens when you let Fitz make decisions. This is what happens when you let Fitz exist.”
“How do you know it was Fitz’s fault?”
“IT’S always FITZ’S fault!”
She wasn’t wrong.
“Okay,” I said, standing up and looking for my shoes. “I’ll meet you at the station. Where are you?”
“I’m at home.”
“Okay, I’ll pick you up.”
“No.”
I paused. “No?”
“I’m not leaving until my movie is over.”
I stared at my phone. “Winnie. They’re in jail.”
“And they can stay there for another ninety minutes while I finish Knives Out. I’m at the good part. Daniel Craig just revealed the first twist, and I am not pausing this for Fitz’s nonsense.”
“Winnie.”
“They’re in jail, Vivian. They’re not going anywhere. They’re fine. They’re probably safer in jail than they are out here making more terrible decisions.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic. “Fine,” I said. “But I’m leaving now.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll meet you there in ninety minutes.”
“Winnie—”
“Oh, and Vivian?”
“Yeah?”
“Bring a shovel. Just in case.”
She hung up.
I stood there for a moment, staring at my phone. I looked at my pizza and then at the TV, where someone’s meringue was weeping.
“Same,” I said again as I sat back down to finish eating and watching my show.
Ninety minutes later, I found myself shivering in the cracked parking lot of the New Haven Police Station.
The midnight air was thick with the scent of damp asphalt and distant fryer grease, and the security lights flickered like they were as fed up as I was.
My hands were shoved deep into the pockets of my oversized hoodie, but that did nothing to stop the chill, or the regret creeping up my spine.
I stared at the faint scuff marks on the pavement, questioning why I was dumb enough to answer my phone in the first place.
It was 11:47 PM, peak hour for bad decisions and I was sporting sweatpants, an ancient hoodie emblazoned with “World’s Okayest Auntie,” and the kind of simmering rage that could probably set off the police station’s metal detector as a battered Prius rolled in beside me.
Winnie emerged, slamming her door with more force than necessary, her expression halfway between homicidal and “I need a nap.”
“So,” she called, raising an eyebrow, “did our favorite British disaster bite it yet, or do I still get a turn?”
I snorted and shook my head. The cold breeze nipped at my ankles. “Not yet, but I have a feeling the night’s young. You bring the shovel?”
“Left it in the trunk,” she muttered, glancing at the station doors. “And for the record, if he ever says, ‘I thought it would be fun’ again, I’m going for the knees first.”
We fell into step together, our shoes scraping against pebbles and the occasional fast-food wrapper.
The streetlights overhead fizzed and buzzed above us, doing their best impression of Fitz’s brain on caffeine.
“So,” I asked, voice low and conspiratorial, “on a scale of one to ten, how dead is Fitz? And can we count emotional scarring?”
Winnie didn’t miss a beat. “Fifteen. At least. I’m adding five points for every time he tries to justify it as ‘community service.’”
I grinned despite myself. “That’s generous. I was going to add double if he mentions the Queen.”
“If he does, I’ll make sure he’s singing ‘God Save the King’ in soprano after I’m done.
Maybe some light dismemberment, just for educational purposes.
Nothing fatal, promise.” She flashed a wicked grin as the two of us dissolved into quiet laughter, our breath hanging in the chilly air as we reached the door, and Winnie pulled it open before we stepped inside.
The New Haven Police Station smelled of stale coffee, industrial cleaner, and poor life choices. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A tired-looking officer sat behind a desk, looking like he had seen too much and cared too little.
And then I heard it. A voice.
A British voice. Coming from somewhere deeper in the building.
“—absolutely no excuse for poor hygiene, regardless of one’s circumstances. I don’t care if you’re homeless, incarcerated, or the bloody Prime Minister. Basic bodily maintenance is a human right. Soap exists. Deodorant exists. There’s simply no reason—”
“Oh my God,” Winnie whispered.
“Is that?”
“Fitz,” we said in unison as we looked at each other, then we looked at the officer behind the desk. He looked back at us with the expression of a man who had lost all faith in humanity.
“Let me guess,” he said flatly. “You’re here for the British one.”
“Unfortunately,” Winnie said.
“And the other four idiots,” I added.
The officer sighed. “They’re in holding. Follow me.”
We followed him down a hallway, past several doors, until we reached a large room with benches and bars.
And there they were. All five of them.
Quinton looked exhausted and vaguely traumatized.
Gabriel sat with his head in his hands.
Nathan stared at the ceiling like he was praying for divine intervention.
Hayden looked like he had aged ten years in the last three hours.
And Fitz.
Fitz. Stood at the bars, gesticulating wildly at a disheveled man in the corner who looked like he had been living on the streets for at least a month.
“And another thing,” he continued talking, “just because you’re experiencing temporary housing insecurity doesn’t mean you should abandon all sense of personal dignity.
A little soap, a little water, perhaps a comb.
These are not luxuries, my friend. These are necessities.
I myself have been arrested. Unjustly, I might add, and I still managed to maintain my appearance.
Look at me. Do I look like a man who’s let himself go? No. Because I have standards.”
The homeless man blinked at him. “You’re in jail,” he said.
“Irrelevant!” Fitz declared loudly. “Jail is a state of being, not an excuse for poor grooming.”
Winnie closed her eyes. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Get in line,” I muttered as Quinton looked up and saw us. His face went through several emotions in rapid succession: relief, fear, shame, and something that looked suspiciously like please help me.
“Vivian,” he said weakly.
“Quinton,” I said, my voice dangerously calm.
“I can explain.”
“Can you?”
“No,” he admitted. “Not really. It all happened very fast.”
“Did it?”
“Colton punched me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And then I tackled him.”
“Naturally.”
“And then Nathan tried to pull me off, but Colton’s elbow hit Nathan, and Nathan accidentally shoved Hayden.”
“I didn’t mean to!” Nathan protested from the bench.
“—and Hayden knocked over someone’s table, and that guy shoved Hayden, and Fitz shoved that guy—”
“He attacked Hayden, an elderly man!” Fitz interjected, finally turning away from the homeless man. “I was defending his honor!”
“I’M FORTY-EIGHT,” Hayden yelled.
“—and then it was just chaos,” Quinton finished. “Complete chaos.”
I looked at Winnie. Winnie looked at me. “I’m getting the shovel,” she said.
“I’ll help you dig,” I replied.
“WINNIE,” Fitz said, his face lighting up like he had just seen the sun after a month of rain. “You came! I knew you would. I told Quinton you’d come. Didn’t I tell you, Quinton?”
“You did,” Quinton confirmed miserably.
“See? I have complete faith in you, darling. You’re absolutely magnificent in a crisis. Terrifying, but magnificent.”
“Fitz,” Winnie said, her voice deadly calm. “I am going to leave you here.”
His smile faltered. “What?”
“I am going to turn around, walk out of this building, get in my car, and leave you here to rot.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I absolutely mean that.”
“But—”
“You got arrested,” Winnie said. “Again.”
“Technically, the DUI checkpoint doesn’t count because I wasn’t actually—”
“IT COUNTS!”
“—driving; I was walking, which is completely different.”
“Fitz.”
He gulped as Winnie took a breath. “You,” she said slowly, “are a walking disaster. You are a menace to society. You are the reason I drink.”
“I thought you drank because you enjoyed wine.”
“I ENJOY WINE BECAUSE OF YOU!”
Fitz opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.
“That’s actually quite touching,” he said. “In a way.”
“I’m leaving,” Winnie announced.
“WAIT!”
She turned to the officer. “How much is bail?”
“For all five?” The officer checked his clipboard. “Fifteen hundred. Each.”
Winnie’s eye twitched as I did the math. “Seventy-five hundred dollars,” I said faintly.
“Seventy-five hundred dollars,” Winnie repeated, her voice climbing again. “Fitz, you owe me seventy-five hundred dollars!”
“I’ll pay you back!” Fitz said quickly. “With interest! Very generous interest!”
“You’re damn right you will.”
I looked at Quinton, who mouthed, I’m sorry.
I sighed, then I pulled out my credit card. “Let’s just get them out of here,” I said to the officer. “Before someone else gets arrested.”
“Probably wise,” the officer agreed.
Thirty minutes later, all five of them were released. Quinton immediately walked over to me, looking like a guilty puppy. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“You got arrested.”
“I know.”
“You got arrested defending my honor to my boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” he corrected. “Pretty sure he’s your ex-boyfriend now.”
“You punched him.”
“He punched me first.”
“And then you tackled him.”
“He called you boring.”
I blinked. “What?”
“He called you boring,” Quinton repeated, his jaw tight. “And a cold fish. And I couldn’t just let him—”
“You got arrested,” I said slowly, “because Colton insulted me.”
“Yes.”
“And you couldn’t let that slide.”
“No.” He looked back, defiant and exhausted, and covered in what looked like dried beer. And despite everything, despite the arrest, the bail money, the absolute chaos, I felt something warm bloom in my chest. “You’re an idiot,” I said.
“I know.”
“A complete idiot.”
“I know.”
“I love you anyway.”
His face softened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He kissed me. Right there in the police station lobby. In front of Winnie, Fitz, Gabriel, Nathan, Hayden, and at least three police officers. When we pulled apart, Fitz was grinning.
“See?” he said to Winnie. “Love conquers all. Even jail.”
“Fitz,” Winnie said. “Get in the car before I leave you here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We all walked out into the parking lot. It was past midnight now. The air was cool and quiet. “So,” Gabriel said carefully. “We’re never speaking of this again, right?”
“Absolutely not,” Nathan agreed.
“This goes to our graves,” Hayden added.
“I’m telling everyone,” Fitz announced cheerfully.
“FITZ!”