I don’t want to intrude on Liam, especially when he thinks he won’t be seeing me for several days, but if I can’t find Grey…
I push the door open slowly, spilling a triangle of golden light into the darkened room.
Shit! I’m going to wake Liam. I crouch down and crab-walk my way into the room, praying that if Grey’s in here, he’ll...I don’t know, smell me or something and come out. As I creep along the rug, I notice movement along one of the walls. I pause for long enough to realize it’s the night breeze blowing through the curtains.
Before I start to move again, I glance up at the bed—and spy a pair of glowing, green cat eyes. The moment I spot Grey, he shoots down off the bed and out the door. I rise quickly, turning toward the door. Despite my need to follow Grey and get him into my room, my gaze glues itself to the bed.
If shadow vision serves me right, Liam is lying on his side, his body curled into a big “C” underneath the covers. After a second looking at him with a mix of hunger and concern, I realize he’s covering his face with both hands.
“Liam?” I don’t mean to speak, just like I don’t mean to move closer to the bed. But here I am. I’m right beside him. I can see he’s shirtless underneath the sheets, can see his shoulders drawn up. I can see him…is he shaking?
“Liam? Are you okay?”
His body tenses. Then, in a low, strained voice, he says, “It hurts…”
“What hurts?” My voice sounds breathless. My heart pounds. I lean down so I’m close enough to see the pain on his face.
“Is it the light?” I whisper.
“Yeah.” He holds his forehead with his big hand, and I want to kick myself for leaving the door open.
“Oh damn, let me close it.” I pull the door shut and return to his bedside. He’s got both hands over his face again, and through the wall of his fingers, I can hear him breathing heavily.
“Hey Liam… What’s wrong?”
“I have a headache,” he moans. “Really bad.”
“Is it a migraine?”
“I don’t know.” The words are almost whimpered.
I look around for his phone or an intercom, my eyes distracted by a tumbler on the bedside table. “Is this liquor?” I sniff it, and Liam lets out a breath I hadn’t even known he’d been holding.
I stand there, listening to his measured breaths, and wonder what the hell is the right thing to do.
“I’m calling someone,” I whisper. “I think you need some medicine or something.”
“Heath.”
I’m pulling my phone out of my robe pocket when Liam rasps, “Five-two-two. Over on…the intercom.”
I hit the sequence of numbers, watch Liam flinch at the soft crackle, and hold my breath until his cousin answers, “Yeah?”
“Heath? Hi. It’s Lucy. Rhodes. Um…I was wondering, have you seen Liam tonight?”
“No,” he answers. “Why?”
“He has a bad headache.”
“Okay…”
“I think he needs a doctor.”
Heath makes a sound that I can’t quite ID as a laugh or a snort. “A doctor? For a headache?”
“Yeah. Is there a castle doctor? For his migraines?”
“For his migraines?” Heath sounds incredulous. “Liam doesn’t get migraines.”
“He doesn’t?”
Liam clutches his head, fingers digging into his skull, and my body goes ice cold. I stare down at him as Heath says, “Fuck no. Nothing’s wrong with Liam like that. What have you been doing with him?”
“Doing? Nothing. We were camping and he fell off his horse.”
“Liam fell off a horse? Is he fucked up on something?”
“No. I promise.”
Heath sighs. “All right, Lucy Rhodes. You better not be lying to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“I’ll send someone.” There’s a short pause, followed by, “Please be discreet. My cousin doesn’t need any bullshit right now. I’m not sure if he made you sign the castle’s NDA, but—”
“I would never.”
He snorts. “Yeah.”
“I wouldn’t do that. And Heath?”
“Yes?” He sounds exasperated.
“Tell whoever you call to hurry up.”
I hear the click of Heath hang up the phone—or leave the intercom, or whatever it is he’s doing. Then I’m in the dark again with Liam. He’s breathing hard and sounds like he’s in awful pain.
I lean carefully over him, daring to rest my fingertips on his forehead. “Hey…” I gently stroke a strand of his hair. “I’m sorry. Is there anything that I can do?”
His lips flatten as he shakes his head, and I see a tear drip down his cheek. It makes me feel sick, seeing him like this.
“I’m so sorry.” In the dark, quiet room, my voice sounds loud.
I take one of his hands in both of mine and stroke his long, strong fingers as he writhes and pants.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps.
“No—don’t be. If the doctor doesn’t get here soon, I’ll call again. And if you know of something I could do to help, just tell me.” I lean down and kiss his forehead. “I’m here with you. I’m so sorry you’re in pain.”
As I lean against the bed, my eyes go back to his nightstand. I stare at the liquid in the tumbler, thinking how awful he must feel to guzzle liquor for his headache. What could be wrong?
He’s been quiet and still for a few minutes when I lift my hand off his hair. His hand in mine squeezes. I press a kiss on his knuckles, then climb carefully up onto the bed beside him. I can’t help thinking how much this reminds me of the first night we met.
He stayed with me; I’m going to stay with him.
Sometime not much later, I hear a slight click, and turn and find a man in khakis and a plaid shirt standing in the door. He’s got thinning gray hair and black hipster glasses, which look strange on his oval-shaped face. As he steps inside, he takes a flashlight from what looks to be a briefcase.
“Liam?”
Liam covers his face with my hand and his. I watch the man’s eyes widen slightly as he realizes Liam feels too bad to talk.
His gaze meets mine. “What’s this?”
I recount what happened on the horse and what Liam told me about migraines. When I say that particular bit, his eyebrows narrow.
“I’m Doctor Burns,” he tells me as he turns the bedside lamp on. His eyes sweep the room, lingering on the table by the bed. He picks up the drink and has a swallow.
His mouth is tight as he motions me away from Liam, who’s lying on his back now. The doctor takes a stethoscope and listens to Liam’s pulse and shines a flashlight into his eyes.
“Fuck,” Liam groans, recoiling.
The doctor’s gaze moves from Liam to me. “What’s he had?”
“You mean like—”
“Drugs.”
“Um, nothing. Nothing that I know of. We didn’t…”
The doctor doesn’t even look at me as I trail off; he fishes in his bag, eventually pulling out a blood pressure cuff. Liam’s eyes remain shut, his face still and pale, as Dr. Burns wraps the cuff around his bicep and presses a small, black button on the attached box, making the cuff inflate.
Liam shifts as it gets tighter. “Lucy?”
“I’m right here.” I gently touch the hand in the cuff. “Oh wait… This is his right arm! He fell off his horse and landed on it.”
“He fell off a horse?”
I nod. “Yeah. I told his cousin that. It was like he passed out.”
“What time was that?”
“Earlier. Um, maybe five or six hours ago. Or seven.”
The doctor takes another swig of Liam’s drink, and I’m kind of surprised he’s drinking on the job.
When the blood pressure cuff beeps and deflates, I look at the number, even though I know it’s nosy—and am stunned to see the reading: 220/111.
I can feel my mouth hang open. “That’s really high, right?”
The do
ctor’s face is set, his brow rumpled, his mouth pressed into the thinnest line.
“How long, Liam?”
I frown down at Liam, clutching his head with his free hand, the cuff still around his bicep.
“How long?” the doctor asks again.
“Maybe April.”
I frown. It’s the first week of September. What are they talking about April?
“Did you sign the castle NDA?” the doctor asks me.
I nod on impulse, sincere in my intentions if not honest.
His blue eyes move from Liam to the nightstand, and finally back to me. He picks the glass up as he looks into my eyes. “It seems Liam here is in alcohol withdrawal.”
THIRTY
Liam
“Who’s that man, Mummy?”
“What man, my love?”
“The one with long, brown hair.”
My Mum smooths the duvet over my chest, my star-shaped lamp lighting up her pretty face in the partial dark of my bedroom. “Did you see a man with long, brown hair, darling?”
I nod. “The one last night.”
“Where did you see him?”
“I got up to get some water.”
Mum’s eyebrows scrunch up like caterpillars. “Last night?”
“Yeah… I saw him walk into your room. Drucilla Gibson’s father.”
“I don’t think you saw Drucilla Gibson’s father, dear. Not here.”
I nod. “I know it was Drucilla’s father. Every time I see him, he gives me a yucky look.”
My mother’s mouth is tightly shut, so I can see her frown dimples. “Ronald Gibson is a family friend, Liam. He’s one of your father’s best friends. He wasn’t here last night.”
I pull the covers over my head. I don’t want to see my Mum’s face when she looks upset like that…
“I know I saw him.”
“Saw who?”
“Saw the man. The man with long brown hair.” I feel a cool hand on my forehead, feel her fingers stroking. “Where is he? They let her in… Supposed to be…my party.”
“It’s your party. It’s okay.” I think I smell her: Lucy. I feel her lips against my cheek, and it feels so good. Almost quells the fear pinching my chest. I reach up for her, but my shoulder screams in pain. It makes me gasp.
“Remember what the doctor said?” she whispers. “Try not to move your shoulder, okay? That’s why he’s got it like this, wrapped up. Remember how he said you dislocated it?”
I squint up at her. “I saw the man.”
I smell her. I can smell how good she smells. Vanilla.
“I know you did,” she whispers. She’s got soft hands, too. I feel them in my hair. Why is it so long, I wonder.
“Lucy?”
“I’m here.”
A groan I don’t expect pours from my lips—because it hurts so bad. “My head hurts,” I pant. “Can you…cut my hair?”
“Cut your hair—right now?”
I try to sit up, grunting from the pain in my shoulder. I brace myself against her shoulder—Lucy’s lying against me—and look around. The room is dark. Confusing.
“Cut my hair,” I tell her. Every word, my every move, hurts so damn much. “I just want…no more long hair.”
“Liam, are you sure?”
“Please, Lucy… Cut it, please.”
I feel her hand against my cheek. “Dr. Burns will be back soon with some medicine for you. Remember what he said?”
I try to open my eyes, despite the awful pulsing in my head. “I don’t look like him. It was his. That one was his, that baby was…” My eyes are closing, but I see her worried face. My mother’s face is white and dead. My Lucy’s face is puzzled.
“I don’t know the baby,” I try to tell her in my cracked voice. I never met my mother’s baby, my sister, because she died.
I’m going to die, too. I can feel it.
“Lucy… Will you hug me?”
“Sure. Of course. Poor Liam.” We’re lying down again, and Lucy’s holding me. “My headache—it hurts…really bad.”
“He said it’s because your blood pressure is high. The doctor gave you something for it. Do you remember? It’s been almost an hour since you took it. He gave you a shot of pain meds too. So the headache would ease up.”
“Not eased,” I mutter. Her hand strokes my hair. “That, though…” What she’s doing makes me feel better. My Lucy.
“He’s coming back with something to help you detox.”
“Detox…”
“He said you have to take it for a little bit, maybe a few days, and then you could taper off. Don’t worry. It’ll help you feel better. Come here…” She wraps herself around me, urging me to rest my cheek against the softness of her neck.
* * *
Lucy
Seeing Liam like this—shaking, gripping his head, murmuring nonsense—is so much harder, so much stranger, than I ever would have known. It’s not as if I’ve known him for a long time, but in the time I have known him, I guess I’ve gotten used to his easy smile, the careful way he held himself apart from me the first day I was here, before we gradually tugged together like a pair of magnets.
Before the doctor left the first time, he chastised Liam, saying, “You might have tapered off.”
Liam, whose eyes were shut, clenched his jaw and shook his head—and I know why. I know why he quit drinking cold turkey.
“I’m prescribing Librium. For a few days, if not longer. We’ll see how you do,” Dr. Burns told him.
Then the doctor left, saying he’d be back soon. As soon as the door shut, Liam whispered, “You should go, Lucy.”
But he’s still holding onto me. He seems to like to press his face against my throat and hide in my hair.
Right now, he’s murmuring something about paying someone off. I stroke his hair back. “It’s okay…”
Dr. Burns is back a short time later, rolling an IV pole that makes my stomach flip-flop when I see it. “I want to give the first dose of Librium this way, along with I some electrolytes and vitamins. Things he’d get if he was at a center.”
Shit. A center.
I hold Liam close as the doctor cleans the inside of his elbow with an alcohol swab. When the needle goes in, he stiffens just a little. When the doctor starts the IV bag, I feel him shiver.
I know the doctor’s here to help, but I’m glad when he leaves. He tells us he’ll be back in two hours and gives me instructions to call him if any number of things happen. When the door shuts, I draw poor, still Liam closer to me.
“Is your headache any better?”
He doesn’t answer, so I play with his hair. “You’re okay. You’re going to feel better soon. Is there anything that I can do for you right now?”
“Worried,” he whispers.
“About what?”
“About…you.”
“I’m okay.”
“The baby,” he rasps.
“The baby is okay, too. Promise.”
He shakes his head, his eyes rolling just slightly.
For the next few hours, I hold him while he sweats and trembles. I hold a cold rag to his forehead and his throat, and stroke his hair. Finally, whatever’s in the IV seems to reach him. I feel it when his body relaxes. He goes still, and falls asleep with his arm around me.
He murmurs and whispers all night. He talks about his mom. He talks about the baby. He kisses me and once, tells me to go—to keep the baby away from him.
“You’re fine. So is the baby.”
I hold him. It’s all I can do. At one point mid-morning, he wakes up and blinks slowly around the room. He looks puzzled. Unhappy.
“You okay?” I stroke his forehead. “Feeling bad?”
He shuts his eyes. “Embarrassed,” he says hoarsely.
“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay.”
He shakes his head.
“We’re friends—and lovers, too, remember?” I tease.
“I don’t…want…to be this way for you.” He rests his arm over his f
ace.
“You don’t have to be any way for me.”
“I didn’t know…I couldn’t stop.”
“No—of course not. I know, baby. Don’t worry. Everything will be okay. Just go to sleep.”
* * *
Liam
“People found out I’m pregnant somehow. Like, the paps found out. Some of them think it’s yours, but no one really does. That’s just some unreliable, unsourced side story on one of the raggier rags.”
Lucy rolls her eyes, her hand over her still-flat stomach. She looks gorgeous in a pink and white paisley gown, her hair flowing around her shoulders.
“I’m going to go get you some chicken and dumplings,” she says; it sounds like “dumplins” in her soft accent. “I just want you to have a few bites.”
Before she goes, Lucy leans over the bed and grabs a pillow. I look up at her face as she props it behind me. I look down at myself, and that’s when I feel it—
“My hair…”
She bites her lip. “You wanted me to cut it. Is that okay?”
I nod. I watch as Lucy tucks my sheets and duvet around me. I lean my head back on the pillow, shut my eyes. I feel heavy. I don’t like it.
“Dr. Burns said you can drop back on the Librium today. The IV’s gone.”
I look down. There was an IV? Christ—I’m such a fuckup.
I rub my eyes. “Clary. I…need…to go to Clary.” Now that I’m not drowning everything in scotch and whiskey—now that Lucy’s in the picture—I can’t let this shit go on.
“What about tomorrow? I don’t think Dr. Burns wants you to drive today.”
I nod. Too much trouble to explain I wouldn’t drive myself. Too much trouble to do anything but lie in bed and watch the light behind the curtains.
When I wake up on some other morning, my mind foggy with the haze of Lucy in the bed with me—her lips against her cheek, her laughter near my ear—I find her sitting cross-legged in a window seat, reading from a hardback book and sipping something from a brown glass bottle. I see her lips curve in a tiny smile. I notice Grey winding himself around her bare feet.