Intrigued By You, page 20
“Joz, wait. For Christ’s sake.” Aspen grabbed my arm, but I shook her off.
“Leave me the fuck alone. Go home, Aspen. Just fucking leave me.”
“Not like this. Let me help you.”
She’d never give up. It wasn’t in her nature. She was a fighter. A strong, independent, fierce, smart-as-fuck woman who would battle to the bitter end, and it would be her undoing—and mine.
“You can’t help me.” I flagged down a cab and threw myself in the back. “Get me the fuck out of here,” I snapped at the driver.
As he drove away, I didn’t look back.
After a few miles, I asked him to pull over. I didn’t know where I was, and I didn’t care. Tugging my hood over my head, I kept my eyes on the ground as I walked and walked, my heart shattered, and my throat full of ash. I lost track of time, of myself, of everything that had happened, yet the only thing I couldn’t shake was the resurgence of guilt and shame being with Aspen had allowed me to quash for a few blissful weeks.
I craved oblivion, and only one thing would give me that.
It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for. I was an addict until the day I died, and addicts could sniff out a pusher in any town, city, or country. I stuffed a bunch of notes in his hand and left with my bag of powder and a syringe.
The motel owner didn’t pay me any attention as he handed me a key. I made straight for the bathroom and prepared a hit. No second thoughts, no hesitation.
The rush swarmed through my veins like a bush fire; cruel and unstoppable, destroying everything in its path. It was easier to drown than fight. Easier to forget than remember.
The world tilted. I slipped off the edge of the bathtub and slammed into the floor. Aspen’s face appeared like a mirage. I reached out, but she vanished before I could touch her.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled as the dark swallowed me whole.
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.”
I rolled my eyes. “What is it Brits say for when someone says something ridiculous? That old chestnut?” His lips flickered up, and my heart skipped a beat. “Do you want me to call your mom?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want her or my sister seeing me like this.”
“She’ll hear what’s happened soon enough.”
“I’ll call her.”
“I can do it if you’d rather?”
“No. I’ll do it. Better if it comes from me.”
“I wish you’d called me.”
He ran a hand over his face. “I know I’ve made things worse. The press will fucking love this even more than they loved splashing my guilt and pain all over the front pages.”
“Screw the press. Let them do their worst. They can’t touch you if you don’t let them.”
“It’s going to be a rough ride. Sure you want to stick around for that, Spitfire?”
“I can handle them, and you.” I cradled his face, locking eyes with his. “I’m not walking away, Joz. Not today, tomorrow, or ever. But you have to do something, for yourself and for us.”
He nodded. “Rehab.”
“Yes. I’ll find somewhere excellent, I promise. Do you want to go home to London or stay here?”
“Here. I want to be close to you even if you won’t be able to visit.”
“Rehab facilities allow visitors, you know.”
“Yeah, but I won’t want you to come. I may have only relapsed once, but my addiction runs deep, Aspen. Already, my body is craving another fix. If I’m to stand a chance of beating this, I need to focus fully on myself, and you’re just too much of a distraction.”
I could not be any prouder of this man. My man. “I love you. We’re going to make it through this, and we will both come out the other side even stronger. You’ll see.”
For the longest time, he didn’t say anything, and just when I thought he might’ve drifted off to sleep, he spoke in a whisper, “I hope you’re right.”
“Well, this is it.” I motioned to the front entrance of the rehab facility I’d found an hour north of Manhattan. It resembled a spa hotel rather than an in-patient medical facility for addicts. Although Joz looked bleak, and I could tell he felt deep shame at what he believed was a personal failure, there was a steely determination to his body language that had been missing when I arrived at the hospital yesterday morning. His shoulders were pinned back, and his eyes were sharp and focused.
“You’re going to beat this. I’m only at the end of a phone. You need anything, and I’m there.” I stood on tiptoes and pressed my lips to his. “We’re all behind you, Joz.”
He pulled me in for another kiss, releasing me only when the front door opened, revealing a woman in a smart blue suit, wearing a warm smile. Mrs. Pendleton, the manager I’d spoken to yesterday.
“Joz, welcome. We’re glad you’re here. And you must be Aspen.” I shook her hand, and Joz did the same. “Well, I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes. There’s tea and lemon muffins in my office. It’s the first on the right. I’ll see you there shortly, Joz.”
She pivoted and disappeared back inside. When Joz held me this time, he clung to me a little tighter. “Find out who leaked that diary.”
“Bank on it.”
I returned to my car, but before I got in, I couldn’t resist one final look. Joz was already walking inside, but it was as though he sensed my eyes on him. He paused on the top step and turned around. I blew him a kiss. He smiled forlornly, then went inside.
I got into the driver’s side, and once I’d made sure Joz couldn’t see me, I broke. Unbearable, gut-wrenching sobs tore out of me. I didn’t even attempt to stop them, just let the tears come until my eyes were raw and my throat felt as though I’d swallowed razor blades. It was cathartic, though, and by the time I’d dried my eyes and driven back to the highway, my devastation at what had happened in the last thirty-six hours vanished, replaced with a steely determination to uncover the truth and make those responsible pay.
A low hum rippled through the office as I made my way down the hall to the conference room at Kingcaid’s New York headquarters. Inside were my father, both my brothers, and my cousins, Penn and Blaize. Everyone else had dialed into a video call, and the media wall on the far side of the conference room quickly filled with concerned and sympathetic expressions.
“You drop Joz off okay?” London asked, reaching out to squeeze my hand as I took my seat.
“Yes.” I rubbed my lips together. “I love you all, and I’m so grateful you’re here supporting me, but can we please keep the focus professional? We have some damage control to do, and I’d rather concentrate on that. I’m teetering on the edge here. If even one of you asks if I’m all right, I’m going to break. And I refuse to break. Okay?”
Everyone nodded.
“Great.” I opened my laptop and sent the presentation I’d cobbled together last night with Sam’s help to the screen. “Can everyone see that?” Once I’d received confirmation from those on video call, I turned to slide one. “Right, let’s get to work.”
Two hours later, we had an agreed approach to present to the media. A scandal (the press’s words, not mine) involving Kingcaid Music’s biggest signing affected the entire Kingcaid brand, hence the full board coming together to present a united front. That was both the strength and the weakness of a corporation like ours. Each part was connected to the next, and if one domino sneezed, the others caught a cold. As CEO of the music label, it was my job to lead the charge, and even though every single person in that room would’ve handled this on my behalf if asked to, that would only add fuel to the fire and weaken my position further.
Flanked by Sam on one side, and my brothers London and Roman, whose organizations made up the Kingcaid Media part of our empire, on the other, I entered the conference room, where the world’s press was gathered. I read out the prepared statement, fielded twenty-five minutes of questions, and left the room triumphant. It had gone better than I could have hoped, and there was more sympathy for Joz than there was callousness. Anyone not part of the tabloid press seemed to agree that publishing Joz’s personal diary had been a privacy breach that only the lowest of the low would stoop to. And while there had been several bullish questions from the rags that lurked in the bowels of the free press, I’d handled every one of them in a way I hoped made my family proud.
