by Stacey Lynn
“I was wondering if you were going to dance,” Willow says. One of her hands cups my shoulder, the other fits perfectly in the palm of my hand. At her wrist, her small clutch purse dangles, bouncing against my forearm as we move.
“It’s not my favorite thing. But I found a less favorite thing of mine is watching another man put his hands on you.”
She smiles knowingly. Hopefully. “Is that right?”
I pull her closer to me. The song is fast but I slow us down. I don’t care that we’re not following the rhythm. It’s too soon to confess exactly how she makes me feel, and I’ve already implied it earlier. But I did miss her. After we took off for pictures, she hung back, disappearing for a while, and when she returned, she seemed content to sit and enjoy watching us, staying near the back while we posed for a million-and-forty-two photos.
She was in the area, but not close enough, and the fact that I missed her even when I could see her is confusing.
I’ve never had this reaction to any woman I’ve dated.
“You’ve taken dance,” I say instead, changing the subject.
“Twelve years of ballet from the time I was four.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I grew too tall to have any sort of real future with it, but mostly I didn’t love it enough for the training. I wanted to focus on school instead.”
“Too tall?”
“Most ballet companies and elite training schools want someone slim and, at most, five-six. I had no shot.”
She doesn’t seem irritated by this prospect and yet I feel the need to let her know how beautiful she is. In case she’s ever questioned. “I love your body.” I pull her close and press my lips to her ear. “I love the way your breasts feel against me, and the way your ass looked when I took you from behind earlier. Personally, I think your body might be my favorite body I’ve ever seen. And I’m already thinking of other ways I can see it later.”
“Wow.” Her laughter is soft and beautiful. The pink staining her cheeks even more so. “I wasn’t searching for compliments but you sure know how to do it right.”
“And later?” My lips are at her throat. Her pulse thumps against the thin flesh and I tease her there, sucking lightly. If I’m not careful I’m going to cause a scene. At the slight taste of her, my dick is already taking interest. When it comes to Willow, he has a mind of his own and the only thing on his mind is getting inside her again. “Will I see it later?”
She gasps. Her fingers dig into my shoulder. “I think I’ll let you see it whenever you’d like.”
A chirping sound comes from her clutch and I continue teasing her, unwilling to be interrupted. But when her phone goes off again, she loosens her grip on my hand.
“I should check this. I called Cara earlier and asked if she’d swing by my mom’s again.”
She’s already unzipping her clutch and I let her go, giving her space. She frowns when she sees it is Cara’s name and number.
“Take it,” I say, already guiding her off the dance floor.
Chapter 22
Willow
Trey’s hand is on my elbow, guiding me inside somewhere quiet, away from the music, but there’s already a storm brewing inside of me.
“Cara?”
“Hey.” My heart drops to my feet. It’s only a word, but it’s the way she says it, cold and hesitant.
“What is it?”
“Okay. Before I continue, everything is okay. Your mom is fine, okay?”
Three okays to calm my fears is a bad sign. My skin goes clammy even though I still feel Trey’s hand on my arm. “Cara. What is it?” Around me, the lobby swims with people and the rush of the ocean is in my ears.
“We’re at the hospital,” she says and my knees buckle. The floor dropping from my feet.
“What?” I’m vaguely aware of Trey, close to me, flinching at the tone in my voice, but I barely see him as I push by him, searching for the elevators.
I have to go. I should never have come. I knew she wasn’t well.
“Willow. Talk to me.”
“What?”
“I’ve been trying to explain and you haven’t said anything.”
I pause. Okay. Deep breaths. Trey is somewhere. A hand at my back, maybe, trying to soothe me. I turn and he’s there. Dark brows furrowed. Tall and resolute. I reach for him and claw my fingers into his arm. “Cara…”
“She’s okay. I swear. But she wasn’t when I got there. She had some pills in front of her. A bottle of wine that was empty. I don’t know what happened, but she’d been crying and when I got there she looked at me and said she was scared.”
“Drunk?” My mom? She rarely ever has a glass of wine at dinner. Have I missed her falling into drinking too much or is this something new?
“I know. I know, sweetie. It sounds really bad, but there’s good news here.” I can practically see her pacing a hallway. Her placating tone is doing nothing to soothe my racing heart. My mom’s drinking? With pills?
“Was she…?” Oh God. I can’t even say the words. I knew she was bad. Depressed. But this? And I left her? “Do you think she meant to hurt herself?”
“I don’t know, honey, but the important thing is that she’s going to be okay.” Her words wrap around me like the warmest hug. Before I know it, I’m being ushered into an elevator. My eyes dart around and there’s Trey. Quiet. Strong and huge next to me, hand still on my back, finger pressing the button. And he’s blurry.
“Shit.” I swipe my eyes and squeeze them to stem the flow of tears. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“She’s okay, honey. Trust me. I’m with her at the hospital. I convinced her to check in to the psych ward for a suicide evaluation. She agreed to the help, honey, and this is a good thing.”
There’s nothing good about this. Nothing at all. I leave town for a weekend, the first time in forever I’ve done something just for me, and this is what happens.
“I’m coming. Tell her I’m coming.”
“You’ll be home tomorrow,” Cara says. “And I can stay with her. It’s late.”
“I don’t care. I’ll text you when I have flight plans.” And, oh God. The cost of this alone. Is it even possible to get home tonight? It doesn’t matter. I’ll sleep at the airport if I have to.
“Can I talk to her?”
“She’s sleeping. They pumped her stomach just in case and gave her an IV filled with glucose and vitamins to help her rehydrate, and she fell asleep after that. But I’ll be here, Willow.”
“Thank you. I need to go. Keep me updated?”
“Yes. Be safe, okay?”
“Thanks.” A sob falls. My chin is shaking so hard it’s a wonder my jaw is still attached. “Bye.”
“Come on,” Trey says quietly next to me. And God, this is just what I need. A woman with baggage indeed, and it’s now blown up all over his feet. I need to get out of here.
Stat.
Still, I let him guide me out of the elevator and to my door.
My hand is shaking as Trey slides my clutch off my wrist and pulls out my key card. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” There’s nothing to say. While I’ve been away, having some frivolous fling, my mom’s been plotting her own death. “I need to go.”
“Let me get you a ticket.” I brush past him, hurrying to my room. And good Lord, why do I have to be so damn messy? My clothes have exploded everywhere, so much so it must have been impossible for housekeeping to make my bed. I grab everything, fling it into the suitcase, and race toward the bathroom. I need to pack. Get home. Get to the hospital.
I turn, arms filled with toiletries, and kick the bathroom door. I fall, knees banging against the tile, travel size bottles scattering every which way.
“Damn it!” My hand stings as it slams against the tile. My knees throb. And all
over my dress, teardrops splatter, wetting the stupid thing.
“Willow.” It’s Trey’s voice, coming to me through a tunnel, and his hands are there, reaching for me.
“Stop.” I swat him away. Goddamn it. This is so humiliating and he needs to go. Why won’t he go? “Just. Please. Please leave.”
He squats down, tan linen pants come into view, and then his hands are at his knees. He’s there, but not too close. I can barely see him through my tears and hair that’s falling everywhere. “I’m not leaving. I’ll get you a ticket. Go with you to the airport. There’s no way you’re okay to be alone right now.”
“I don’t want that.”
I shake my head and fall to the side, aware enough not to land on my ass and show him everything beneath my dress. One weekend. I wanted one stupid weekend to have fun and forget my life for a few days, and instead it’s exploded. He’s been so good to me. Trey is good. But him seeing me like this? Crushed and broken and terrified?
It’s too much.
I gather the bottles on the floor and shove them back into their bag, digging beneath the bathroom vanity to scoop up my razor. Standing, I catch sight of Trey in the doorway, shoulder against the doorframe, eyes on me and narrowed, jaw tightened.
“Please, just go. Go back to Caitlin.” I’ve now managed to ruin his best friend’s wedding for him.
“I don’t want to leave you. Not like this.”
“I’ll be fine.” I swipe at my eyes, scrubbing beneath them until the smudged mascara doesn’t make me look like a drowned raccoon. “I just need to leave.”
A muscle jumps in his cheek and he turns, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing if I can buy tickets.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Do you have the money to pay for your own?”
It’s a slap to the face that absolutely couldn’t have come at a worse time. “Screw you,” I stammer, tears falling again. As if this whole scene isn’t humiliating enough. My knees are going to be bruised, but I’m pretty sure Trey somehow managed to stomp on my heart.
Shoving past him, even though he still has his damn phone in his hand, I toss everything from the bathroom into my suitcase.”
“Will-W-Will—Fuck! Willow…wait. That’s not what I meant. Please.” He grabs my wrist and spins me round. “Listen to me. I know you’re scared. I heard most of what Cara said. I’m trying to help you, that’s all. I promised I’d take care of your expenses this weekend. That’s all. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
I can’t even process if he’s being honest. My mom’s in the hospital and all I know is I have to go, go, go to her. “I don’t have time for this,” I mutter, warm tears still falling. “I have to go.”
“Then let me get you a ticket. Let me get you in the cab. I’ll come with you.”
The tremble in Cara’s voice as we spoke earlier can’t be kicked out of my brain.
“Whatever you want.” I don’t have the strength to fight him.
He shoves the phone to his ear then and leaves the room. I spend the next few minutes ripping off my dress and shoving a pair of yoga pants on followed by a sweatshirt. By the time I’m dressed, he’s back in my room, still in the same clothes and looking way too patient and calm next to my riotous emotions that won’t stop.
“Ready?” He reaches for my suitcase, which I can barely manage to zip. It’s bulging at the seams and it takes both of us to shove the thing together enough for Trey to zip it. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
He grabs my suitcase and then his, tugging both of them behind. “I’ll worry about checkout tomorrow. I got us two seats on the last plane out tonight but we have to get going if we’re going to make it in time. We’ll check in once we get there.”
It means not seeing my mom until the morning. And where will she be then? Psych ward. She’s in the mental-health wing of the hospital and I’m not there. Would this have happened had I been home?
Questions slam into me, making it impossible to think of anything except doing whatever Trey tells me to do, and we’re in the lobby when the roar of voices and music and sounds remind me where I am.
“It’s Caitlin’s wedding.” I stop. I can’t let him do this. Not for me. Not for a few days together.
“And she’ll understand.”
“Trey!” Speak of the sweet devil. Caitlin’s voice is a bullhorn as she charges through the reception area of the hotel. Her white dress and veil pillow out behind her like a wave and she’s waving her hand wildly in the air. “Where are you going?”
She slides to a stop, heels screeching on the floor, and her jaw falls open as she takes in my clothes, our suitcases.
“You’re leaving?” I didn’t know eyes could grow as large as hers and my guilt intensifies.
“Hey, pipsqueak, I’m sorry. Willow’s having a family emergency, I need to get her home.”
Her chin mirrors mine earlier, wobbling as she listens. “What?” Her head swivels to mine. “What happened?”
“I’m sorry.” I step in and place a hand on Trey’s arm, sliding down until I grasp my suitcase. “He didn’t mean that. I’m leaving. He’s staying.”
“What?” The muscle in his cheek jumps again. I think I’m pissing him off but it’s worth it. He needs to be here. Not with me.
“I’ve got it.” I will. Caitlin’s panic is simmering.
“I said—”
“I know what you said.” I grin at Caitlin. It’s shaky, and even I know it doesn’t reach my eyes. “I’m really sorry about this. But I need to go. Congratulations on everything.”
She gapes at me, gaze bouncing from mine to Trey’s, and she frowns. “He can go if you need him.”
“I don’t.” Both of them inhale a sharp breath, like I’ve managed to slap them both.
But this is what needs to be done. It’s not like Trey and I have a shot at anything real or long-lasting anyway. I might be fun for a fling, but I’m in no condition for anything else.
Definitely not now.
“Goodbye. And thank you for everything.”
I grab my suitcase, turn as both of their jaws drop to the floor, and then I’m outside, sliding into a waiting cab, barely catching sight of Trey chasing through the doors after me.
It doesn’t matter. This is for the best. He needs to be with his friends, not embroiled in my life’s problems.
And even though I know it’s the best thing for me, to let him go, I still cry all the way to the airport, and then the entire plane ride home, turning away from the spare seat next to me.
Chapter 23
Willow
“We’d like to keep her for twenty-four hours to ensure everything is out of her system.” Dr. Spencer is the doctor who had introduced himself to me when I first arrived, racing through the hospital like I was on fire. I can only imagine how I looked, suitcase being pulled behind me. He’d repeated what Cara had already told me. My mom’s stomach had been pumped and she was given an IV to help stop her dehydration. She was sleeping, and I had sat with her for an hour before the doctor and the woman next to him came to speak with me and pulled me into the hall. Dr. Spencer is old enough to be my grandfather, with a full of head of white hair, gold-framed glasses, and kind blue eyes. He’s the kind of older man who has a comforting presence, and I’m so exhausted from rushing through the airport in San Diego, the upheaval of the way I ran from Trey, worrying about my mom, and then getting to the hospital, my phone dying on the way, that it’s tempting to lean into this man like he is my grandpa. I can barely keep my eyes open, much less understand everything he’s saying.
“And then?” I ask, fighting a yawn. “What happens when she leaves?” My arms are crossed over my stomach. Hugging myself because there’s no one here to comfort me. I could use someone. A strong shoulder to lea
n on. Someone to take my hand and wrap me up in compassion and warmth.
If I hadn’t abruptly walked away from Trey and slammed the door on that chance, he could be here with me.
“I’ve made some calls, and there’s a room for her at a short-term mental-health hospital in Portland,” Dr. Mara, the psychologist, says, stepping forward. She’s older than my mom, but not by too much, and has the same kind eyes as Dr. Spencer, and a melodic voice that could lull me to sleep.
“A psych hospital?” I can’t hold back the flinch. God, it sounds so…not my mom.
Dr. Mara grins. It’s kind, but there’s a hint of admonishment in her tone. “It’s a temporary, seventy-two-hour facility where we’ll be able to get her some immediate help and observe her to get her past the initial hump. If this was intentional…”
“She said she wouldn’t have gone through with it.” Because even now I’m in denial. She very well might have tried to kill herself. I shake my head. “Sorry. I’m sorry, it’s just…it’s my mom.”
Damn it. My chin is wobbling.
“I know, Willow, but your mom needs help, and I think if she’s willing, the best course is to start immediate treatment.”
I still have no idea how she got her hands on pain pills. Had I missed her taking them? And does this mean she has been thinking of this?
Dr. Mara continues. “This will be the best place for her so I can evaluate her, keep her safe, and determine our next steps.”
“And those are?”
“I won’t sugarcoat this for you. If I had to say now what I’d choose, I’m recommending you seriously consider Pacific View Psychiatric Center.”
I gape. My jaw feels like it’s just been unhinged and before I can say anything, the doctor places her hand on my shoulder. She lowers her voice, softening it. “Your mom needs some long-term support and guidance and therapy. I would predict three months minimum, but you can look at this place. It’s really nice, more like individual condos and not a hospital setting. It’s on the coast, at the ocean, and the residents have a wide variety of activities designed to help promote their mental health. They focus on healthy eating, group and individual therapy, outdoor activities like horseback riding, trips to the beach, and walks. They’re allowed to help in a garden and volunteer at the local farmers’ market. It’s really beautiful and peaceful, and I really think it will benefit your mom.”
