I could’ve called him back, but what was the point? He was states away prepping for his dream job, and I just lost mine. Back at home, I let myself cry a little and then checked the banking app to see that my severance was deposited. I couldn’t help wondering if part of the problem was the disruption Josh had caused when he barged in that time—if my leaving that meeting had been the beginning of the end for me. I knew that my strong opinions had been the main reason, but the personal drama couldn’t have helped my case. I called him and left a voicemail.
“Josh, it’s me. The wife you hung up on. Here’s the thing. I got fired today. I’m too much trouble between having opinions and having a husband who storms in and causes a scene. So now I’m out of a job, and that’s not all I’m out of. I’m out of this sham marriage. Pretending to fit in with those guys got me nothing but kicked in the teeth, and I expect pretending to be your wife will turn out about the same, so let’s be done with it. I can’t suffer in silence anymore. I’ll be moved out by the time you get back.”
I packed a bag and went to Sara’s. She hugged me as soon as I walked in the door.
“They’re idiots,” she said.
“I’ve never been fired before. And Josh didn’t even take my call.”
“Did you tell him what happened?”
“No. He was busy.”
“And now you’re mad at him for not listening to what you didn’t tell him? I know you’re upset, but you can’t hold him responsible when he didn’t know anything was wrong.”
“Don’t be reasonable. Feed me carbs and feel sorry for me,” I said miserably.
“You’ll get another job, maybe on a show you’d actually watch, one that employs a woman to do something other than serve the bagels.”
“It’s not just that. It doesn’t even matter. I’ve left him. All Josh does is create chaos and try to control me. It’s all about his ambition, his career, and I’ve turned my life upside down for him.”
“You love him. It’s normal to feel like it’s taken over your life when you’re with someone and it’s this intense. I know. Do you remember me bitching about Andrew and his veganism and his stupid electric car? And how my entire life was now about what contained animal products and like documentaries on factory farming? We had to reach a point where our lives combined so we could share things without losing ourselves. There are growing pains.”
“This isn’t like that. He doesn’t love me, Sara. We’re more like friends with benefits, and the benefits are damn good, but I want more. I want more than he can give me. We’re supposed to help each other and support each other, and he’s ripping me to shreds without even knowing it. I don’t want you right now, I want him. I want him to comfort me and say everything will work out and that I was too good for that show anyway. And he’s not here.”
“Tell him that. And he does love you, Abby. I’ve seen you together.”
“Sara, you see what he wants you to see. That’s why he’s such a good actor,” I said coldly, rubbing my chest where it hurt to breathe.
Chapter 13
Josh
“Okay, tell me what’s going on and calm down.”
“Randolph complained I argue too much, and Penelope fired me and said I was more difficult than I was talented.”
I heard her gulp back tears. I wanted to hold her, kiss her, punch Randolph, and possibly tear up the entire floor of offices where they wrote that stupid show.
“It’s going to work out fine. You’ve been writing something on spec, even though you won’t show it to me yet. Now there’s time for you to work on that, really dedicate yourself to a project you love. And you can concentrate on that and attending all the events for this film once I wrap it, and we’ll have festivals to attend, and now you have the free time to devote to that role. Because you’re not leaving me. Some dipshit with a fragile ego had you fired. That isn’t my fault any more than it’s yours. And there’s no reason to throw away a good partnership because you’re upset about losing your job.”
“You think it’s fine that I got fired, and so now I can sit around waiting for you to need me to get dressed up and go to a movie event? My only purpose is to be at your beck and call now?”
“No, you’re overreacting. And if you’ll remember, you entered into this partnership willingly. For two years. And it would be stupid in your situation to blow off several million dollars because you had a bad day and don’t want to be married to me right now.”
“Did you just call me stupid?” she said in a deathly hush. Shit.
“No, of course not,” I said, rubbing my forehead.
“Yeah, you did. You just don’t want to deal with the fallout of being so self-centered. You are such a disappointment, Josh. But don’t worry, I’ll be all moved out by the time you’re back from Utah.”
She hung up. I paced back and forth for a minute and then found my director.
“Devereaux, I’ve got a situation at home. If I left for twenty-four hours, and I swore to God I’d be back by this time tomorrow—”
“Go,” he said. “When it’s a woman, it is always an emergency. My second wife was like that.”
“Well, she’s my first wife. My only wife.”
“That is what everyone says the first marriage, my boy. Go. Fly home and see if you can settle her down and make her stay. Whether she will or not, I need you back tomorrow night.”
“I will be. Hell or high water. Thanks,” I said, and took off. I had to handle this in person. That meant going back to LA and seeing Abby face to face.
I hopped in my rental Jeep. That thing was so fun to drive, I’d have to buy one of my own after filming, I thought, although maybe not this ugly yellow. I plugged in the airfield on the GPS and texted my assistant to make sure the plane was ready. When my phone pinged, I picked it up to look at the screen and jerked the wheel just in time to keep from veering off the road. I overcorrected. I knew that as soon as I saw the headlights coming at me.
Chapter 14
Abby
I was asleep in a pile of tissues and fun size Twix wrappers at Sara’s when the phone woke me. Probably that egotistical bastard calling back to tell me that I would have time to make him a fresh, hot, low carb pie every day since I was out of work. I grumbled to myself as I answered.
“What?” I muttered.
“Abby? It’s Ginger, Josh’s assistant. There’s been an accident.”
I was suddenly wide awake. “An accident? Is he okay?”
“He’s in the helicopter on the way to the nearest hospital now. We’re in the middle of nowhere-fucking-Utah. He crossed the center line in the rental Jeep on his way to the airport.”
“Why was he going to the airport?”
“To fly home to see you because you were upset, Abby. That’s what he told me when I arranged the flight. He asked for twenty-four hours to go home and see you. He must not have been paying attention while he was driving. It doesn’t look good. I’ll text you the name of the hospital.”
“I’m on my way. If you get to see him, tell him I’m coming, okay, Ginger?” I said.
I gulped, swallowing hard, but tears came anyway. I called my driver. “I need to get to Utah. Can you call the plane people? He always has Ginger set this stuff up, but she’s got her hands full. Josh has been in an accident,” I said breaking off.
“I’ll handle everything, ma’am,” he said. “Be ready in fifteen minutes, and I’ll take you to the airfield.”
“I’m at Sara’s, not at home,” I said.
“I know that. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
I shook my head. Of course, security had let him know where I went. I had to get ready. I stumbled around Sara’s, gathering my stuff, throwing away my wrappers and Kleenex. I got dressed and scraped my hair back into a messy bun. I shouldered my bag and left a note for Sara. As I was heading for the front door, she stumbled downstairs.
“You make a ton of noise for someone trying to sneak out. What’s going on?”
“
It’s Josh—” I broke off sobbing. “He was heading to the airport, flying home because I was upset. He was in a wreck. He’s on a helicopter to the hospital now.”
“That means he’s alive. And they’re getting him the best help they can. Are you going out there?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“That’s so sweet of you, but no. You stay here. Be a nurse. Help people. I’ll call you fifty times to make you explain what they tell me is wrong.”
“I’ll be here.”
She enveloped me in a big hug, and then I left. The ride to the airfield was torture. I clutched my phone, waiting to hear from Ginger. When she didn’t message, I checked the time of her call, figured how many minutes since I’d talked to her and how long she might be from the hospital and how she had to drive there and not fly. I didn’t want to cause her to have an accident by calling or texting her. I needed to know what was going on, but she’d contact me when she knew. I had to trust that. I had to believe he’d be okay. I’m coming, Josh, I thought, as if I could telegraph that to his mind, as if he could know I was heading his way as fast as possible. Please don’t let it be bad. Please don’t let it be bad.
The flight was supposed to be an hour and fifty minutes to the airport nearest to where he was. I think I counted every single second I was on that plane. I messaged Ginger once in desperation, and all I got back was, “Just got here, he’s with doctors.” Half an hour later she messaged with “internal bleeding abdomen, has concussion too. Surgery.”
I turned and threw up in the paper bag they give you for that. Only mine wasn’t motion sickness. It was terror and grief. It was grief that I had been mean to him the last time we talked, that I hadn’t even told him I loved him, that it might be too late. That I might never feel his mouth on mine again, or the way he held my hand. His laugh, his great, warm, generous laugh. His highly lickable abs. The tender way he tucked my hair behind my ear sometimes, and the way he would curl up behind me in bed, fitting his body to mine like a spoon, so warm and strong and protective. Tears leaked down my face at that thought alone. I ached with missing him. I’d been wrong to lash out at him over getting fired—it was my job, my fault, and I had resented his contentment with his new movie when I was so discontented and selfish.
I should have wanted the best for him, not thought of it as a competition. And now I had to face losing him, and not just losing him, which was a massive, gaping horror I couldn’t stand to think about, but losing him without ever telling him the truth. That no matter how pushy and controlling he tried to be, he was always fair to me, always supportive and loyal. That no matter what he did, or how mad I got, I had loved him from the start, and always would.
How had I ever thought I could leave him? The idea of a day without seeing him, without hearing his voice was painful. To choose to give him up—that was no longer an option for me. I hadn’t denied myself the pleasure of his bed, of being his wife in every way. Why would I refuse him the knowledge that I loved him completely? It was selfish, self-protective. And there was no way to protect myself. I loved him. That made me defenseless. All I could do was hope that I’d have a chance to love him out in the open, out loud, and bravely. If he turned me away, if he didn’t want me as anything but a partner in a fake marriage, he had the right to make that choice. I had denied him that choice for too long out of fear. Now I knew real fear, the kind that strangled me when I read the words ‘internal bleeding’ on my phone screen.
I’d do things so differently if we got a second chance.
I’d wear my reading glasses in front of him.
I’d show him my spec script and find out what he thought of it.
He could talk and talk and talk about which indie directors promoted diversity.
He could talk and talk about which now-famous movies he auditioned for and didn’t get the part.
I’d listen. I’d rub his damn shoulders while he told me that story again and again.
I’d sleep in his t-shirt every night.
I’d sleep in his arms every night.
He’d wake up to me kissing him, no matter how early his first call was for filming. No matter where he was filming.
I’d go to damn Utah.
I’d sit on set and watch his performance adoringly.
So many things would be different, less selfish, more present, and more joyful.
If only.
If only it weren’t as bad as it sounded.
If only he was going to make it.
My arrival at the hospital, worryingly small, was as quiet and strained as the rest of the trip. I was led down the hall, twisting my wedding ring around and around my finger, until we reached a glass cubicle, one of only three in ICU. I swore I’d donate millions to this godforsaken rural hospital if he survived this. That nurse, Shannon? I’d send her on a fucking Caribbean cruise just for monitoring his heart rate and giving him medication on time. I’d promise anyone anything.
I sank into that chair, the cold plastic digging into my back. I looked at him, still as death and hooked to wires and tubes and monitors. He didn’t look handsome or like he was asleep. He looked beat up and half-dead. There was a big swollen welt on his forehead and cheekbone, red and purple. His left eye was swollen shut, an ugly black and purple. His left arm was in a sling, and there was a drain coming from his abdomen. Beeps and trills and whooshes came from machines, and his chest rose and fell, but he wasn’t awake. He wasn’t there, from what I could tell.
“Shit, Josh. You don’t have to be such a drama queen,” I sputtered. “If you wanted attention, you didn’t have to go and get in a wreck like some soap opera diva on the Friday cliffhanger. You knew I had free time since my mouth got my ass fired.” I shook my head.
I reached for his hand, held his cold fingers gingerly, not wanting to disturb the IV in the top of his hand. I traced each of his fingers from knuckle to fingertip one by one.
“I love you,” I said, never taking my eyes from his hand. “I love you, Josh.”
I must have fallen asleep in the chair at some point. A nurse came in and woke me.
“We changed shifts, and I’m the charge nurse on this rotation. My name is Carla. I thought you might like an update on his condition.”
I straightened and pushed back my hair. “Yes. Yes, please,” I said.
“Yesterday’s surgery stopped the bleeding after they removed his spleen. His liver was lacerated, but it will heal. He has two broken ribs, which we taped up, and the concussion. There was no brain bleed on his MRI, which is lucky. At this point, his prognosis is recovery.”
“Oh, thank God!” I burst out. I was clutching the arms of my plastic chair, white-knuckled. I cleared my throat. “Thank you. When is he expected to wake up?”
“That all depends on him. It could be any time, it could be another twelve hours. If he hasn’t regained consciousness by the twenty-four-hour mark after surgery, we’ll have a neurologist examine him and see if further testing is needed.”
“Is there anything I can do to speed up the process?”
“Not really. Being here with him is helpful. Even in an unconscious or semiconscious state, patients sometimes register familiar voices or smells. So talk to him, hold his hand, buzz the nurse’s station if he wakes up. He was lucky he had his seat belt on. And a plastic surgeon will be in to look at his forehead later.”
‘Thank you, Carla,” I said. Thank you seemed inadequate. Carla would need a Caribbean cruise for sure.
I held his hand. “Did you hear that? You’re going to be okay. You’ll feel like shit for a little bit after that wreck, and the surgery, but once you wake up, you’ll be on the mend. I’ll make you Chinese soup, and I’ll let you tell me what a good job you would’ve done in the role of Aquaman. And I’ll tell you I love you. Every day. So many things are going to be different now. Because I’ll be honest with you. We’ll be honest with each other. No more politeness because we have a deal.”
I smiled at
him, a watery smile. I kissed his chilly fingertips. “I would love to see you play a warrior merman. You would’ve been hotter than Jason Momoa. And the fact that I sincerely believe that is proof that I love you because Sara and I saw that movie twice, and it wasn’t for the plot.”
After I went and got some breakfast and walked around to stretch, I went back to his room. A doctor and some nurses were crowded in, so I waited outside. They gave me an update much the same as Carla’s. He would get better, but he needed to wake up. That we’d wait and see, his vitals were good, and there was no sign of infection after surgery. I sat and waited. I read on my phone and messaged Ginger, Sara, Max, and Caitlyn. I kept them updated and asked them to stop sending flowers and stuff because ICU doesn’t allow it. I took a nap and waited some more.
Chapter 15
Josh
I was cold, and the sounds were strange. Everything felt heavy, blurry, and far away. I was in a room I didn’t know, with monitors and IVs hooked up to me. I looked around in the dim light and saw Abby curled up in a chair under a thin white blanket. She was all scrunched up and had to be uncomfortable. I tried to reach out toward her, but the wires, the tubes, the weakness, and the heaviness of my limbs wouldn’t allow it.
I had no idea how I’d gotten there. I remembered leaving for Utah. I wondered if the plane had crashed. I wondered if the pilot and Ginger, who had traveled with me, were okay. I called out to Abby, my voice rusty, creaking.
She bolted from her chair, hands flying to her cheeks. Tears spilled over her fingers. She stammered and kissed my forehead. She gripped just the tips of my fingers. She was excited, confused, and crying. I didn’t understand anything.
“Tell me what happened,” I said. “I don’t remember.”
Pretend Wife Page 13
