For Better or Worse

by Lauren Layne

  “You might not love me yet, 4A, but you will,” she whispered quietly before sitting up slightly to kiss his too-warm cheek. “You will.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  THE NEXT MORNING, JOSH had gone from feeling slightly under the weather to full-on sick.

  His head pounded. His throat was on fire every time he swallowed. He was hot, then cold, then hot again.

  His entire body ached, from the tips of his hair all the way down to his toenails.

  But he wouldn’t admit any of this to Heather.

  Hell, he wasn’t even letting himself acknowledge it. Not yet.

  “Here you go,” she said, coming into the bedroom, where he sat miserably slumped against the pillows, trying not to look like death, knowing he was likely failing. “Cinnamon tea.”

  “I want coffee,” he said with no small amount of grump in his voice.

  She arched her eyebrows. “Do you really? I know when I’m sick, it’s the one time I never want coffee. It just doesn’t sound good. But I’m happy to make you some—”

  “No, you’re right,” he said glumly, accepting the mug. “It doesn’t sound good. Just sit close to me so I can smell yours while I drink the damn tea.”

  A moment later, she was curled up beside him, and though he still felt like shit, if he had to be stuck in bed, it was much better to have a beautiful woman by your side, especially one sipping a decadent-smelling Italian roast that she’d stolen from your own stash.

  “Did you take the pills?” she asked, studying him as she cupped both hands around her mug and took a sip.

  He nodded. “Yes, Mom.”

  “At least you’re not one of those idiot guys who think it’s tough and manly to rough it out without medicine.”

  Josh said nothing as he took a sip of the tea. He hated tea but had to admit it did help the throat. A little.

  “I’ve got nothing against modern medicine,” he said quietly.

  But while modern medicine had quite literally saved his life, he wasn’t holding out hope that the aspirin she’d given him would do much more than maybe take the edge off his headache. Maybe.

  For one God-awful moment, Josh almost gave in to the fear. He felt a lump in his throat that had nothing to do with his ailment and everything to do with the fact that he was frightened down to his very bones about what this illness could mean. He hadn’t had anything like this since . . . before.

  He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Hey,” she said softly, putting a hand against his stomach. “I’m here.”

  It’s exactly what he didn’t want. To need someone else. To take someone else down with him.

  But for a moment, he let himself need her. Let himself take her hand in his and squeeze.

  It’s just a cold, man. Get ahold of yourself.

  But now he couldn’t stop his mind from going into overdrive, even as his body lay dormant. Potentially ignored warning signs flashed through his mind—had he not been more tired than usual over the past couple weeks? Going to bed earlier, sleeping in later, even taking the occasional nap after a lamer-than-usual session at the gym?

  Fuck.

  Josh pushed himself up into more of a seated position, desperate to think and talk about anything other than the fact that his body seemed to be turning on him.

  “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said, watching as Heather pulled her newly straightened hair into a sleek ponytail. He loved her curls, but this was nice, too. Hell, she could shave her head, and she’d still be stunning.

  “What’s up?” she asked as she reached once more for her coffee on the nightstand, sitting cross-legged and shifting to face him.

  “I spoke with Logan last night.”

  “Okay?”

  Josh held her gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me about the job offer?”

  He kept his tone gentle—he didn’t want to start a fight.

  But Heather didn’t even flinch as she met his gaze. “You haven’t exactly responded well anytime I’ve shown interest in your life beyond what the two of us have going on in the here and now.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked slowly, even though he had a pretty good idea what she was talking about.

  “I mean that I’m allowed to talk about a song you’re currently playing, but I’m not allowed to talk about what you want to do with that music, if anything. I’m allowed to talk about yesterday, but not two years ago. I’m allowed to talk about your history with Danica, but not your history with your past job. We can talk about tomorrow, but not next month.”

  Josh opened his mouth to defend himself, but he realized he had nothing to say. Heather was dead-on. It was never fun having a mirror held up, but he couldn’t deny that she was right about him avoiding tough topics.

  But while his choice not to talk about his past was a conscious one, it was unnerving to realize just how resistant he’d been to discussing his future, and not just with Heather.

  He’d clammed up around Trevor. His mom. Jamie.

  The pounding in his head increased, and he had a painful, gut-wrenching acknowledgment of why he avoided talking about his future.

  He wasn’t at all sure that he was going to have one.

  A wave of self-loathing rushed over him. He’d been telling himself for the past couple of years that he was living life to the fullest by not going back to work. By not sweating the small stuff, and not letting his weeks pass by in a mind-numbing nine-to-five grind.

  But what if he’d been doing the very opposite of living life to the fullest? There was living in the moment, but there was also living only in the moment, and that was no good. He’d put himself in a goddamn bubble that didn’t go beyond yesterday and tomorrow, and he effectively shut down anyone who tried to pop the bubble.

  He was living, yes, but he’d gotten so obsessed with survival, so paranoid that each day could be his last, that he hadn’t bothered to figure out what he was living for.

  Or who he was living for.

  “Are you mad?” she asked, biting her lip.

  He forced a smile. “No. You were right in thinking I probably would have bit your head off if you’d mentioned it.”

  Kindly, she didn’t rub it in his face.

  “How’d Logan take the rejection?” she asked, taking a sip of coffee.

  “I didn’t turn him down, actually. I told him I was interested.”

  She froze, bringing her coffee mug back to her lap as she stared at him openmouthed. “Really?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what it is yet, obviously, but I like Logan. More important, I respect him. And if I’m being totally honest, I miss . . .”

  “Work?” she supplied when he trailed off.

  “Not exactly, although yeah, I suppose I miss the challenge of being busy, of having a set schedule every day. But really, I miss numbers,” he said, hearing the sheepishness in his own voice.

  Heather grinned. “Do you have any idea how nerdy and sexy that is?”

  Josh grunted, feeling anything but sexy at the ­moment.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t mention the offer,” she said quietly, her smile fading as she met his eyes. “It should have been your choice to say yes or no. And believe it or not, I think I’m getting pretty good at withstanding your man-tantrums.”

  “I don’t blame you,” he said. “Really.”

  “I like you when you’re sick,” she said, leaning forward and flicking his biceps. “You’re all docile and sweet.”

  “You’re going to pay for that when I’m better,” he growled softly.

  And he would feel better. He would.

  It was a cold. Just a cold.

  There was a chirp from the kitchen: Heather’s text message notification. One of many in the past several minutes, he realized.

  “Someone’s popular this morning,” he
said, jerking his chin in the direction of the other room.

  “I know, don’t these people know they’re supposed to be hungover and in bed right now?”

  “You want to check on it?”

  “Nah, it’s probably just the girls reliving the excitement of Brooke getting engaged. I’ll join in on the squeeing in a bit. I need to at least finish my first cup of coffee first.”

  But before she could take another sip, her phone sounded again, this time with the chime of an incoming call.

  “Okay, okay, fine,” she muttered, kicking her legs around to the side of the bed. Josh wasn’t so sick that he couldn’t admire the fine curve of her heart-shaped ass beneath those tiny shorts as she headed into the kitchen.

  “Alexis, hey” he heard her say in a slightly puzzled tone. Somehow he didn’t think an early-morning call on a holiday was typical, even for someone as career-focused as Alexis Morgan.

  Josh took advantage of the privacy to rub his head. Whatever brief reprieve the pills had offered hadn’t lasted long. His headache seemed to be getting worse.

  “Wait, what?” Heather asked in a low, startled voice. “Seriously?”

  There was a long pause as she listened to whatever Alexis said, and when she spoke next, her voice was small. Tired. “Okay. Thanks for telling me. I’ll probably head into the office in a little bit. Some of my files are there, and, well . . . I’ve got my work cut out for me, don’t I?”

  Josh went on high alert, trying to block out his pain receptors so he could deduce what was bothering his girl without actually having to move his lethargic body.

  Heather said her good-byes, and he waited im­patiently for her to come back into the bedroom. When she didn’t, he called out, “Everything okay?”

  She appeared in the doorway, her expression barren. Wordlessly she padded over to the bed and handed him her cell phone.

  He frowned in confusion, glancing down at what appeared to be a celebrity gossip site.

  “Just read it,” she said quietly. “The headline says it all.”

  He glanced back down, and immediately he ­understood.

  “Danica Robinson calls off wedding to Hollywood legend,” he read. “Well. Fuck.”

  Heather said nothing.

  “It could be a rumor,” he said. “Isn’t eighty percent of this stuff BS?”

  “This apparently falls in the twenty percent that’s not,” she said. “Danica’s rep has already made a statement.”

  “What the hell happened, some big New Year’s Eve scandal?”

  “Not even.” Heather snatched the phone out of his hand as he saw the first hints of temper brewing. “­Listen to this.” She scrolled through the article until she found the spot she wanted and began to read out loud. “ ‘An inside source claims that there’s no surprise in the split. In fact, sources close to the Robinson empire claim that the wedding was a hoax from the beginning. A fake engagement agreed to by both sides to aid Mr. Stokes’s fading star, as well as the bad press Ms. Robinson had been getting about her serial dating ways.’ ”

  Heather dropped the phone to the bed as though it had burned her. “That bitch used me. No wonder she didn’t want to be bothered with the wedding details. She didn’t want to waste her time on something that she knew would never happen.”

  Much as Josh wanted to reassure Heather that there was likely some misunderstanding, he didn’t really think there was. He knew Danica all too well, and this was exactly the type of bullshit she would think was within her rights to pull.

  “The article also says that the news broke prematurely,” Heather said. “Can you believe that? One week before the wedding is premature, apparently. Way too much notice. The original plan was probably to end the engagement the day of to really get tongues wagging. Front-page news right there.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “What happened to speed it up?”

  Heather picked up her phone again, scrolling through once more before handing it to him.

  “Ah,” Josh said, as he glanced at a picture of Danica kissing a man that was most definitely not her pseudo-fiancé. The champagne and New Year’s hats indicated that the make-out session had happened last night.

  “So she’s on damage control,” he said.

  “She’s going to be seriously damaged when I get my hands on her,” Heather ground out, starting to pace the length of the bedroom back and forth.

  Josh nearly smiled. He hated that this was happening to her, but feisty Heather was quite the sight to behold.

  “I’ve got to go into the office,” she said finally, coming to a stop in front of the bed. “I need to start figuring out my game plan.”

  “You mean on the cancellation.”

  She nodded. “It’s easy enough on paper, but the trick is figuring out how to do it without burning bridges. I’m not even sure that’s possible. We rushed everything. The designer dress is custom. The wine is hand-selected from the top wineries, who all carefully selected their best bottles and already shipped them over. Then there’s the handmade centerpieces, the champagne from France, even the freaking ribbon is coming from Italy.” She shook her head. “This is a nightmare.”

  “How can I help?”

  She blew out a breath and looked up, a determined gleam in her eyes. “Sleep. Get better. If this doesn’t destroy my career—and I won’t let it—you can take me out to dinner. We’ll have too much to drink and curse Danica Robinson’s name. Petty, but it’ll make me feel better.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Maybe we can throw banana bread into the mix?”

  She chucked her phone at him before heading into the bathroom, and he laughed, only to stop abruptly at the slight discomfort on his left side.

  Josh’s smile slowly dropped as icy dread ripped through him. Another symptom that he was all too familiar with. A harmless twinge that he knew from experience could mean something very harmful ­indeed.

  Josh didn’t move.

  Not as he listened to Heather mutter obscenities in the shower. Not as he listened to her—rightfully so—rage at Danica Robinson as she threw on jeans and a sweater and boots.

  Only when she approached the side of the bed, leaning down to kiss his cheek, did he manage to move, his need for Heather stronger than the weakness in his limbs.

  He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her awkwardly to his chest. Needing to hold her. Needing to be held, just for a second.

  She didn’t protest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his hot skin. “You’re burning up,” she said, sounding worried. “I should stay.”

  “Nah, just get me a couple pills to combat the fever. I’m just going to sleep,” he said, still not releasing her.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered.

  His eyes shut as he stroked her hair, but he didn’t say anything.

  Finally he let his arm fall away, and she gave him a concerned look as she went into the bathroom and came back with two more pills. “This should help with the fever and the headache, but you need to make sure you’re getting enough fluids.”

  Fluids wouldn’t help with what was ailing him, but he played along, rolling his eyes at her bossiness even as he agreed to follow her directions.

  She went into the kitchen, and he watched in amusement as she put three water bottles on his nightstand. “I want those all to be gone by the time I get back,” she ordered.

  “Can we put some whisky in them?” he asked hopefully.

  She ignored him, leaning down and kissing his forehead. “I’ll be back soon. I hope.”

  Josh said her name as she was about to leave the bedroom, and she glanced back expectantly, one hand on the doorjamb.

  “Yeah?” she said.

  Josh swallowed and it hurt. He wanted to tell her how he felt.

  “I’m sorry about the Danica thing,” he said instead.
Lame.

  “Eh.” She lifted her shoulders. “It stings, but it’ll pass. Not life or death, you know?”

  Oh, he knew. He definitely knew.

  Josh waited until he heard her close the front door, waited until he heard the click of the lock before he forced himself to do what needed to be done.

  Slowly, he lifted his hand to his throat, his fingers knowing exactly what to look for.

  And he found it.

  His hand fell back to the bed as he stared straight ahead, terror mingling with resignation. The sore throat, he could explain away. The headache, a relatively common ailment. Even the body aches and the fever—they happened, right? Grown men got that shit all the time.

  But all that plus the fatigue of the past few weeks and the swollen lymph nodes in his neck?

  Shit, hell, and fuck.

  Josh threw the covers back, forcing his stiff limbs over the side of the bed as he walked toward the closet door where Heather had hung his suit the night before.

  He found his cell phone in the breast pocket of his suit jacket and scrolled through his contacts until he found the one number he’d hoped he’d never have to call again.

  Chapter Thirty

  HOW MUCH PETTY CASH do the Belles keep on hand?” Heather said as she gratefully accepted the large mug of coffee Alexis handed her.

  Her boss merely tilted her head in question.

  “Bail money,” Heather said. “I’m thinking we may need it if and when I ever run into Danica Robinson on the street.”

  “I’d sell the whole building if I had to,” Alexis said grimly. “This woman is dead to me.”

  “Somehow it’s so much scarier when you say that than hearing it from anyone else,” Heather said, taking a gulp of the coffee. She’d been at the office for two hours now, and the caffeine from her first cup of coffee back at the apartment was starting to fade.

  “I mean it,” Alexis said, crossing her arms. “We’ve had our fair share of called-off weddings, but never anything like this. Never anything so malicious and callous.”