For Better or Worse

by Lauren Layne

  “Yeah, well, lifestyles of the rich and famous and all that.”

  “How are the vendors taking it?” Alexis asked, leaning against the door. She was wearing a pale lavender knit dress, her makeup impeccable as always, belying the fact that Heather knew full well she hadn’t gone to bed until the early hours of the morning, and had been awake by six given the time stamp on the texts she’d sent to Heather to break the news.

  Heather waved her hand over the iPad and file folders on her desk. “Hardly anyone’s picking up. Damn holiday.”

  “Well, the only good news about this happening with such a famous client is that they’ll probably have figured it out by the time they all get back to work tomorrow.”

  “So they’ll be pissed, but not surprised.”

  “Yes, but not pissed at you,” Alexis said.

  “I don’t know about that. I just keep thinking that a good wedding planner would have figured this out. That you would have figured this out.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody goes into a wedding-­planning endeavor suspecting that it’s all a publicity stunt.”

  “You know what pisses me off the most,” Heather said. “That I knew something was up early on, but that I let her play me. I totally bought all that bollocks about her promising her fiancé to be low-key.”

  “‘Bollocks’?” Alexis smirked. “Someone’s been spending too much time with Logan.”

  Heather spun around in her chair, happy to have a change of topic, however brief. “Speaking of Logan, any idea who the boob-tastic broad all over him last night was?”

  Alexis lifted her shoulders. “Nope. And I don’t care. I don’t,” she insisted when Heather gave her a skeptical look. “He’s allowed to date.”

  “Sure,” Heather said. “But he came with you.”

  “Our cabs arrived at the same time and we walked in together,” Alexis said in amusement. “What is it with you and Brooke trying to turn us into some grand love story?”

  Heather sighed. “I can’t help it. I love love.”

  “Speaking of . . .” Alexis sat down opposite Heather’s desk and grinned. “You and Josh seemed mighty cozy at midnight.”

  Heather looked down at her mug. “I was having . . . an epiphany.”

  “That you love him,” Alexis said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “That obvious?”

  “Yes. But it was lovely to see. Did he, ah . . . have a similar epiphany?”

  “I thought so? Maybe?” Heather shook her head. “I have no idea. He wanted to say something, and I know that he cares about me. I know it. But he’s still holding back. I thought it was just classic bachelor-itis, but I think it’s more than that.”

  “You didn’t talk about it after the fact? Or this morning?”

  “Nah, he’s sick with some nasty cold,” Heather said. “I left him in bed with medicine and fluids. One more reason to hate Danica Robinson. It killed me to leave him looking so miserable, which tells you how far gone I am over the guy. I wanted to take care of him and tuck blankets around him and make him homemade soup.”

  “Why don’t you let me take care of all of this,” Alexis said, gesturing at Heather’s office.

  “No way. She was my client. I’m the one that failed to see the signs. The least I can do is take point on my own cleanup duty.”

  “What do you mean the least you can do?”

  Heather bit her lip. “This is bad for the Belles, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “We scored the most famous wedding of the year, and then the wedding didn’t happen. That can’t be good for business.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Alexis said slowly, coming into Heather’s office and leaning against her desk, “but it’s possible you’re taking on a bit too much responsibility here. This reflects badly on two people, and two people only: Danica and Troy. And maybe her team of people who knew about the charade. But it doesn’t reflect poorly on you. And certainly not on the company.”

  “Thousands of dollars,” Heather said glumly. “Like thousands and thousands, all for nothing.”

  “Yes, but we’re not taking the hit. That’s what Danica’s deposit was for, and if the deposit doesn’t cover it, you can rest assured she’ll be getting an invoice for any spillover, especially for your time.”

  “It’s not the money.” Heather fiddled with a paper clip. “This was a test. And I failed.”

  Alexis frowned. “What do you mean, a test?”

  Heather met her boss’s eyes. “This was my chance to show you I could make it as a full-blown wedding planner. And I blew it.”

  “You most definitely did not,” Alexis said indignantly. “You honestly think I’d ignore all the hard work you did simply because you got stuck with a bum client? Heck, if anything, the way this turned out and the way you’re handling it just proves even more how ready you are for that promotion.”

  Heather’s spine straightened. “Seriously?”

  Alexis smiled. “Congratulations. Wedding planner.”

  Holy crap.

  Just like that, she had The Dream. It’s what she wanted forever, and she was happy, she really was, it was just . . .

  “There’s something else,” Alexis said quietly.

  “I’m thrilled,” Heather rushed to say. “Seriously. But there’s this weird sadness that this wedding isn’t happening. Like I’m taking it personally.”

  “I can understand that,” Alexis said slowly. “This was a unique situation in which you were asked to plan a wedding your way rather than the client’s way. You can’t keep from putting a bit of yourself into it.”

  Heather gave an embarrassed nod. “I think somewhere along the line, I planned my dream wedding. I mean, not entirely. The dress she picked was way too fussy. I’d have gone with a simple white sheath, cap sleeves, clean lines . . . Pippa Middleton style.”

  “To show off your great butt,” Alexis said with a smile.

  Heather snorted. “Well, I don’t know about great, but it’s about the only feature I have to work with. Anyway, the dress wasn’t me. And I’ve always envisioned that my bridal party would just be my mom, not something like Danica’s party of twelve. I’d want to honor her, you know? But everything else . . . yeah, pretty much my dream wedding. I figured I might as well do it here, given the unlimited budget.”

  “Which makes it extra painful to undo,” Alexis concluded.

  Heather shrugged. “I keep telling myself that this was just the trial run. A chance to work through it all so that when it comes time for me to walk down the aisle, I’ll have everything figured out. But the truth is, I’m secretly glad nobody’s picking up the phone today. It lets me live in the illusion just a little bit longer that my vision will come to light next week.”

  “Heather. Let me take care of it, please,” Alexis said. “Not as a boss taking over for an employee, but as a friend.”

  Heather looked up in surprise. She considered Alexis a friend, definitely, but if she was totally honest, she’d never been completely sure that Alexis considered her the same. Alexis was hardly the demonstrative type.

  And she was tempted. Tempted to lean on her, to admit that the dissolving of the Robinson wedding felt like a punch to her professional pride and her heart.

  “You know, there’s another way of thinking about it. Relief that your dream wedding won’t be wasted on someone who doesn’t believe it.”

  Admittedly, the thought did perk Heather up a bit. Come to think of it, it would have been positively wretched to watch someone else go through with her wedding, even if that person wasn’t a manipulative socialite.

  “Seriously, Heather, let Brooke and me take care of this. Jessie can help, too. Put this behind you and focus on the Sheldon wedding. You’re excited about that one, right?”

  Heather nodded. Amelia Sheldon was her ­latest
customer and, in addition to being a complete doll, wanted to do a Texas-themed wedding in the ­middle of the city to honor her and her fiancé’s Texas roots. It was a huge challenge and a welcome break from the usual city-esque themes most NYC brides ­preferred.

  As much as Heather chafed at the thought of being a quitter, Alexis’s offer was tempting. What would be the harm, really, of leaning on her colleagues to make a few phone calls and unravel the Robinson wedding? It would be a minimal time investment, and unlike her, their hearts weren’t all tangled up in the business.

  “Let me think about it,” Heather said. “At the very least I’ll finish putting together the list of everyone who needs to be contacted so starting tomorrow one of us can start making the calls.”

  “Sure,” Alexis said, standing. “Just so you know that when tomorrow comes, it’s going to be me making the calls.”

  Heather was about to protest one last time when her phone rang. She grinned when she saw Josh’s name come up on the caller ID and, prompted by Alexis’s nod, swiped the green arrow.

  “Hey there, sicky, how are you feeling? Which water bottle are you on?”

  But it wasn’t Josh on the other line.

  Heather sat numbly listening to the panicked voice on the other end of the phone for several minutes before she hung up, her hand falling limply to her lap.

  “Heather? What’s wrong?” Alexis’s voice was sharp as she came to Heather’s side, kneeling beside her chair. “Talk to me.”

  Heather turned and looked at her friend. “That was Josh’s mom.” Her voice cracked as she abruptly stood up from her chair and started gathering papers, stuffing everything into her purse. “He’s in the ­hospital.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU didn’t tell me,” Sue Tanner said for the hundredth time, her eyes watering as she reached for his hand. Also for the hundredth time.

  “I did tell you, Mom. The second after I hung up the phone with Dr. Rios.”

  His mom shook her head. “That’s not what I meant,” she whispered.

  Josh squeezed her fingers. Hard. “I know.”

  Knew that his mom wasn’t talking about the most recent sickness—knew that she was referring to the not-so-unlikely possibility that the leukemia could come back. Sue bowed her head, and Josh’s father put a hand on his wife’s shaking shoulder as she cried, as he met his son’s eyes. His dad’s brown eyes were shiny with unshed tears, and Josh had to look away as his heart twisted. It was like he was in a time machine. A shitty one.

  Four years ago he’d been in this exact position. Lying in a hospital bed while his parents tried desperately not to cry in front of him, succeeding only about half the time.

  Just like he tried not to cry in front of them. He’d succeeded 100 percent of the time, although he suspected it might be harder this go-around.

  This was everything he hadn’t wanted. Everything he’d hoped to avoid.

  And yet, he couldn’t not tell them. Not when his doctor had suggested he come in right away. There were some secrets one could keep to protect his family and others that would destroy them.

  Josh was pretty sure that not telling your parents that you were in the hospital waiting for results on a bone marrow biopsy and blood workup fell into the latter category.

  “How much longer?” his mom asked, taking the tissue her husband handed her and dabbing angrily at her eyes.

  “Doc said they’d rush it,” Josh said. “Given my history.”

  “And you knew,” Sue said accusingly. “You knew that there was a strong likelihood that your particular leukemia was at risk for a relapse.”

  “Remission is never a sure bet, Ma. For anyone.”

  “You let us think it was,” Sue said, her voice cracking once more. “You let us think you were healed.”

  “Because I was healed. What good would it have done to have you two in a constant state of worrying?”

  “We do that anyway,” Rob Tanner said wearily. “But . . . I get why you did what you did, son.” He put his hand briefly on Josh’s shin beneath the thin, ugly blue blanket, and Josh nodded once in gratitude.

  His mother glared up accusingly at his father. “You can’t seriously think he was right to keep it from us.”

  “You meddle enough as it is, Sue. Given what he’s been through, can you blame him for wanting a bit of peace and quiet? To be someone other than the sick kid?”

  His mother’s head dropped slightly, defeated. “No.” She turned to Josh and offered him a weak, watery half smile. “I suppose I can’t begrudge you that, sweetie.”

  “There’s always the chance that it’s nothing,” Josh said. “Dr. Rios said it could just be a virus.”

  His mom forced a smile. His dad looked away.

  Josh couldn’t blame them. None of them believed it was just a virus.

  “Can we get you anything?” his dad asked. “Book? Magazine? Food?”

  Josh shook his head. He couldn’t eat. And though the medicine they’d given him had taken the edge off the pain, he didn’t want to read, either. Unhealthy as he knew it was, he just wanted to sit and try not to think about the news that awaited him.

  Try not to think about Heather and what she would think when she got back to her apartment and he wasn’t there. She’d knock on his apartment door, and he wouldn’t be there, either. She’d call, but . . .

  “Hey, have you seen my phone?” he asked.

  “With your stuff,” his mom said, gesturing to the corner of the room. “You want?”

  “Nah.”

  He didn’t want the outside world right now. Couldn’t handle it.

  “Your sister’s on her way,” his dad said, glancing at his own phone.

  Josh stifled a groan. “Seriously? I told her not to come. The baby shouldn’t be in the hospital.”

  “Josie next door is watching Marian,” Sue said, patting his arm. “She has five grandkids of her own; she’s perfectly competent with infants.” His sister and Kevin had flown up with the baby for Christmas, and Jamie had opted to stay through the New Year so that his parents could help with childcare and get their grandbaby fix.

  “She’s still flying out tomorrow, right?” Josh asked.

  His parents exchanged a glance, and he read their silent communication perfectly. It depended on the test results.

  “No, I don’t want—” Fuck. Josh put both hands over his face. “I can’t do this again. I can’t put you all through this again.”

  “Don’t be selfish,” his father said, in a tone Josh hadn’t heard since he got caught with a six-pack of Buds when he was eighteen. Josh dropped his hands and found his dad giving him a stern look. “You think this is about you, and it is, but it’s also about the people who care about you. The people who want—need—to be here for you. Because we love you.”

  Father and son held gazes for several moments, but Josh was the first to look away. His dad was right, of course. If situations were reversed, and any of them were in a hospital bed, there’d be no dragging him out of the building. He’d hop on a plane, train, or unicorn to make it to any one of them, Kevin included, if they were sick.

  “You’re going to be fine,” Sue said as Josh stared blindly at the ceiling and tried to ignore the burn in his throat, the lethargy in his body.

  “Can I have a few minutes?” he said, looking back at them. “I’m not asking you to leave, I just . . . I need a moment.”

  “Of course,” Rob said, even as his mother start­ed to protest. “We’ll be in the waiting room if you need us. And if the doctor comes back with test results—”

  “I’ll make sure he finds you,” Josh said.

  His parents shuffled to the door, looking older than they had when he’d seen them at Christmas just a week earlier. His mom turned back. “Josh, honey, there’s something I should probably—”

 
His mom never finished her sentence, because there was a blur of dark blond hair and blue sweater dashing by the window of his room before coming to stand in the doorway.

  Heather.

  Out of breath, beautifully disheveled, and here.

  His heart leapt in joy even as his brain registered outrage. He glared at his parents, and his mom gave a sheepish smile as she crept around Heather, patting the younger woman on the shoulder.

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Sue mock-whispered. “I called her while you were getting the tests.”

  His mom disappeared before Josh could get good and properly angry at her, and then he found he wasn’t angry at all because Heather was at his side, her face buried in his neck.

  A neck that was . . . damp.

  Heather was crying.

  Motherfucker. Heather was crying. For him.

  “Don’t,” he pleaded. “Please don’t.”

  “You asshole,” she muttered against his neck, sniffling, and Josh couldn’t help but laugh. She was his same old Heather.

  She pulled away and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Don’t laugh at me. How could you not tell me this?” Her eyes flashed even as she swiped at her running nose. “All this time I never knew. Cancer. You had cancer?” Her tears seemed to dry and she looked good and pissed. “You don’t keep something like that from someone that—”

  “Someone that what?”

  “Cares about you,” she said through gritted teeth.

  She wanted to say something else, he could sense it. Even more alarming . . . he wanted to hear it.

  Wanted to know if she loved him, even though he didn’t deserve it.

  “Past tense, 4C,” he said, reaching out and pushing back a strand of hair that had stuck to her wet face. “I had cancer.”

  “But it might . . . it’s back? That’s why you’re here?”

  “They just want to check,” he said. “The symptoms I’m having . . . they’re similar to what I had before we found out. They’re just playing it safe.”