It was, and we knew it. Timing brought Millie and me together, even though we shouldn't have been. Timing tore Rosie and me apart, even though we should have been. Timing was also what brought us back together.
I was going to defy timing. For her.
"Tell me where she is."
"Not happening."
"Vicious, I will ruin your ass if you don't tell me, and we both know that I'll find out at some point."
No answer.
"Vicious."
Nothing.
"Vicious!"
The line went dead.
I had a feeling my heart was going to do the same soon, if I didn't find her.
I found out where she was hospitalized an hour later. Made Elle call Rosie's parents, promising her a spa weekend wherever she fucking wanted, and made my way there. Took the Mercedes that sat unused for months and drove there like I was being chased by demons. And I was. Those demons made me drink. They made me responsible for the fact that my girlfriend was dying in a hospital bed.
Hey, asshole. You deserve to die, too.
My dad kept on calling, killing my battery in the process. Hundreds of times. Mom, too. My sisters left voice messages and texts to last for centuries. Fuck 'em. Well, not my sisters. First, gross. Second, they probably only knew what my parents wanted them to know. They would never forgive Eli. Fuck, how could my mom take him back after what he'd done to her? I made a mental note to ask her that when my life wasn't covered chin-high in shit. Whenever that would be.
I parked by Good Samaritan Hospital in the Hamptons and approached the receptionist asking for Rose LeBlanc. She told me to go fuck myself, but in nicer words. The bottom line was that the LeBlanc patient was not accepting any visitors who weren't family. I couldn't tell for sure where the order came from-her or her parents-but the outcome was the same.
I loitered around the waiting room because there was nothing they could do to stop me from staying. Called Vicious, Millie, and Rosie every two minutes. Kicked the vending machine a few times when my mind strangled me with guilt. Pulled at my hair. Made promises to Rosie that she couldn't hear. Broke those promises. Thought about creative ways to sneak into her room. Remembered I didn't even know what her room number was. Cursed some more. Generally acted like a fucking madman.
I was losing it, and it wasn't pretty.
Vicious came out of the elevator a few hours later and strolled over to me, not even half-surprised to see me there. He clasped the back of my neck, just about ready to pull me into an embrace. Fuck no. This wasn't a daytime soap opera. Though I did find out that his beloved hero, Eli Cole, was actually a manwhore, fucking douchebag of the worst variety.
"You look like shit." His lips barely moved.
"Fucking coincidence, you ain't Victoria's Secret material yourself." I cocked a brow.
He laughed.
The fucker actually laughed in my face. Rosie was fighting for her life, and he looked like he didn't have a care in the world.
"Well," his mirth died abruptly, "you acted like a little shit, too."
"How is she?" I rubbed my eyes, feeling like I hadn't slept in years.
"Not good," he admitted. "Stable, though. She sleeps a lot. And she makes that rattley sound when she breathes. Like her lungs are full of rusty needles."
Kill. Me. Now.
He knew. He knew by just looking at me that there was no point giving me grief for everything that had happened. I was already in the gutters of life, trying to claw my way out and back into Rosie's universe with bleeding fingers.
"What happened?" Vicious started walking toward the Starbucks across the road, and I fell in step with him. As much as I hated to be the underdog around Vicious, I had to recruit him to my side. That, in itself, felt impossible. We always went head-to-head. I think that was what had kept our friendship alive. The constant battle.
"The mother of all shitstorms." I ran a hand through my hair and punched the nearest wall. Fuck, I was going to tell him. Because I had to. Because of Rosie. "In bullets: I'm adopted. Up until now I thought that my parents adopted me from my slutty aunt who got knocked up by a no-show piece of shit. Turns out the no-show piece of shit is actually hot-shot lawyer Eli Cole. He slept with his wife's sister while they were already married and decided to keep it from me for thirty years. Just, you know, in a fucking nutshell."
"Fuck," Vicious hissed, stopping to look me in the eye, making sure it wasn't all a big, fat, sad joke. After that, we took our coffees and sat down by the window overlooking the hospital. The thought that she was so physically close yet mentally far messed with my mind. It felt like the end of everything. The world. Us. Her. "That's some heavy mess. I had no idea Eli was capable of out-dicking us," Vicious said, probably referring to the fact he dipped his dick in his wife's sister.