Chapter Eighteen

Ava

I feel even worse on Friday than I did yesterday. I can barely move my head without feeling nauseated. What did I eat to make me feel so awful?

Then I recall I had a Chinese takeout that I like when I’m busy. It’s quick and cheap, just what I need. I force myself to sit up, but it only makes me feel worse. Moaning, I crawl to the living room to get my phone. Unfortunately, I left it on the dining table last night after finishing up some memos. I push myself up and grab it, then immediately drop as my head spins until I’m lying flat on my back on the floor.

I dial Robbie’s personal number.

“This is Robbie.”

“Hi, this is Ava.”

“Ava? Are you okay?”

His voice seems far away—crappy reception. I must sound bad if he asks me if I’m okay before I say more. “I hate doing this—I really do—but do you mind if I take today off? I don’t feel well, and I’m not sure about driving.”

“Not at all. Please take care of yourself. I knew you were working too many hours, and I should’ve done something earlier.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m just a bit under the weather. I’ll be fine by Monday.”

“If you’re sure. But if you don’t feel okay on Monday, you don’t have to come in.”

“Thanks, boss.” Then I remember something. “Oh, did you get the email I forwarded you from the clinic about…you know…the thing with your wife?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat. “You mentioned that already.”

“Oh.” My mind is like a sieve lately. “Sorry. I won’t tell anyone.” Then I add impulsively, “I hope it works out for you.”

“Thanks, Ava.”

He hangs up. I loosen my grip on the phone and lie there, my eyes closed. My brain tells me I should get up and shower—at least—but it’s too much bother. It’s not like I’m going to see anybody. If I get hungry—doubtful, given how gross my tummy feels—I’ll just order something.

I slowly close my eyes and let my consciousness float around, not quite asleep but not awake either—the state I call eighty-five percent sleep…

I notice Faye with Lucas. She’s stunning in a skintight silk dress in the most vibrant red I’ve ever seen. Lucas whispers something in her ear, and she smiles, then says something in return that makes him throw his head back in laughter.

She’s with him because you didn’t fight for him.

He doesn’t love me. Not really.

I’m in love with you.

Because you want the painting.

He—never—needed—you.

Because I was never that special.

Lucas dips me in the big-box store. We kiss like a couple newly in love. Giggle about him kidnapping me to Paris.

Our selfies. We were so happy together. He looks like he cares in those pictures.

If I had the power to go back in time, I’d erase everything that happened since returning from the bed and breakfast. Then at least everything would be fine in my world, and I’d be happy.

Until it all crashes down on me, my house of cards, and I start to cry.

* * *

Lucas

Perhaps I should be grateful Ava’s apartment isn’t in a war zone, but that’s about the best I can say about her shitty neighborhood.

At least it’s low crime area—or so my PI Ken assured me—which I find hard to believe. More likely people assume it’s a low crime area, since there aren’t any security cameras and guards around to record unlawful actions for statistics.

I loiter outside her building until somebody goes inside. No one stops me, checks my ID, or looks at me suspiciously. I could be a gang-banger for all they know.

Definitely unsafe.

I go to Ava’s unit on the third floor. She and I were supposed to have a short meeting to go over our progress. However, Robbie said she was out sick, and I left the medical center immediately to rush to her side.

But now that I’m here at her door, I hesitate. What the hell am I doing here?

She and I have nothing to do with each other except for the fundraiser. Would I drive over to a coworker’s place just because he was sick? Of course not.

On the other hand, I know her work ethic. She never called in sick at work or missed a class when she was in college unless she was half-dead. She wouldn’t take a day off unless she was gravely ill.

She has no one in the city, except maybe Jon—my teeth grind involuntarily—and I made sure she wouldn’t have any free time to see him. Maybe she needs something to eat. I can just make sure she’s stocked up for the weekend and get out. This has nothing to do with my feel—my previous feelings for her. It’s what any decent human being would do.

I knock, then try the door. Good God. She didn’t even bother to lock it. Big cities like L.A. are teeming with serial rapists and killers. Just look at the news.

“Ava?” I call out softly, in case she’s asleep, then step inside, making sure to close and lock the door behind me.

The place is sparsely furnished with a couch, TV and small dining set big enough for two people. On it is an open laptop. A thin but serviceable beige carpet covers the floor. I look around. Ava hasn’t done much to decorate.

I start to walk toward the bedroom, that being the logical place to go if she wasn’t feeling well. Instead, I almost trip over her.

She’s sprawled on the living room floor. Her long platinum hair lies in tangles, and she’s in nothing but a long gray nightshirt with Bugs Bunny in the center holding a carrot.

Fear clutches my heart, coats my mouth with a sharp, unpleasant tang. Horrible possibilities flash through my mind. Seeing her like this sends me back to the winter I found Grandpa passed out on the floor of his rented Spanish cottage. He recovered all right, but half an hour longer and the story would’ve been very different.

Am I too late for Ava? How long has she been lying here?

Her cell phone is in her hand. Did she try to call nine-one-one before passing out?

I kneel next to her and feel for a pulse. It’s steady, if a bit erratic. Her skin feels overly warm, dark circles are like bruises under her eyes, and her lashes are wet.

This isn’t Grandpa. She’s young and healthy. Don’t be melodramatic.

You’re here as a concerned coworker. Nothing else.

As I pick her up, she moans softly. God, she hardly weighs anything.

Why did she faint? And don’t women usually recover almost instantly after fainting? At least, they seem to in movies.

“I’m taking you to the hospital to get checked.”

No “go fuck yourself, you toxic bastard.” Not even a moan. Instead she remains limp in my arms.

Panic spikes through me, turning my thoughts sluggish. For fuck’s sake, get a grip. It’s probably nothing. People faint all the time…

I take Ava to Sterling Medical Center. It’s close anyway, and they’ll surely take care of one of their own. A large and competent-looking nurse bustles over when I arrive. She takes charge, and I have no choice but to hand Ava over even though every cell in my body protests. I watch the staff take her away, her body so small and helpless on the white hospital sheet. I start to say something, start to follow…

I know she’s in good hands. Nate doesn’t hire incompetent people. But I just…

I want to be by her side when she wakes up.

Don’t be idiotic.

I’ve done my duty. She’s with people who can help her. It’s not as though she’s going to want to see me.

You’re toxic.

I haven’t forgotten. I can’t.

I take a final glimpse of her on the gurney and tell myself to leave.

Walk away.

Walk away.

My legs ignore the command.