Chapter 7
Gwen
Gwen had no idea what she was thinking when she agreed to go out with James Sunday night. In her defense, though, she was under the impression they were going out for dinner and maybe taking in a show at the theater. Instead, James suggested that they dress for the club, and Gwen only knew of one club that they frequented.
Used to be she always had fun at The Dark Hour, the region’s biggest and most exclusive club for men and women who had discerning sexual tastes. It was the type of place she instantly took to after starting to date James. After all, what humanized his fellow trust-fund kids better than showing them naked, drunk, and successfully hitting on every person in the room? (Perhaps other people would have found that daunting, but Gwen’s personality lent her to becoming utterly delighted when Ian first hit on her, and James took it in stride.)
That was something she had always loved about James – his affable nature. The one that didn’t take things too seriously, and the one that was always up for trying new things, even if he wasn’t sure he’d like it.
Gwen didn’t have much taste for The Dark Hour lately, though. What was once a fun biweekly escape had now become nothing but noise. She didn’t recognize half the people there, even if they recognized her. When it came to her reputation preceding her, it usually had to do with kink.
Ah, there was the real reason she wasn’t comfortable here anymore. It wasn’t seeing other couples participate in their kinky natures. It was the expectation that she would indulge as well. Wasn’t she the woman who once infamously cuckolded her own boyfriend for a whole night? The management liked to joke that it was couples like Gwen and James who kept the place buzzing and the money flowing. Too much pressure.
This was only their second time coming since Christmas. James probably thought he was grasping for familiarity. Gwen would rather go home and watch The Late Show reruns in bed. She had missed Wednesday’s episode. Was it on again tonight?
“Gwenny,” James said, leaning back in their leather sofa. Their corner of the club was cordoned off with a red velvet rope that only admitted the friends they wanted to talk to. So far, that was Kathryn and Ian, who canoodled on another couch while covertly watching YouTube videos on Ian’s phone. (Phones were strictly not allowed in the club. Privacy concerns, after all.) “You’re more uncomfortable than our frat brother Frank when he found out we were going to a pegging party five years ago. What’s up?”
Gwen, who had been taking in the sights and raucous sounds of a sex club on a Sunday night, shrugged her shoulders and said, “Not really feeling it.”
“What would help you feel it?”
His hand was on her thigh, fingers trudging up the skirt of her little black dress she threw on before leaving the house. “Maybe I want to sit here and watch the shows.”
“We can watch the shows tonight.” Nobody was scheduled to perform on the main stage that night, but that didn’t stop amateurs from jumping up and arousing the crowds. James and Gwen used to be regulars and were not shy with the exhibitionism. Sometimes they joked that more people had seen Gwen naked than she had ever been naked in her life. That feels like a lifetime ago. In truth, it was about a year and a half ago when they last did something like that. Now, coming to the club meant looking into the eyes of everyone who judged them for what they went through with Cassandra. Didn’t help that most of the men in the room had slept with Cassandra. Before the real paternity of little Patrick came to light, half the men in the city worried that they might be the daddy.
“Let’s get a round of drinks,” Ian said, pocketing his phone. Kathryn propped her elbow up on the back of their couch, her other hand drawing a small circle on the front of Ian’s dress shirt. “Hell, let’s get three rounds of drinks. We haven’t played a drinking game in forever, and I’m itching for some fun around here.”
“The stage is empty,” James said. “Nothing’s stopping you two from getting frisky.”
“That’s more your thing.”
Gwen broke her brooding demeanor with a laugh. “Don’t think we could ever top the night Kathryn ripped off your clothes, tied you up, and branded you with her lipstick.”
Kathryn matched her friend’s grin. “Yeah, hon, when are we gonna do that again?”
“Sounds like a wild bachelor party to me.”
Ian was the only one laughing at his joke. Kathryn’s smile crashed off her face, and James and Gwen were reminded of one of their biggest scars.
“Get those drinks,” James said. “We’ll play whatever game you want.”
Gwen rolled her eyes as Ian flagged down a server and ordered three rounds of whatever shots the bar felt like giving them. “Can’t wait to get drunk enough to stumble out of here.”
“That’s why we took a cab here, Gwen.” Her partner patted her shoulder. The server bounded away, excited to be making such a good commission off two of the biggest couples in the club. “No worrying about getting home later.”
The first round arrived on a circular tray. The server, who was busty enough to topple over when she set the tray down on the table, flashed everyone her most winning grin. Ian was the only one to flirt back with her.
“First round is the buzz.” Ian handed his girlfriend a shot glass before grabbing one for himself. “Then we’ll get serious.”
James shoved a shot glass into Gwen’s hand. With a sigh of resignation, she clinked her glass with her friends’ and downed it in one gulp.
God, it burned!
“What is that?” She slammed her glass down on the table and gagged. “Demon piss?” Gwen used to be a professional bartender, yet she had no idea what she drank.
James clapped her on the back. She coughed as if that liquid threatened to shoot up her esophagus again. “Puts hair on your chest, doesn’t it?”
“Puts something on my chest!”
Kathryn was the only one not falling over in grief when she put her empty shot glass down. Her prim and proper stance as she indulged in a drinking game was what separated her from Gwen, who flopped backward as if someone had punched her in the face and knocked her out. “Kinda woody, isn’t it?”
“I know it killed my woody,” Ian muttered.
“Give it five seconds. I’m sure you’ll resurrect it.”
Gwen felt the alcohol before anyone else did. Then again, her vision was so blurry, that everyone else could have thrown up their dinners and she would be none the wiser. “There’s two more rounds of this shit coming?”
“God willing!”
The server returned with the second round. Ian was the first one up. Gwen was the last. Not sure I can survive another one. No matter how much she shook out her head, it felt impossible to down another shot of… whatever that was.
“Thought we were playing a game,” James said. “God knows I need a reason to subject myself to this.”
Ian sniffed the shot and almost put it back down again. Kathryn remained the only one completely nonplussed by the contents of her glass. “Before you take a drink,” Ian said, glancing at his beloved in the sparkly white body-con dress, “you have to say what you love the most about your significant other.”
“Now I am gonna gag,” James said.
“I’ll go first,” Kathryn announced. To Ian, she said through pursed lips, “I love that you’re not threatened by what a badass I am.”
She downed her shot. Ian put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and with a curt nod, replied, “I’m very threatened. Every day, your badassery threatens to emasculate me, and for some reason I find that super-hot.”
“Take the shot, Ian.”
James laughed as his friend dumped the shot down his throat. Gwen slowly shook her head. These two are almost as ridiculous as James and I used to be.
Used to be. She hated admitting that.
“Your turn,” Ian said, gesturing to James. “Tell us how much you love that Gwen isn’t afraid to stick a dildo up your ass.”
“That was on the tip of my tongue,” James admitted. He grabbed Gwen’s hand and picked up one of the remaining shot glasses. “Like this demon piss is about to be.”
“Told you,” Gwen said.
Her partner held the glass between their faces. “I love that she puts up with allll my bullshit.” The dark blown liquid was soon out of the glass and in James’s stomach.
“Can only imagine how much bullshit swims in your gut, James.”
“So much!”
The alcohol was hitting everyone hard, and they hadn’t drunk their third round yet. Gwen supposed it was time to join her friends in the revelry. Too bad she struggled to think of something to say.
Oh, there were many things she loved about James, but none of them were appropriate in the moment. The others had talked about what their lovers gave them, or put up with. It wasn’t about them, specifically. What is it about James that I love… and is something I don’t expect from anyone else?
Her partner swayed with a silly grin on his face. His expectant demeanor was enough to make Gwen snort in amusement. “I love that you understand all the reservations that I have.”
James stopped smiling. Gwen hadn’t spoken loudly enough for Kathryn and Ian to hear.
“Reservations, huh?”
Gwen continued to grin. Even after the disgusting drink was in her mouth, she smiled as if James should have absolutely understood what she said.
Before he could ask any questions, however, the third and final round of drinks arrived. After that, it was a free-for-all, because everyone was too tipsy and too battered by befouled drinks to think up a game to play.
The alcohol hit Gwen’s head five minutes later. By then, it was too late to stop drinking, because the second and third drink she already imbibed was like a giant tank to the brain. She slumped against the couch. James had never looked so enticing to curl around.
Perhaps that had been part of the plan.
“Look at ‘em, Gwenny.” James brought her into his embrace while referencing the couple on the other couch. “Aren’t they disgusting?”
Gwen couldn’t think of the words to describe Kathryn hopping into her boyfriend’s lap and making out with him like they were teenagers again. Cute? Gross? Eye-roll-worthy? Somehow, Gwen knew that a couple could be all three. “The worst,” she finally said. “I’m gonna barf watching them.”
James nipped her ear. His breath was ranker than what Gwen remembered from their shot glasses. “Maybe we should get some privacy and a little gross on our own.”
“What was in that glass? Aphrodisiacs?”
“I really hope so.”
Gwen put her hand on James’s chest. “If you can stumble to the bathroom and pop a mint in your mouth, I might consider making out with you when you get back.”
“What’s this might business?”
“I know how you get when you’re good and drunk. You think I want to have your mouth on mine when you fall asleep?”
“I didn’t used to be that bad…”
“We’re older, James.”
“Indeed.” With a sigh, James sat up, wobbling from how the alcohol suddenly hit him. “Guess that means I really should go to the bathroom, then. Getting older, you know.”
“Empty the hose, and we’ll talk.”
“Yes, ma’am.” James pushed himself off the couch. Gwen had to admire how well he kept it together on his way to the men’s room. “I’ll bring back two condoms!” he called over his shoulder. “One for both sides!”
Ian came up for air amid his hot and heavy make-out session with Kathryn. “Please tell me that means what I think it means?”
“Why?” Kathryn grabbed him by the chin and turned his mouth back to hers. “You interested in trying something fun and new tonight, honey?”
Growling, Ian shoved Kathryn backward onto the couch, practically on top of her by the time her giggles finished peppering the air. “I love you when you’re drunk.”
“And I love you when you’re drunk! Let’s get married!”
Gwen rolled her eyes. The only time anyone heard those words come out of Kathryn’s mouth was when she was full of liquor. Why did she have a feeling that sometimes bit her friend in the ass?
Five minutes later, James rounded the corner, suddenly sober.
“It’s Patrick,” he said, face white and hand clenching his phone.
His friends sat up. Gwen’s eyes widened. “What happened?” everyone asked.
James handed Gwen his phone. “I got a call from Cassandra. Apparently, they’re all at the hospital because he has a high fever.”
“You better go,” Ian said.
James looked to his partner, who attempted to shake off the effects of alcohol as she stood and grabbed her purse. “What hospital,” she asked, sure that she sounded like a bigger mess than she really felt.
“St. John’s.”
“Of course. Can’t go anywhere but St. John’s.” She put her hand on James’s arm, both to steady herself, and to – hopefully – reassure him. “He’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
“You’re going with me?”
Their hands were intertwined. “Yes,” Gwen said with finality.
She was too tipsy to understand what she had really agreed to, but by then, they were already on their way to the nearest hospital.
***
It wasn’t difficult to find the Welshes in the most private wing of St. John’s Hospital. They were the small family still dressed in their Armani and Chanel, as if that’s what they wore to bed every single night.
James almost shoved aside the poor nurse leading him and Gwen when he caught sight of Cassandra from the other end of the waiting room. The delicate debutante sat up, her face reddened with tears and fright. Her mother’s hand rubbed her back, and her father’s eyes remained fixed on James.
The gang was all here. The only thing shocking Gwen was that they hadn’t brought the nanny and an assistant along.
No, wait. There was the nanny, coming out of the restroom to find the Welshes and the Meranges clashing together in the middle of an otherwise quiet waiting room.
“James!” Cassandra leaped up from her seat and went straight to him. Good thing Gwen hadn’t decided to get in the way. Otherwise, she would soon find herself against the wall or on the floor. Bad enough I want to be there, anyway. The alcohol had not worn off as quickly for her. Anxiety had been efficient at rousing James’s survival instincts, but Gwen was still stumbling against the furniture and really, really cursing Ian Mathers for ordering three rounds of shots. For a former bartender, I sure don’t hold my liquor well.
“Cassie.” James embraced her. Gwen was going to be sick, and the alcohol was not helping that conundrum. “How’s Patrick? What happened?”
“He… I don’t know… he just… wasn’t well all of a sudden, and when I took his temperature…”
Sarah Welsh approached them with the haughty demeanor of a woman who knew better than anyone else in the room. That included the nurse at her station, and the doctor shuffling down the hall to check on a different baby in the NICU. “Patrick had a bit of a fever, and we thought it best to bring him into the hospital for a checkup. I’m sure everything will be fine.” She rubbed James’s arm with a smile, as if he were her son-in-law. Gwen, meanwhile, stayed far out of everyone’s way. She didn’t want them smelling the alcohol on her breath.
“What if I… what I got him sick…” Cassandra clasped her hands over her face and flung herself into James’s arms. Nah. Gwen was definitely going to be the sick one if she didn’t get her ass to the women’s room in thirty seconds.
She attempted to wash the club and the alcohol off her body. Luckily, she carried a travel toothbrush set in her purse, and by the time she gave her teeth a good scrub and re-emerged from the bathroom, everyone had settled back down into the waiting room. Mr. Welsh fell asleep on the end of his couch while the nanny texted on her phone. Sarah and James flanked Cassandra on another couch, assuring her that she wasn’t a terrible mother and that babies got sick all the time. Yes, even the babies that grew up in the lap of luxury.
She really loves that boy, I guess. Gwen knew that already, but seeing the tragically beautiful Cassandra Welsh sobbing over her child put some perspective into the hearts around her. I can’t fault her for that. Gwen could, however, fault the young mother for dragging James into this shitfest. If the boy wasn’t in danger of dying, did it really require his father to be there? A phone call in the morning should have been sufficient.
Not that Gwen was jealous or anything.
The doctor emerged ten minutes later with good news: Patrick had the flu, but to be on the safe side, he would like to keep the boy for the night to make sure he was hydrated and that his fever could safely come down.
“Things like these are so hard to prevent no matter how you slice it,” the genial doctor said to the group in the waiting room. “Patrick didn’t have his flu shot this winter, did he?”
“His pediatrician worried that he might be immunocompromised,” Sarah explained.
“That could do it. More than likely either yourselves or members of your staff brought it into the home. Boys Patrick’s age are quite susceptible to…”
Sarah interrupted him. “Everyone is required to have their shots before they work in my home. My husband has health issues of his own, and since Patrick was born, I’ve been extra diligent about making sure everyone…” she turned Irene, still texting. “Wait. Did you have your flu shot this year?”
“Uh…” The nanny looked up from her phone. “I… think so? I had some kind of shot before Christmas, Madam Welsh.”
“I knew it,” Sarah snapped. “That man you go gallivanting off to see on Tuesdays. He’s probably riddled with diseases.”
James intervened before the nanny could be embarrassed in the middle of a hospital waiting room. “It could’ve as easily been me.” Never mind Gwen knew for a fact that both she and James had their flu shots… it had been made very clear to them that nobody was visiting Patrick until needles were in arms. James had quipped that it might prevent him from getting the flu that year. Who knew!
“James…” Cassandra put her hands on his.
“Anyway,” the doctor motioned to a door at the end of the short hallway. “Now’s a good time to see him, Mr. and Mrs. Merange.”
Nobody corrected him. Not even Gwen, who swallowed a lump the size of her oncoming headache down her throat. James shared one exasperated look at her as he stood up, Cassandra’s hand still in his. The look was apologetic, but Gwen knew what it meant. “Sorry, hon. I’ve gotta do this. Be right back.”
Gwen didn’t bother closing the gap between herself and the Welshes. They likewise did not acknowledge her.
Nobody was forbidden from going up to the Patrick’s room door and stealing a peek. Gwen had no intention of doing that. It wasn’t her business. Plenty of people could line up in front of her to see her stepson.
She sat down on a chair on the far side of the room. Fifteen minutes later, she nearly fell asleep.
Suppose it wouldn’t hurt to go get a countdown to when we can go home…
She didn’t look at the Welshes as she tiptoed down the hall – well, flailed down the hall, because getting up on her heels after three shots of liquor and fatigue claiming her did not lend itself to tiptoeing – and quietly approached Patrick’s door. Gwen didn’t know what she expected to behold. A toddler sleeping in a hospital bed made for children his size. His parents quietly discussing what to do now that their son had survived his first real hospitalization since his birth.
Instead, Gwen saw something she knew she was never meant to see.
Both James and Cassandra stood over their son’s bed, silent and full of their private thoughts Gwen would never understand. Cassandra sniffed every few seconds, her red eyes and the tear stains on her cheeks begging someone to take pity on her. The infuriating part? Gwen genuinely did not believe Ms. Welsh did that on purpose. She was so absorbed in the well-being of her little boy that there was no space in her heart or head to seduce everyone into taking care of her.
That’s how she was. Gwen would never understand what it was like to be Cassandra. Cassandra probably barely understood it.
So why was Gwen so surprised to see James wrap his arm around the mother of his child and accept a sob to his chest.
No, it wasn’t the act that surprised her. James was such an empathetic dumbass that he would pick a crying woman off the street and give her a big hug and a wad of cash. That was supposed to be endearing about him. James shirking the mother of his own child, and the girl he once called his best friend, would have been more shocking.
What sliced Gwen open at the gut, however, was how perfect they looked together.
Was there a couple in town that looked more beautiful and natural than James Merange and Cassandra Welsh? No wonder everyone around them thought they would get married.
No wonder people looked at Gwen with shock and disbelief. It wasn’t her pedestrian background that made people reel. It was the fact she wasn’t Cassandra – not even a little bit, not even in the hair, the face, or the demeanor. James’s destiny had marked him as a fated match for a demure woman like Cassandra. The perfect foil to his outgoing yet lovable personality.
Gwen could easily see them as The Meranges, that well-welcomed union of two old families that were always meant to merge. The chuckles about Sarah and Albert would come full circle as their children married and accomplished what they never could in the eyes of the public. James would be the hardworking businessman as he prepared to take over his family’s company and continue to make millions of dollars a week. Cassandra would be the quiet socialite who heralded pet causes and raised her black-haired children to be as kind as their father and as sophisticated as her. How many kids could they have? Three? Four? James had the fortitude to take on a big brood, and Cassandra seemed the type to define herself by her family. The yearly family portraits would be the talk of the country club.
Where could Gwen possibly fit into that? She didn’t have that kind of bond with James. Nor did she look at children with the sort of gaze James begat his son.
I don’t want to see this… The reason Gwen had foregone visiting Patrick didn’t have much to do with how uncomfortable the Welshes made her, and everything to do with James’s destiny to be a dad one day. Where does that leave me?
Gwen put her hand on her stomach and pretended she didn’t have flashbacks to two years ago.
“Please don’t be sick outside of my grandson’s room.” Sarah Welsh approached from behind, keeping her voice down. “He already has the flu. He doesn’t need whatever you have.”
Gwen whipped her head around, ire burning from her throat to her eyes. “Trust me. I don’t want much to do with this.”
“Good Lord.” Sarah looked as if Gwen had doused herself in vinegar. “Are you drunk? You reek of liquor.”
“Didn’t drink any less than James.”
“I’ll pretend that was in English, and inform you that because your man can drink half the alcohol in the room and still stand up, doesn’t mean that it’s becoming of a lady.” Sarah sniffed, gazing into the room. “Not that I expect you to know much about being a lady.”
“You’re right. I don’t. I didn’t go to those fancy boarding and finishing schools.”
“Just the school of hard knocks, right?” That wasn’t true humor in Sarah’s voice, even though she chuckled. “It’s none of my business who the father of my grandchild cavorts with. He’s not married to my daughter, after all.” The way she gazed into the room dictated that she wouldn’t mind the idea, though. “But I will warn you that I will not tolerate any of this…” Sarah flicked her finger in Gwen’s direction, “around my young and impressionable grandson. I hold everyone who comes around him to a high standard.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Gwen turned away from the door before she was truly sick. “I have no intention of butting into your grandson’s life.”
“Curious how you’ll manage that, when James inevitably asks for visitation rights as the boy gets older.”
Gwen didn’t say anything.
“Or do you not plan on being around long enough for that to happen?”
There were a million words swimming in the back of Gwen’s head, but she knew none of them were good enough to speak her mind while putting Madam Welsh in her place. This woman was worse than a mother-in-law. She was a master manipulator. Were people like her even truly capable of love? Did she really love her daughter? Did she really love Albert? Or were they mere pawns to make her feel better, to give her a place in the world?
Where did James fall into Madam Welsh’s plan?
Gwen knew where she fell. Nowhere. If anything, Gwen was a hindrance to the master plan Sarah Welsh had concocted the moment she gave birth to a girl and her lover begat a boy.
It didn’t help that when Gwen glanced back in that room, she was met with every reason James should be with Cassandra instead of her.