Page 20 of Notorious

But no one needs this many sleeping pills. I turn the bottles around and read the labels carefully. The dates they were filled are a month apart. Like he’s been hoarding the medication.

Am I wrong?

I can’t be wrong again.

It’s none of my business … but how many people have silently cried out for help and gotten no answer because they’ve kept things private that needed to be discussed?

Johnny might hate me for what I’m about to do, because it’s nosy AF, but I can justify it in a number of ways. I discovered the pills by accident, I’m curious, and he’s my damn husband.

Most importantly, though, I’m not going to fuck up by missing signals again. I don’t know how I could’ve prevented what Andrei did, but that hasn’t stopped me from wishing I had every single day for the past seventeen years.

If Johnny needs help, I’ll help him. Even if he doesn’t want it. More important to stop him and risk being out of line than to stay quiet and wish I’d said something.

If I’m wrong … god, I hope I’m wrong. I’ll gladly take that outcome over the alternative.

I take a deep breath and open the bathroom door.

“Hey, Johnny?” I ask, walking out wearing a tux shirt and no pants, holding up three orange bottles of pills. “Are you feeling okay?”

He’s sitting on the couch looking out the window. When he sees what I’m carrying, his bare shoulders stiffen. I don’t lose eye contact with him, even though I’d normally be distracted by his pecs.

Finally, after a moment, he says, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Then why do you have eight full bottles of”—I say the name of the drug, trying not to let my shaky hands rattle the containers.

He glares at me, crossing his arms over his chest, making it harder to not look at it. “That’s really none of your business.”

I set the bottles on the bed. My phone buzzes on the table, and I ignore it. My pulse is pounding in my ears. “I know it isn’t. But I … I couldn’t live with myself if those pills were … I know this is awkward, and it’s not my place. I didn’t mean to pry. I just … It seems weird that you have them. Because aren’t those for sleeping? Why do you need so many?”

Johnny sighs and bites his lip. Then he startles and says, “Shit,” and grabs his phone. He swipes and scrolls, then clicks a few things, and his shoulders relax back down.

“You okay there?” I ask.

He nods.

Not a good answer. I’m pushing him. If he has some kind of prescription drug problem, well, since he’s my husband, don’t I have the right to know? Even in this fucked-up situation?

My phone buzzes again. I ignore it again, figuring it’s better to run roughshod over things that aren’t my business than have someone end up overdosing. “Johnny, we don’t know each other, but maybe that could make it easier for you to talk to me. Why do you have so many sleeping pills?”

Johnny gives me a hard stare. I think he’s debating whether or not he’s going to open up to me. He’s really got no reason to. Finally, he seems to come to a decision. His next words are quiet, and his eyes are full of pain. “I was going to take those last night.”

“A dose?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

“All of them.”

My knees buckle, and my stomach plummets to the ground floor of this high-rise hotel. “Two hundred and forty pills?” I whisper. “That’s enough to kill a horse.” My phone sounds insistently, and I pick it up with a huff, silencing it. “Fuck, not now.”

Johnny’s voice is raspy. “I’m not as big as a horse, but yeah, that’s the idea.”

No. Absolutely not.

No wonder he was treating last night like the last night of his life. Because in his mind, it was.

Fuck.

I’m going to hyperventilate.

Paige, my campaign manager, is texting me. I hit ignore again and try to control my breathing, when really I want to let out a primal scream. I pad over to Johnny and gingerly sit down next to him on the couch, feeling like he’s a bomb about to go off. I want to comfort him, but would he let me?

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