Page 144 of It Happened on a Sunday
“We called her office to see where she’s staying. Police are on their way to her hotel now,” he answers. “We’re trying to track down where she got the pills—”
“They’re hers,” I say dully as now—too late—I realize why Marco’s mention of pink pills struck me so hard earlier. Because I’ve seen Vivian take them for years. I figured they were for her headaches but never asked what they were, as that seemed intrusive.
What a joke.Intrusiveis trying to murder my girlfriend and then acting like you’re the hero doing your best to save my career from her drug overdose. Or maybe that’s just insanity.
It has to be, right? Because no normal person does this. Nobody who is okay casually dumps a bunch of oxycodone in thealcoholicdrink of one of the most famous pop stars in the world and goes on about their evening. Do they?
“Why?” I ask, even though I know Marco doesn’t have an answer. I don’t even have an answer, and I’m the only one who could. Considering the way Vivian is still blowing up my phone, I can only assume the police haven’t gotten to her yet.
“I don’t know. But we’re going to try to find out,” Marcoassures me. “I’m heading over to the police station now—I want to be there when they bring her in. Once we have some answers, Sloane’s publicity team will feed them to the press.”
It’s a heads-up that things are about to get ugly, but I don’t give a shit. Vivian made this mess herself. Now she can deal with the fallout. “Okay.”
“Is there any reason you can think of for why she would do this? Any comment she’s made that didn’t seem strange at the time but—”
“Dolls,” I tell him as all the weird pieces of the last few months start coalescing in my head.
Marco’s eyes go sharp. “What about them?”
“Vivian collects dolls. We don’t talk about it, but I know her husband, my former agent, used to buy them for her several times a year. Apparently, she’s got an extensive collection.”
“And you think she might have sent those dolls to Sloane?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “The thought never occurred to me before, but now…”Now the answer seems pretty fucking clear.
“We’ll look into it,” Marco promises grimly.
“Keep me posted,” I say. Not because I plan on doing anything to help Vivian out of this mess, but because I want to know why. I stuck with Vivian when Joe died, kept her on as my agent because she promised to do her best by me.
If this is her best, I’m not strong enough to imagine her worst. Nor do I want to think about what else she’s done in the years she’s been working for me. Because someone who can do this has no boundaries. God only knows who else she’s hurt.
And I never had a fucking clue. I handed her my trust, and she wielded it like a weapon.
As I watch Marco walk away, guilt hits me so hard my legs threaten to buckle beneath me. But apparently Lucia and abuela Ximena have been beside me the whole time. They grab my arms and get me into a chair before I hit the ground.
What the fuck? What the actual fuck? How could I have been so naive?Again?I trusted Grant with Lucia, and I trusted Vivian with Sloane.
And both times, people I love paid the price.
I promised Sloane I would protect her, promised myself I’d keep her safe no matter what. And instead I invited her stalker—her would-bemurderer—right into her fucking inner circle.
“It’s going to be okay, Sly,” my abuela tells me over and over again as she pats my knee, her favorite rosary dangling between her fingers. “It’s all going to work out.”
“How?” I demand, and my voice sounds like all the screaming I’ve been doing on the inside has rubbed my throat raw. “How is it going to be okay?”
Her hand pauses in midair. “I don’t know yet,” she whispers. “But I’ve noticed in life that things always work out how they’re supposed to, even if we can’t see it at the time.”
“And if Sloane dies?” I manage to grind out. “How does that fit with the whole ‘things always work out’ theory?”
“I don’t know, mijito.” She shakes her head, raising a hand to stroke my hair the way she always did when I was scared as a child. “We can only keep the faith, keep believing that Sloane is going to be okay.”
I stand up, because if I sit still for one more second, I’m going to explode.
“This is all my fault,” I tell my family. “I did this to her.”
“No, you didn’t,” my abuela tells me. “Viviandid this to her.”
But that’s minutia.I’mthe one who fell for Sloane.I’mthe one who pursued her. The one who brought Vivian into her life. And I’m the one who was holding her damn drink while my agent poisoned her.
