Page 146 of It Happened on a Sunday
My throat tightens up so much at his words that I don’t trust myself to speak. I do, however, take the guitar, because maybe Jace is right. At the moment, I’m willing to try anything.
I’m silent as I walk Bianca through the maze of hallways that makes up the intensive care unit. But about halfway to Sloane’s room, she says, “You look like you just lost the last fight in a tabloid cage match.”
“That’s about how I feel, too.”
She nods, her lips pressed together like she wants to tell mesomething but isn’t sure she’s going to. I want to tell her that whatever she’s got to say to me is nothing compared to what I’m saying to myself. But I don’t, because she loves Sloane, and if telling me off will make her feel better, she deserves the chance.
“I was prepared not to like you,” she finally says as we round the last corner.
“Fair enough,” I answer. I don’t like myself very much right now, either.
“But you look like you’ve been suffering right along with her. And while I’m pissed as shit at your agent, I think you should cut yourself a little bit of slack. I’m a manager, and while I’m very transparent with Sloane, there are still a lot of things she doesn’t know. Not because I’m hiding them, but because she doesn’t need to.”
She takes a long breath as we stop in front of Sloane’s room, then blows it out slowly as she reaches for the door handle. “What I’m saying is, if your agent was actively trying to hide whatever the fuck vendetta she’s got against Sloane, you never would have seen it. Not unless she wanted you to.”
I have no idea what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. Just take a deep breath of my own as Bianca pushes open the door.
I can barely bring myself to look in there. Can barely bring myself to face her knowing I’m the reason all this is happening. Knowing I’m the reason she’s clinging to life by a string. Only the fact that I’m carrying her guitar gets me over the threshold—that, and the fact that it’s been nearly half an hour since I last checked on Sloane. I need to see for myself that she’s still breathing, still alive.
It breaks me all over again to see her looking exactly the same as when I left her. Pale. Bright-red hair the only shock of color against the white hospital sheets. Like she’s asleep, but not the kind that brings rest. The kind that steals time.
“She hasn’t moved,” Pauline says as she puts the book downand stands to hug Bianca.
“Jace sent her guitar.” I take it out of the case and lean it against the wall in the space between the bed and Pauline’s chair. Right where she can reach it when,not if, she wakes up. “I think he was hoping you might play her something.”
Pauline nods but doesn’t say anything. I can see it’s not because she doesn’t want to—it’s because she’s as choked up as I am.
So instead of trying to say anything else, I press a hand to Sloane’s foot, squeeze slightly so she knows I’m here, and manage to choke out, “I’m sorry,” before I head for the door with some vague thought of getting the fuck out before I hurt Sloane any more.
Only to run straight into Camila.
“When did you get here?” I ask, confused.
“I’ve been here all along,” she replies. “I was parking the car, but then Lucia called and said you were still in your suit from last night, so I went and grabbed you a change of clothes. You’re welcome.”
“Thanks. I’m more than ready to get out of this damn dress shirt.” I glance down at her empty hands. “Where’s the bag?”
“Not so fast.” She links arms with me and starts pulling me down the hall. “You get it after you eat.”
“I’m not hungry—” I start.
“Yeah, that’s what I heard. But abuela Ximena is freaking out about you, so you’re going to take a few bites of something at least.”
“I already feel like shit,” I tell her even as I allow her to drag me toward the waiting room. “You really think manipulation is the way to go?”
“Whatever works,” she shoots back. But instead of taking a left to get to the waiting room, she drags me to the right.
“This isn’t the—”
“Will you just let someone else be in charge for a second?” she huffs as she steers me to the middle of the hallway and a glass door markedOutdoor Patio.
A quick glance through one of the windows tells me Lucia and abuela Ximena are already outside, waiting.
When I shoot Camila a questioning look, she shrugs. “I was perfectly happy in the waiting room, but abuela figured you wouldn’t want Sloane’s entire team listening in on the conversation we’re about to have.”
And with those ominous words, she pushes the door open and heads outside.
Chapter 64
