Lana plasters a smile on her face. “Yeah, because you eat the pussy of every woman you call a friend.”
Both Sloane and Crowell go rigid. Anger surges through me. I narrow my eyes. “Get out,” I order, even though I want to tell her so much more. She wants drama and I’m not giving it to her.
Josh blows back into the room again and frowns. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing,” I blurt, cursing renegade tears.
“Stop acting so spoiled, Georgiana,” Josh chastises. “You’ll be home soon. We have to leave, kiddies,” he tells Crowell and Lana.
Crowell starts off, then stops at the edge of my bed and touches my foot that’s peeking out from beneath my covers. He squeezes, but I refuse to look at him. I can’t. Whether I like it or not, he’s hurt me deeply.
Without a word, the three of them exit, leaving me alone with Sloane.
Sloane
I can’t stay long. I have prior commitments and I’ve already been spotted. Kiln had to call in additional security to meet us, so I’ll be able to get away from here in one piece. But I couldn’t rest until I saw for myself how Georgie was faring.
As far as I can tell, not good.
“I missed your concert.”
Georgie’s soft voice washes over me. She looks small and vulnerable connected to oxygen and IVs.
“Mmmm.” What else can I say? I fucked my night away, starting with your mother…? “Are they saying when you’re due to be released?”
“No…” Hoarseness catches in her throat and she pauses to clear it. “I’m not sure.”
I touch her flushed cheeks. She’s so damn warm. She has fever. I realize not one fucking nurse has come in to check on her. During my mother’s final days, she had twenty-four hour care. She chose to die at home and got her wish, not that I’m surprised.
Logically, I know Georgie isn’t Mom. Cancer isn’t ravishing her body, but she’s here due to a near-drowning. If she sneezes, medical staff should rush to her side and check on her.
She scratches her cheek. “I wanted to call you and tell you I was here. Not that I would’ve expected you to visit.”
I grin at her and shake my head. “Little liar. Why else would you call me to tell me you’ve been admitted to the hospital?”
Giggling, she shrugs, then frowns. “How did you find out?”
“Your mother,” I admit, not adding anymore.
She misconstrues my words and smiles happily. “Mom told you for me? I must’ve really told her how disappointed I was. Here I thought I’d dreamed the conversation.”
More than likely she had, but I won’t burst her bubble. Instead, I nod toward the door. “Crowell?”
Either the name or the question in my tone—or both—startle her. Guilt darkens her eyes and she chews on her lower lip. “What about him?”
A fucking lot. That’s what about him, but I stay silent, wrestling my temper under control.
“He’s all I have.”
Of that I have no doubt. This is too much for me. Little by little, I feel myself getting in deeper with her.
“You should have more than your drug supplier to rely on.”
Her purple eyes flash. Her eyes remind me of violets in winter, isolated in a sea of frost, a burst of brilliance exposed to a cold world.
Violets. Lilacs. Aster. Iris. Her eye color can’t be penned into a singular description, despite how much I try. Much like Georgie herself.
Hounded by my inability to forget her, I look at the clock on the wall and her face crumples.
“Feel better, Georgiana,” I tell her.
Though she nods, she turns her head away. I’m almost to the door when her soft voice reaches me. “Bye, Sloane.”
Instead of stopping, I continue walking. Considering my intentions with her mother and father today, I shouldn’t have visited her at all.
The false hope I offer her tortures both of us. Kiln and Pres lounge by the elevator, so they can’t interrupt a small crowd who swarm me. Three nurses, a doctor, and a couple of patient visitors.
Signing autographs and interacting with the Phoenicians never gets old, therefore, the burden I feel as I do this shocks me. My mind is elsewhere, however, on Georgie, and her sweetness when she bid me farewell.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m in the SUV, heading to Parnell and Cassandra. 288 is backed up with vehicles and I grit my teeth. Life leaps by on this fucking highway. More time is wasted in bumper-to-bumper traffic than actual movement. It takes another thirty minutes to reach the Southwest Freeway, where we find more of the same. If an accident happens, we’ll be stuck for hours. At the thought, I consider a helicopter to get me from place-to-place, if I ever find myself in the city again.
When we exit on Weslayan, the anticipation I should feel turns to dread. Cassandra’s image floats into my head, but, Georgie keeps interfering.