hadn’t been there? Where’s Julian? Have you been taking your meds? When was the last time you were really checked by a doctor?”
Rolling my eyes, I face the opposite wall, and her manicured fingernail jerks my chin back.
“I can be just as much of a stubborn bitch as you. Remember, you’re responsible for another person now, and it’s counting on you to not be a self-righteous ass.” Smirking, she pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Or maybe you’d prefer to answer Julian instead?”
The second she hits the speaker button on the phone, I lunge. Cursing, I snatch it out of her hand, quickly disconnecting the call. “Jesus Christ, Faith! What happened to girl code?”
Retrieving her phone, she deposits it back into her pocket. “It became null and void when you left me with a threat of having to stick my hand up your vag and deliver your kid.”
I laugh despite my annoyance. Glancing upward, my eyes followed the trail of tubes to a slow dripping IV bag. I hate hospitals. Every hospital I’ve ever been in was because someone had put me there.
My mother drove erratically trying to escape my abusive father, and we were hit by a drunk driver.
My father tried to end my life during what should’ve been one of the happiest times of self-discovery.
Julian’s sociopathic female bandmate had such a delusional obsession with him that she tried to murder me—twice.
If I had my way, I’d have a home birth.
“Why were you in my house?” I repeat. “We just moved in. Only Ryker knows we’re in town.”
Julian’s brother, Ryker, and the rest of the band had moved to the West Coast two weeks earlier. We stayed in Manhattan so Julian could tie up loose ends. I spent the time completing stacks of paperwork to sublet my apartment to a co-worker from my job at Vinyl magazine.
“You’ve already asked me that question,” Faith says, pursing her lips.
“Then you should’ve answered the first time.”
She rests her cheek on her palm, her elbow propped up on the chair. “Okay, quid pro quo. You answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours.”
Arguing with her is pointless. Faith’s rich studio executive husband owns a public relations firm in Hollywood and gave it to her as a wedding gift. But Faith is no trophy wife. She’s a shark among guppy models and bottom-feeding actresses. She bullshits people for a living. The woman could talk a celebrity client out of being caught cheating on his wife red-handed and have the media apologizing for wasting her time.
Yeah, she’s that good.
“Fine,” I concede. “The band’s doing some publicity thing in Phoenix. Yes, I’ve taken my meds, and I went to the doctor before we left New York. Does that cover it?”
“Not even.” She smirks, crossing her arms. “What happened tonight?”
I stare at her, my humor gone. “I meant for you to answer my questions now.”
“And I meant to have Leonardo DiCaprio as a client, a husband that doesn’t fuck around on me, and a yacht by the time I turned twenty-five. We don’t always get what we want?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Really? Well, if you don’t answer me, I’ll scream for security and tell them you’re one of Julian’s crazy-ass fans.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
A silent dare dances in her eyes. Moving my finger over to the call nurse button, I continue to stare. With no reaction, I grin and sink my finger deep into the groove.
Cursing, she scrambles to her feet. “Shit! I didn’t really think you’d do it.”
I motion to her empty chair. “I’m waiting.”
She raises both palms in defeat. “Damn it, okay. Zane told me you guys were in LA. I wanted to surprise you. There, are you happy?”
“Zane?” Undeniable sparks flew between them during the surprise birthday party Julian threw for me back in the fall, but Faith’s a married woman, albeit unhappily. I assumed the harmless flirting ended that night.
“We’re just friends,” she warns.
“That’s exactly what I told Julian about us.”
Her mouth opens for rebuttal when the hospital room door flies open and two nurses come barreling inside. One of them frantically drags a blood pressure machine behind her, while the other slaps my arm in the cuff and shoves a thermometer into my mouth.
I yank the thermometer from between my lips. “What the hell?”
A heavyset older nurse glances at me nervously. “You pushed the emergency button. We, uh, well, we know who you are.”
The younger nurse interrupts with a clipped tone. “Lynn!”
The nurse glances at her colleague unapologetically. “Oh, like she doesn’t know.”