The Ex (The Boss 4)

Thankfully, she was still in Kind Valerie mode. She nodded and assured me, “This will all come out all right, Sophie. You’re a smart girl, and you love each other. The two of you will work it out.”

Why did that actually make me feel better?

“I’m going to go,” she continued. “I don’t want to be here when Emma wakes up. She’ll realize something is amiss.”

Though my legs were still shaking, I walked Valerie to the door. “Thank you,” I said, quiet so that my voice wouldn’t travel up the echo-prone center stairwell. “For everything, Valerie.”

She nodded, her gaze drifting to the staircase. “Thank you, for protecting Emma from this.” She paused, and her next words were pained; they came at a great cost, I knew. With her hand on the door, she said, “And for taking care of him.”

She left, and I stood staring at the door for a long moment. Once again, the woman had left me speechless.

* * * *

Dr. Hearn’s prescription of coffee and constant wake-up pokes was exactly what Neil needed, though he refused to recognize it.

“I don’t know what all the fuss was about,” he told me, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sat swaying on the edge of the bed, and though his speech was still a bit slurred, he was mostly with it. “I wouldn’t do anything irresponsible, I just wanted—”

“Don’t you ever do this to me again.” I went from tired and defeated to furious and trembling in three-point-five. Which, I assumed, was fast. It had to do with cars, and I’d heard Neil use the phrase before. Which just went to show how pissed off I was. I couldn’t even think of my own idioms.

Neil squinted at me in annoyance. He was annoyed? He hadn’t just had the “by the way, your fiancé is an addict” conversation with one of my exes.

The worst thing Neil can do in an argument with me is try to act like he’s being totally reasonable and I’m the one out of my mind. It only enrages me further, making him seem even more collected in comparison. He tried that now. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting, just a bit? It isn’t as though I swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills.”

“No, just Valium and scotch and enough marijuana hard candy to make me want to call the hospital!” My anger was like a jackhammer inside my body, shaking my bones. “Can you imagine how upsetting that would be to Emma? If you were in the hospital, again? And during her grandmother’s funeral?”

He glanced sideways at me but didn’t maintain eye contact. When he spoke, it was in the maddening, controlled voice that always s

ounded as if he were scolding me. “I’m in pain, Sophie. My mother has just died.”

“Don’t use that angry dad voice on me. It’s not intimidating.” I paced the room, from the door to the fireplace to the window. “I understand that you’re hurting, but that doesn’t mean you can be reckless. You need to be present this week. Your brothers and sister are going to need you. Your daughter needs you.”

“And who do I need, Sophie?” he demanded. “Who will be there for me, in all of this, this obligation you’re heaping on me?”

“I will, you big dumbass!”

Neil’s expression of outrage was somewhat spoiled by the twitches at the corners of his mouth. I couldn’t stay at my level of upset, either. I was too exhausted, and as far as angry retorts went, that one hadn’t been my best. It would be foolish to keep fighting.

Bleary eyed, Neil patted the bed beside him. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

I sat, still reluctant to make it seem like all was forgiven. “I called Valerie.”

“Why did you do that?” He squinted slightly, a deep vertical line of confusion appearing between his brows.

“I needed help. I wanted to keep this from Emma.” With a shaky breath, I added, “And I had to know what was up with all this. She said you’ve done this before.”

There was a catch to the beginning of his exhale, and that soft noise dashed any hope I had about this being an easy conversation. He’d already lapsed back into Sophie-is-overreacting mode. “Valerie has known me for a long time. I’m sure she had a lengthy list of my faults catalogued.”

“Don’t blame this on Valerie. You’re the one who fucked up,” I said softly. I took his hand in mine. “I need you to go back to therapy. When we get back home, I want you to make some calls.”

“I don’t need any more therapy.” It had been a touchy subject between us, since he’d stopped seeing the counselor he’d consulted in New York. I’d thought he could use more time. He’d wanted to be better so badly, he’d gone to this whole new level of denial and declared himself just fine.

“Then, you need AA. But I’m not sure how ‘A’ it’s going to be.” I didn’t need to remind him of that. We’d been under some increased scrutiny since my book had come out, and since Emma’s lavish wedding had been gushed over by “society.” Whoever those people were.

“Fine, I’ll call.” He lifted my hand to his lips to kiss it. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“We’ll talk about it later. Let’s just get through this week. I know it’s going to be hard for you.” I searched his expression for any indication of grief or sadness. Mainly, he just looked tired.

“It will be. I suspect I won’t fall apart until after the funeral, though. At the moment, I’m just…numb.” He shrugged. “It was this way when my father died. It was so sudden, I shut down.”