The Ex (3 page)
“So,” he said when he lifted his mouth from mine, “tell me about your day.”
* * * *
“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey,” Neil called cheerfully as he flicked on the lights. I hated,
hated
that I had ever used that phrase in front of him. Although, it wasn’t as poor a choice as telling him about the “rise and shine and give God your glory, glory!” bible camp song. Having a tone-deaf Englishman sing that at you before dawn is probably what actual hell is like.
“Why?” I let the word draw out in a long, frustrated groan into my pillow. “I was going to sleep in.”
“I thought you might like to run with me. You never run with me anymore.” If the observation had sounded petulant, I would have been miffed, but he was right; at the beginning of our relationship, a brisk Saturday morning run through Central Park had been part of our routine.
But it wasn’t the season for outdoor running, and since Central Park was two hours away, I doubted it was in the cards for today. “I hate the treadmill. And you’re so competitive.”
“I promise, I won’t look at your settings,” he vowed. “It’s going to be a lovely, snowy day. Why not get up, have a jog, then I’ll make us breakfast, and we can spend all day by the fire, just the two of us.”
The bed was so warm. And so lovely. But so was Neil. I had been working a lot lately, and he hadn’t complained one bit, even when I’d spent nights in the city. He’d bought me this sprawling, ocean-view mansion because I hadn’t wanted to be trapped in Manhattan, and I kept abandoning him—and it—to run back to our old apartment. If all he demanded in return was the occasional workout companionship, I supposed I couldn’t begrudge him that.
“Okay.” I stretched and forced myself to sit up. “I’m in. Give me ten to brush my teeth and get dressed.”
I stumbled to the dressing room. I was nearly at the door when the phone rang, and I paused. “Who would be calling us this early?”
“I’ll answer it. You should get changed,” he advised with a smirk as he reached for the cordless handset. “Tight yoga pants, maybe. And that pink sports bra you’re always complaining doesn’t have enough support.”
“Perv.” I laughed and left him to deal with whoever was calling at—I checked the time on one of Neil’s dinner-plate-sized watches and groaned—seven in the freaking morning.
When Neil and I had first started dating, my closet situation had involved a pipe my landlord had expressly warned us not to hang stuff on. I’d had a lot less space back then, and a lot less clothing. One of the perks of being engaged to a billionaire—and there were, well, billions of perks—was the ridiculous amount of clothing a fashion-obsessed girl could buy, and the lavish space to hang it in. The dressing room in the master bedroom was bigger than some Manhattan boutiques I’d been in, with similar features. The overhead lighting was bright, but soft, and twin trifold mirrors on either side of the room cut back on our “getting ready” arguments.
I loved my fiancé, but he was vain as hell and a total mirror hog. And there was only room for one of those per closet.
Down the center of the room were two huge, glass-topped consoles to hold his watches and cufflinks and my jewelry, except for my diamond collar, which stayed locked in a safe. Our shoes were lined up neatly on a wall of custom shelves, and I plucked my sneakers from the bottom row. I grabbed the yoga pants Neil had suggested—my ass
is
pretty fantastic, and giving him a treat wouldn’t hurt—but passed up the weak sports bra for something with a little less jiggle. I don’t have the biggest rack in the world, but unsecured boobs are no fun on a treadmill.
I dressed, tied my shoes, pulled my hair up in a ponytail and headed back out to the bedroom. Since he wasn’t talking anymore, I figured he was off the phone.
“Who was it?” I asked.
Neil was on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his hands over his face. It wasn’t until he sat up and I saw how red and wet his eyes were that I realized he was crying. He hiccupped back a breath, and his face crumpled as he said, “My mum’s died.”
CHAPTER TWO
We flew to London that evening.
Emma and Michael joined us in our private jet, despite Neil’s protest that his daughter was far too pregnant to travel.
“Daddy, I’m going. Besides the second trimester is the perfect time to travel, it says so on all the websites,” she’d pleaded. “Please, I can’t miss Gran’s funeral. I’ll never feel right about it.”
Michael had even dared to challenge his father-in-law, something he’d rarely done in the past. “Sorry, Mr. Elwood, but I’m afraid I have to overrule you on this one. We can either come with you, or I can get us on a commercial flight, where the pilot isn’t from the charter company you’ve carefully selected based on safety rating.”
Neil might have been tough in the boardroom, but he was nothing when up against the only man who loved Emma as much as he did.
“How are you doing, Daddy?” she asked as she returned to her seat across the aisle from him. She’d been drinking ginger ale on the flight to battle nausea, and she swirled the ice in her glass. Her nose was stuffy from the occasional cry she’d been having. Between motion sickness and grief, she looked thoroughly miserable.
“As well as can be expected, under the circumstances.” Neil tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “As well as the Valium tells me I am.”
I took his hand and squeezed it.
We landed at Heathrow at seven A.M. local time, where the car service picked us up to drive us to our house in Belgravia. We hadn’t been to London in a long time, over a year for me. Neil had flown back for business once, but I wondered if the house would feel weird to me now.
When we arrived, though, it was just like coming home. Neil staggered through the door—I wasn’t sure how much Valium he’d taken, but he’d been pretty out of it since we’d landed—and I had to practically hold him up.
“Whoa,” Michael said, catching Neil as I slumped under his weight.
“Yeah, um, Daddy doesn’t take grief well,” Emma said, loud enough to be heard over our struggle to keep Neil from weaving into the wall. “Let’s get him upstairs.”
The three of us steered him into the elevator and miraculously got him into the bedroom. Michael helped him to the bed, where Neil sprawled across the duvet.
“Make sure he sleeps on his side,” Michael advised grimly.
“You guys go ahead. I’ve got him from here,” I assured them, though Emma still looked worried. Her gaze darted to her father one last time before she closed the door.
When they’d left the room, I sat beside Neil on the bed and stroked his hair back from his forehead. “You’re not just on Valium.”
His eyebrows rose, but his eyes didn’t open, and he slurred from the corner of his mouth, “No, I’m not.”
A feeling of foreboding prickled over my skin. When he’d been going through chemotherapy, Neil had struggled with suicidal thoughts. The PTSD that lingered after his agonizing stay in isolation in the intensive care unit was always a threat in the back of my mind; I wondered if I should call an ambulance. “Neil, what did you take?”
“Holli gave me some special candy.”
Holli!
I would so kick her ass when I saw her next. Not that it was her fault. We hadn’t seen her since before his mother passed, so she would have given him the weed candy during a happier time. I just wanted to direct my anger somewhere. “How much Valium did you take?”
“Four milligrams,” he mumbled into the duvet.
“Not more than that?” When he didn’t answer, I snapped, “Neil! Did you take anything else?”
He shook his head then let out an exhausted sigh. “I had some scotch on the plane.”
Because Neil had gone through chemo in London, I still had his general practitioner’s emergency number in my phone. I sighed and hit “call” on the screen.
Dr. Hearn was a physician I’d only spoken to twice during Neil’s treatment, but he seemed warm and affable. He also made bank with Neil as a private patient, so I wasn’t worried about calling too early.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hi, Dr. Hearn, this is Sophie Scaife, calling about Neil Elwood.”
“Oh dear, he isn’t having trouble again, is he?” The man’s voice—I imagined him as a kind, older gentleman with sympathetic eyes, since I’d never seen him in person—was tinged with alarm.
“Not the leukemia, no.” I chewed my thumbnail. “His mom died—”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Dr. Hearn interjected into my slight pause.
“Thank you. Um, he…took some…drugs. And now I’m concerned.” Was Neil going to get arrested? Would he get in trouble?
“What kind of drugs?” The friendly tone was gone from Dr. Hearn’s speech, replaced by instant clinical concern.
“He took four milligrams of Valium, some scotch on the flight here, and some marijuana hard candies. I don’t know how effective they are, but they must have been pretty good, because his speech is slurred, he can barely walk, and he’s blacking out.” I really hated what I was going to say next. “I don’t know how to put this delicately, but it would be unfortunate if this required an emergency room visit.”
More than unfortunate. Neil wasn’t as famous as a movie star, but since his retirement, he’d had more time to attend social events, and his face had begun showing up in the society pages. He wasn’t
the
most famous billionaire in the world, but he was high profile enough that a trip to the ER while ODing had the potential to be publicly embarrassing. He didn’t need that on top of grieving his mother. Emma didn’t need that on top of losing her grandma.
“Oh, no, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Dr. Hearn said. “Four milligrams isn’t a heavy dose. My only concern over this interaction would be for his respiration. Do you know how to check respiration and heart rate?”
Did I ever. I just wished I wasn’t having to track those functions again. “Yes, from before.”
“Take those vital signs every fifteen minutes for the next few hours, and should there be anything wrong, ring me. Try to get some coffee into him, if he can wake up enough to drink it.” Hearn sounded weary. I wondered how many of his patients did this on the reg.
I thanked him and hung up then turned back to Neil. If I stayed there a moment longer watching him snore and half smother in the bed, I was going to be mad enough to pack my bags.
Kneeling beside him, I shoved at his shoulder. I couldn’t roll him, so I slapped his cheek. One eye peeled slowly open. I smacked him again.
“I’m awake!” His indignation was made somewhat less serious since he sounded like he was talking with a mouth full of hot oatmeal.
“I called your doctor. I need you to try to wake up. I’m going to go get you some coffee.” I was so pissed. He reached for me, and I dodged his hand. I didn’t want to comfort him.
For as fuming angry as I was, when I got out to the hallway, I lost all sense of purpose. This was such bullshit. I’d already done the medical panic thing with him more times than I cared to count. I didn’t want to do this again. It was unfair of him to put me in this position.
I went to find Emma and Michael, and I lucked out on my way down the stairs. Michael was quietly closing the door to Emma’s room, and I motioned for him to come over.
“What’s up?” he asked with a slight frown.
“Is Emma taking a nap?” It would be so awesome if we didn’t have to worry her with this.
Michael nodded. “Yeah, she’s completely wiped out. How’s Mr. Elwood?”
“He’s…” I glanced to Emma’s door and lowered my voice. “He’s kind of ODing on some stuff, right now.”
Could you OD on marijuana? I didn’t think you could.
“Jesus!” Michael swore. “We have to call an ambulance.”
“No, no. I already talked to his doctor.” I pressed my fingertips to my forehead. “He’s going to be fine. He’s just having an interaction between a ton of THC and Valium. But I need to get coffee in him, and I don’t want to leave him alone. Can you go up there and see if you can keep him awake?”
“Yeah, no problem.” He smiled a grim sort of smile. “Did that for plenty of my fraternity buddies.”
“Great. Thanks.” I was halfway down the next set of stairs before I realized how weird it sounded for me to say “great” in response to his admission that a bunch of his friends had gotten life-threateningly fucked up.
In the kitchen, I made the strongest coffee in the world by using a French press and way too little water. It was like sludge. I hoped Neil hated it.
Emma had said her father didn’t handle grief well. Was this a common occurrence in the face of it, then? I was about to marry this man; it was something I needed to know.
I slipped my phone from my back pocket and blew out a long breath. I didn’t want to make this call. Oh, how I did not want to make this call. But I needed someone who knew Neil, and who wouldn’t hesitate to tell me something that might make me reconsider my relationship with him.
I hated myself, but I hit the call button.
* * * *
“On and off. Michael is with him, right now, trying to sober him up. Here, let me get your coat.” I helped Valerie out of her burgundy duster and took it to the closet to hang it up.
“I should go up and see Emma.” Valerie already had her foot on the first step. She and Neil were so alike in their shared worry for their daughter. Despite my personal disagreements with Valerie, there was no denying she was a good, loving mother.
Which is why I knew she would understand when I said, “No, don’t. She’s sleeping. She doesn’t know any of this is going on. Michael and I are trying to keep it quiet, because the flight was hard on her. Neil should be okay in a few hours.”
Valerie frowned. “I’m confused, Sophie. Why, exactly, am I here if I’m not needed?”
“You are needed.” It was the hardest thing I’d ever had to say to another human being. “I need you. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
She looked irritated but followed me into the kitchen.
“Should I put the kettle on?” I asked, gesturing toward the electric kettle. “I finally figured out how to use this.”
“Sophie, I flew in this morning, as well, and I am exhausted, as I’m sure you are. We don’t particularly enjoy each other’s company, so be direct with me.” She pressed her fingertips to her temple, like a person in an Advil commercial.
“Fine.” The faster I got her out of my house the better, in my opinion. “You knew Neil back when his father died. Did anything like this happen then?”
She froze like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.
I took advantage of the moment to add, “I’m about to marry him, Valerie. I need to know.”
After our huge blow up the night before Emma’s wedding, a fight in which I’d threatened Valerie with physical violence and boasted of my ability to manipulate her right out of Neil’s life—not my finest moment as a human being—she had no reason to participate in a difficult heart-to-heart with me. But she cared about Neil, and I hoped it would be enough to get me the answers I was dreading.
“Oh, Sophie. I apologize for being so brusque. Of course you’re concerned about this.” Every trace of irritation or dislike of me vanished from her expression. She looked genuinely remorseful. After a pause, she answered, “Yes. When Leif died, Neil did something very similar to this. Only then, he ended up in the hospital.”
“This time, it was Valium and pot and booze,” I told her, sliding onto a stool on the other side of the island.
Valerie leaned against the fridge. “Sleeping pills and vodka.”
A chill went up my spine. “You don’t think he was…”
“No.” She shook her head to reinforce her answer. “I don’t believe he was suicidal. You know Neil and his need for control. This is just a manifestation of that. If he can’t will himself to stop feeling, he’ll drink himself into a stupor or reach for the Klonopin. I’m amazed he’s hid it from you for this long.”
“He didn’t.” I just hadn’t noticed the pattern. When Emma had gotten married, he’d responded to his grief at “losing” his daughter by keeping his blood alcohol level up. After our abortion, he’d bought weed. Any difficult conversation? Alcohol was there.
The room around me seemed to vibrate, but it was just sudden, relentless tension in my skull.
“Sophie? Are you all right?” Valerie stepped forward, and I waved her back.
“Just a little…” I tried to breathe to calm my nerves, but it didn’t help. “Anxiety attack.” My chest buckled, and in a horrifying split second, I started outright sobbing in front of Valerie. And I couldn’t stop. I’d never felt so hopelessly stupid and willfully blind in my entire life. I wanted to storm upstairs and shake him. I wanted to demand to know why he hadn’t told me. Did he even know?
I clutched the countertop and focused on the light from the skylights overhead making the granite glitter under my fingers. Over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears, I heard water running then Valerie’s high-heeled boots clacking on the tile.
“Shhh,” Valerie soothed, dabbing my forehead with a cold, wet tea towel and a motherly touch. “You’re all right.”