Page 84 of Harrison's Wedding

I send her a text.

PLEASE CALL ME. I’M SORRY.

I can only pray that she turns her phone on before she sees any paparazzi at O’Hare. I don’t want to risk it, so I call her again.

“You’ve called Heather York, I’m unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message after the tone and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

“Please, please call me, angel. I love you, and I’m sorry.”

There’s silence in the limousine again as I hang up the call, then go back to my text messages.

PLEASE CALL ME. PLEASE. I’M SORRY.

It sits underneath the previous message I sent that says practically the same thing. I don’t know what else to say. I have texts from Hayden and Sebastian and about five thousand other people, but I don’t give a shit. I only care about Heather.

“Helen told Sebastian the doctors are suspecting GHB poisoning, but it’ll take some time to confirm,” Gabriel says quietly to the car in general.

“Cooper took GHB?” I ask in confusion.

Gabriel gives me a pitying look that I can barely stand. “I did tell you before, but I don’t think you were listening. The doctors think we were all drugged last night at the charity event, Harrison. That’s why…”

He looks over at Maddy, and I follow his gaze. She looks horrified by this revelation.

“We were drugged? Why? How?” she asks, sounding terrified.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “That’s why they want to test us as soon as possible.”

If we were drugged, then what I did last night was because of that. I shake my head as a fresh wave of nausea hits me. It doesn’t matter. Nothing changes what I did. No amount of drugs will change the fact that I cheated on my angel.

I try calling Heather again.

“You’ve called Heather York, I’m unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message after the tone and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

I look away from the rest of the people in the car and out the window. “Angel. I love you, and I’m sorry. Please call me.”

I know that these messages are an admission of guilt. Not that it matters, the paparazzi have evidence of my guilt. I didn’t want to tell her on a voicemail, but they’re probably going to tell her before I can, and it’ll be much worse.

“They’re going to show her the picture,” I moan in distress. “They’re going to show her the picture and she’s going to hate me, and she has every right to.”

“She won’t hate you, Harrison,” Gabriel says.

I give a derisive laugh and turn to look at him. “Yes, she will, and she should.” I turn to look out the window again, because I can’t look into his eyes any longer. “I hate myself.”

“Harrison,” Ariana says in a kind, soft voice. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth,” I whisper.

They don’t respond to my comment, and there’s an awful silence in the car. All I can think about is Heather, so I try calling her again and leave another voicemail.

I close my eyes and imagine Heather sitting on a plane, blissfully unaware that I did the worst thing imaginable to her last night. Images of Maddy in bed with me flash into my mind. Nausea washes over me, and I retch a couple of times. Ariana rummages through her bag quickly and grabs out some tissues, which she passes to me. I manage to not puke, though, probably because there’s nothing left in my stomach to vomit up.

My body’s reaction has distracted me and pushed away the images for now, though, which is a relief. We reach the hospital, and I’m grateful there’s no paparazzi here, yet.

We head into the ER, and I’m incredibly aware of the other patients looking at us. A young woman sees me and immediately starts whispering to the man next to her in hushed tones, and I feel like I might vomit again as a wave of shame hits me with a powerful force.

A nurse sees us and rushes over to us at once. “We already have you admitted Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones.” She glances at the people in the waiting room, then looks at Ariana and Maddy. “We’ll need you ladies to complete admission paperwork as well, but we’ll have you do it once you’re in your rooms if you’ll follow me.”

As she escorts us across the room, a television that’s tuned to a news station flashes up the picture of Maddy and me in bed. I can’t hear what’s being said, but the nausea rolls over me again at the sight of the picture, and there’s a soft moan from someone nearby. I can’t bring myself to look, but I think it’s Maddy, and I feel guilty that I did this to her.

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