Page 89 of Harrison's Wedding

“You were roofied?” Heather gasps, “Who else?”

I can’t answer immediately, because I’m deluged with memories of last night. I shudder and push away the visions of Maddy in bed with me.

Finally, I’m able to say in a dull voice, “Everyone at our table. They don’t think it was anyone else at the event, just us. They’re guessing it was in the wine that we got served.”

“Is everyone okay?” Heather asks quietly after a moment.

“Aside from Cooper, yes. From what I know, Hayden made it up to his room alone and passed out, Sebastian fucked at least four different women, while Gabriel and Ariana had an epic night together.”

The words are bitter in my mouth, especially knowing that Hayden managed to get up to his room alone. Why could that not have been me?

“And you fucked Maddy,” Heather says in an icy tone, and I’m reminded why I couldn’t get up to my room alone…because I’m a piece of shit.

“I’m sor—” I start to apologize without thinking, before I manage to cut the word off. I change tack, telling her, “The rest of Cooper’s team, I’m not sure about. I haven’t really spoken to them.”

“Just Maddy,” she adds.

I can’t speak; the images of Maddy naked in the shower while I kissed her come into my mind. I struggle to push them away, but they’re replaced with others. Her giving me head. Riding me in bed. Flirting with me at dinner.

Every time I manage to push one away, another one takes its place, and I think that I might be sick, but I don’t want to subject Heather to that. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and work hard to push the images away.

Heather finally speaks, “I love you, Harrison. When will you be home? We’ll need to talk.”

“I’m not sure,” I say, wishing that I had an answer. “I’ll call you and let you know.”

“Can you text instead?” she asks. “I think it’s probably better if we stick to those until you get home.”

My heart shatters in my chest. My angel definitely hates me. She doesn’t even want to speak to me, and I’m in an intense amount of pain right now. I wish that I could go back to last night and not do what I did.

I manage to tell her, “Sure, angel.”

She ends the call and I race to the bathroom, where I retch over the toilet but don’t vomit up anything but bile. I wash my face and head back to the hospital bed, where I take a few sips of water.

I unlock my phone and start reading a news article about Heather, feeling nauseated again, when a text from her appears on the screen.

Tell Cal to go home. Now.

I frown as I open her text, and I instinctively hit the call button under her name. It rings twice, then is diverted to voicemail. I pull the phone away from my ear and hang up the call in time to see another text appear.

I said to fucking text. Tell him to leave me the fuck alone.

I feel a slicing pain at the reminder that she doesn’t want to talk to me, combined with concern that she wants to send her bodyguard home, and apparently needs me to do that for some reason. I go to my contacts, find Callum’s name, and call him.

“Hello, Mr. Fletcher,” he says when he picks up.

“Callum, thanks for answering.” Shame washes over me as I realize he must know everything, too. I sigh, and tell him, “Heather’s obviously quite fragile at the moment.”

“I understand,” he says solemnly.

“She’d like for you to go home so that she can be alone,” I say.

“I don’t feel comfortable doing that,” Callum tells me.

I frown, and a chill comes over me. What reason does he have for not wanting Heather to be on her own? My heart starts pounding a drum solo in my chest, and I twist the bedsheets with my hand for something to do.

“Why don’t you feel comfortable doing that?”

“I am concerned about what Miss York may do if she’s left on her own. I don’t intend on intruding in her space, but unless someone else is here, I wouldn’t feel right leaving. Unless you’re planning on firing me, I’ll stay here. If you’d like to organize for a friend or family member to take my place here, that’s fine as well.”

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