CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
RIGGS
Later that day, I went to the hospital to visit Charlie.
Duffy was helping her friend Laura by taking her cat to the vet, since she had a last-minute presentation. Laura, not the cat. She sounded really upset on the phone that she couldn’t make it earlier and promised to visit him in the evening, once she was done.
I told her I’d keep her posted and spared her any mention of my meeting with Gretchen today. What was the point of ripping open that old wound? It wasn’t like I had any news to tell. Gretchen was still an asshole.
Joining me for moral support, or more accurately so we could all get trashed afterward, were Christian and Arsène. Most people would shy away from meeting a complete stranger in a vulnerable condition. These two didn’t flinch at the sight of misery, though.
“I want to see the person who makes Riggs go grocery shopping,” Christian explained as he power walked through the hospital’s corridors in his Tom Ford suit. “It’s unfathomable that you’d give a damn about someone you don’t plan on bedding.”
It was a good thing I didn’t tell them about my hookups with my wife. First of all, I wasn’t eager to hear them say “I told you so.” Second, I was strangely protective of Daphne and her privacy, especially after she’d gone viral since meeting me. Twice.
“I’m capable of feeling,” I protested, my jaw locking in annoyance.
“Only without a condom,” Arsène sneered. Christian snickered.
“What’s wrong with the old man, anyway?” Arsène wondered.
“Dunno.” I stopped in front of Charlie’s room number and knocked on it. “Guess we’ll find out now. He’s supposed to be awake.”
“Come in.”
I heard Charlie’s voice and pushed the door open.
Charlie was sitting upright in his bed, white as a Colorado Christmas but looking better than I’d seen him last week.
“Hey, R.” His face broke into a tired smile. “Thanks for coming. And you brought some friends.” His eyes scanned the two men behind me. “How . . . inappropriate.”
Christian and Arsène chuckled behind me.
“The one in the obnoxiously expensive suit is Christian.” I stuck a hand in his direction, yawning. “And the one who looks like a vampire and doesn’t need a six-grand suit to feel like he’s better than God is Arsène. They’re my best friends.”
They both reached to shake his hand.
“How’s Duffy?” Charlie turned to me.
“‘How’s Duffy?’” I echoed, taking out my stoner kit and then rolling him a joint. Surely, he was in pain. I could wheel him out of here for a quick smoke. “I found you passed out in your bathroom. Tell me how you feel.”
“First of all, that must be the stupidest thing anyone’s done in a hospital.” He pointed at the joint I was rolling. “And second, I’m good. Just had a little accident. Those happen.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. What’s going on with you?”
Charlie looked away. “Nothing.”
“Is it about these two?” I jerked my thumb behind my back. “’Cause I can kick them out. They’re used to it.”
Charlie munched on his inner cheek. “Drop it.”
“That bad?” I asked gently.
“Worse.”
So it must be terminal. My heart slowed, heavy in my chest. If he didn’t want to say, I didn’t want to press.
“Got it. No more questions.” I nodded.
“Appreciate it.”
“Other than one,” I amended, holding my joint up in the air between us. “Where’s your wheelchair, asshole?”
It took charming two nurses and flirting with one doctor before I could get a wheelchair for Charlie. Then another fifteen minutes for us to find our way out to the communal garden. It was mostly empty. Better for us, since I’d brought over Blue Dream, my favorite weed. Chef’s kiss. Michelin-starred marijuana.
I put the brakes on Charlie’s chair and leaned against a fake plant, giving him the honor of lighting up. He took a long hit, waited until the smoke reached the bottom of his lungs, then released, coughing a little.
He kicked his head back and closed his eyes. “Haven’t had one of those since I was twenty.”
“A doobie?” I asked, surprised. “Don’t like the effect?”
“On the contrary. I love it. Not so much the person it turns me into, though.”
I decided not to pry, since he was already dealing with a terminal disease and the shit ton of problems it brought with it. I couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like to die alone, since that was exactly what was about to happen to Charlie. And, one day, to me.
“Well, now that you have a mysterious disease, you can be whoever you want.” I watched as he puffed on his spliff. “The perks of dying are never ending.”
He laughed and coughed at the same time. “Everything has an ending. That’s the point of living.” There was a brief silence. “So. How is Duffy?”
“You’re like a dog with a bone.”
“Give me the meat then.”
“She’s fine.” Then, when he kept looking at me and grinning, I groaned. “She’s coming to visit you tonight.”
“I’m more interested to know how you feel about living with her. You guys seemed close when I met you in the hallway the other day.”
I liked that he didn’t feel embarrassed about the state he’d been in that day.
“She’s way too young.” It was the only thing I could think of saying, since “She’s too hell bent on marrying up” sounded lame and “I’m too scared of commitment” seemed too personal.
“If anything, you’re too young for her.” He wiggled his brows, taking another toke.
I laughed. “Are you gonna pass me that joint this century?”
“Nope.”
“Pfft.”My eyes grazed the side of his face. “You’re lucky you’re dying, you know. I’m normally not that forgiving.”
“So lucky.” Charlie nodded weakly.
After he was done, I wheeled him back to his room and asked if I could grab him something from the cafeteria before I left. Charlie said he was good. That whole time, Christian and Arsène were waiting in the room’s small balcony.
They slid the glass door and walked back inside when they noticed me helping Charlie back into his bed. There was something really depressing about helping out this big, muscular man do something so trivial.
“Ready to go?” Christian clapped my shoulder.
“Yeah.” I glanced at the time on my phone. “But I think I’m heading home.”
“Home?”Arsène raised an eyebrow. “Nice choice of word.”
“Don’t read too much into it,” I quipped. “Bye, Charles.”
“Bye, kids.” Charlie was already engrossed in a Discovery magazine he was flipping through.
The three of us made our way to the elevator. Christian and Arsène exchanged looks.
“Who should tell him?” Arsène asked, businesslike.
Tell who what? I was too preoccupied for his brand of bullshit.
“Not me.” Christian held up his hands. “If he goes through a mental breakdown, Arya’s gonna expect me to spend time with him. I lack the patience. And sympathy.”
“Who’s having a mental breakdown?” I asked, thinking they must’ve been continuing their conversation from the balcony.
“No one,” Christian said, at the same time Arsène said, “You, idiot.”
“Why would I have a mental breakdown?” We all stopped by the elevator.
Christian glanced behind his shoulder, to the room we’d just left Charlie in.
“When the old man dies.”
I gave him a puzzled look. “He’s a nice guy, but a meltdown is a stretch.”
The elevator slid open.
“Maybe it’s my destiny”—Arsène shook his head, looking upward—“to be surrounded by morons.”
The day just kept going progressively shittier.
After bailing on drinks with my friends, I made my way back to Duffy’s. When I got to her floor, I couldn’t find the door. Not because it had disappeared, but because there were approximately eighty thousand fucking roses waiting for her, blocking the path to the entire hallway.
Who did something so stupid? Sent someone who lived in a tiny apartment in New York thousands of roses, cramming up the entire goddamn building? But the answer was clear—Cocksucker. Cocksucker, who never had to live anywhere smaller than four-thousand-square-foot houses, even in college, I bet.
There were roses everywhere. Red roses. White roses. Pink roses. Yellow roses.
Roses didn’t make up for the fact that the man fucked someone else in Thailand. Or that he was in Thailand, not Nepal. Or that he’d left her. Man, if she took him back, she’d be the biggest idiot on Planet Earth.
No. That would be you. For buying into your sham fucking relationship.
Upon closer inspection, I realized that on each of the roses was a petal with the imprint Please forgive me. I bet he thought it was a nice touch.
Somehow, I managed to push through and get to the door. Normally, if any packages were outside, I brought them inside. Not this time. We didn’t have space to store all of BJ’s I know I fucked up flowers. Even if we did, I wasn’t going to help his cause.
Inside was a Tupperware container waiting on the counter, along with a note.
I walked over to it and picked up the note.
Riggs,
Interview was cut short due to my visa situation (it’s fine, I’m over it), so I had time to stop at the flat.
I made you some stuffed zucchini. You can’t live off junk. Eat it. It’s an order.
Also, the neurologist’s office called. They had to move your appointment. Please call them to reschedule.
BBL.
Poppins.
It was that gesture that really did it. I wasn’t planning on getting rid of Cocksucker’s flowers. But seeing how thoughtful and inherently fantastic this woman was, I couldn’t chance her going back to this jerk. She was too good for him. It was time to intervene and do the world a favor.
I marched back outside and threw out all the roses. Stuffed all of them into a dumpster downstairs.
She was going to find out sooner or later that he’d sent her flowers and that I threw them out, but not today, and probably not tomorrow either. Besides, the momentary satisfaction of sticking it to that asshole was worth her future wrath.
I went back upstairs and wolfed down her zucchini dish. It still tasted too healthy for me to seriously enjoy it, but at least it wasn’t a lettuce sandwich.
I hopped into the shower, got out, and walked over to the couch. Duffy had left her iPad there, probably when she was in a hurry to get out and help Laura with her cat. I picked it up to put it aside. It was an old-school iPad, without an automatic password authenticator.
As soon as I grabbed it, the screen flashed with an incoming message. It must’ve been connected to her phone.
The message was from BJ.
I’m coming home for you, Duffy.