The Love Losers (Unlucky in Love #3)

Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ROSIE

Conversation with Dom

Two words for you: Thirsty Thursday.

What do you think, Ro?

Do you mind if I call you Ro?

So, Gene and I were thinking we’d have pretzels. But not just any pretzels. Like…the saltiest pretzels known to man.

So obviously people would need to drink lots of beer to get them down, right?

Genius.

We’re gonna leave the freebie condoms out again, because that seemed like a hit.

So are you gonna come?

I’ll help you spread the news, my friend, but I might be going to New York.

NO. Oh man. I don’t want to lose you to the Big Apple, Ro. We need you here. What about Anthony?

My brother lives up there. I’d just be going to visit.

Phew, for a second there, my life flashed in front of my eyes.

Sometimes I can’t sleep because ideas keep me awake—things I want to do and try, ways I can surprise someone and make their day. Today it’s because I keep thinking about the way Anthony looked at me after I told him about the mess I’d pulled him into.

Flat. As if I’d dragged him into life and then killed him.

It’s hard not to resent myself for that.

I thought I knew what I was doing. I thought I had it all under control, but I wasn’t being careful. I jumped in with both feet, the way I always do. I can’t seem to help myself.

I tell myself it’s for the best, that Anthony would do better with a wife who’s cautious and more similar to him, but I can’t quite believe it.

Maybe I just don’t want to see it.

My phone buzzes again at midnight. It’s probably Dom sending me yet another text about Thirsty Thursday, but for a moment I let myself believe it might be Anthony. I’ve been hoping and dreading to hear from him all day. And I’ve worried .

My heart leaps. Blood pounds through my veins. But when I lean over to grab the phone off my bedside table, I see Nicole’s name on the readout.

She and Damien were here when my brother and I got back to the house, but they only stayed for half an hour before leaving to visit her mother. After they left, Declan, Jake, and Joy went to our apartment to confiscate anything that could cause trouble for us.

Claire had poured mulled wine for Lainey, me, and herself, and then the two of them exchanged a glance that spoke of some earlier agreement between them. “Soooo,” Claire had said. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Anthony.”

“Yeah, give us the goods, Withholding One.” Lainey waggled her brows. “Who’s going to win the bet? Jake’s been evasive about the whole thing, which makes me think he’s in danger of losing. He’s always very proud of himself when he wins.”

“Well, Anthony’s probably in the emergency room right now,” I said darkly.

Claire nearly spilled her dark red drink all over her white sweater.

“Were you the one who put him there?” Lainey asked.

“I might as well have. So Jake’s odds are better than you think. Can we talk about something else?”

They’d exchanged another of their best friend looks, making me feel more excluded than they’d probably intended, and promptly changed the subject.

The rest of the evening was a colorful whirl of nothing. I answered a few questions and drank some of Claire’s mulled wine, but mostly I just sat and waited. Maybe for this…

Biting my lip, I answer the call.

“Merry Fucking Christmas,” Nicole says into the line. “Now, out with it. What happened?”

There’s no point in denying her, and part of me hopes she might be able to do what Declan didn’t and help me solve this. So I tell her almost everything, leaving out the afternoon Anthony and I spent at Smith House, because I refuse to share it.

“You didn’t break up with the hot rich guy over this, did you?”

“His name is Anthony,” I say, lifting the blinds on the window to peer outside. A gasp escapes me. Snow covers everything around us, the trees gorgeous with their new coats.

“Hot rich guy is a flattering nickname. I’d be overjoyed if someone called me hot rich woman. Feel free to start the trend. Also, you’re evading the point. Tell me you didn’t break it off with him.”

I pick at the blanket on the bed. “Nicole, I’m living under an assumed name, my fingerprints are in the system—”

“No one likes it when other people throw their temporary failures at them.”

“They’re in the system right now, and his ex-fiancée knows I’ve been doing something illegal. Those are not good things.”

“No, but they’re not damning things. I told you we have the fingerprint thing under control, and I’m going to be real with you. There’s a very good chance this Nina bullshit will come to nothing. What does she really know? Sure, the golden retriever can say you and Joy served him some happy drugs at a tea—maybe he can even pretend you did it without his knowledge. His friends might back him up, but what are the cops gonna do? Search your apartment? Make sure there’s jack-all there but a cute little old lady and a teapot full of rose petals. They’ll look like a bunch of rich idiots who don’t know the difference between a rose petal and a mushroom.”

My heart races faster. I want to believe it’s not a problem, but I got into this mess by trying to ignore the roadblocks.

“But all they need to do is take me in and fingerprint me,” I say softly. “And if they do, I could ruin everything for Anthony and my whole family. Your sister could pay the price.”

There’s a half second pause, and I find myself getting off the bed and pacing, the old boards creaking under my feet. “Maybe. I’m not going to bullshit you. Those are possibilities. Bad possibilities, but possibilities nonetheless. But we don’t leave anyone behind, Rosie. That’s not who we are. That’s not who you are either.”

Hearing that soothes me, because I believe her, but in my head I can see my brother’s face. He’d made it pretty obvious that he believed Anthony would, and should, marry someone else to get the money.

“Declan wants me to go to New York with him.”

She sighs. “Big brothers cause ninety percent of the trouble in the world.”

“Probably.”

“You’re not going, are you? We can take care of this, Rosie. I can find something good on that Nina chick, no problem.”

“What about the stalker?”

“Nina’s looking good for it,” she says, “but like I told you, she might be looking too good. Damien and I are finding intel on this rival housing development, but—"

“It’s Christmas, and we’re in the middle of a snow storm.”

“Yes, and you haven’t seen this place on snow. People in this area can’t drive in the snow. It’ll be closed down for at least two days.”

Panic edges in, because I don’t have days. Anthony doesn't have days.

“Nicole, I don’t know what to do.”

“If you tell anyone this, you’re dead to me,” she says. “But I’m going to pull some real New Age shit and tell you that you do know what to do. You just have to listen. Maybe drink some of Joy’s tea.”

“My brother and Jake disposed of all of it after they got back from the apartment.”

“Didn’t you say Joy went with them?”

“She did,” I acknowledge.

“I guarantee you they didn’t get all of it.”

Huh. She’s probably right, but I’m not convinced getting high is the solution to any of this. Or even that there is a solution.

“Thanks, Nicole. Merry Christmas.”

“Ho-ho-ho,” she says, then hangs up the call.

I’m restless, unmoored, and I find myself typing out a text to Anthony.

Is your hand okay? Please tell me you went to the emergency room.

I have a million questions for him, but that’s the first, because I hate the image of him in my head. The worry that he might have spent all day alone out in that garden, bleeding. Surely the guard would have helped him. Or his mother.

There’s no response, no three dots, and I have to remind myself that it’s past midnight on Christmas. He’s probably asleep.

Or with Leigh or Nina.

I don’t really believe it, but it still hurts. It reminds me of what it felt like to find out Jay had asked me to marry him knowing full well he was already married. Or that Roman had a wife and two kids, and I was the woman who was wrecking them without even knowing it.

Maybe I’ll always be the cherry, the afterthought, the dessert that gives someone a bellyache of regret.

This time it’s my fault, but that doesn’t make it easy.

I pace in the room until I get too tired to keep moving and lie down. I only sleep in stolen snatches, like a cat drifting in and out of slumber in the sun, until light leaks through the openings in the blinds. The first thing I do is check my phone, my stomach dropping when I see the reply from Anthony:

LEAVE ME AND MY FAMILY ALONE.

Pain is like a second heartbeat, making it hard to breathe. I sit there for a long time, fighting a panic attack, breathing in long and low and then breathing out, but tears start running down my cheeks. It feels like they’ll never stop. Like my body will just hemorrhage water until it stops being able to function. But the tears do stop, eventually, and I wipe my face and open the blinds.

Snow stretches out in every direction, covering everything.

Nicole’s right, no one will be leaving their houses today. The thought makes me feel a little breathless again—trapped, like a mouse in a cardboard box.

But I’m going to New York City in two days, and I think maybe I’ll stay.