“I was talking about you.” I turn to give him a wink and see him soften just a fraction. Ugh. I hate to spring this on him, especially with how up and down things have been for us this past week. “Want a glass?” I ask holding up a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
“No thanks,” he sighs, looking back down at the papers. I watch him for a beat, sipping my wine, when he looks back up at me, the defeat in his eyes so strong it takes everything inside me not to run to him and fall at his feet. “I lost someone. I lost a patient.”
“What?” This time I don’t hesitate. I put down my glass and go to him.
“Yeah. Young kid, seventeen. There was nothing I could do, but still . . . I feel responsible. I knew him. I knew he was struggling, and I tried everything I could to reach him outside of moving him in and making him sleep on our couch. He was alone . . . he was lonely. His parents were in Monaco when he was brought in after he OD’d. Took them two days to get back here to see about their son. Two days. Apparently, they had been planning that trip for months.”
Without a word, I slide onto his lap and wrap my arms around him, just trying to absorb his pain. He cared for that kid, just like he does all his patients. He knows he’s not supposed to, but Tucker can’t help it. He’s one of those genuinely good, kind souls. He went in to psychiatry because he wanted to help the people whose wounds weren’t visible to the outside world. He understood that suffering inside the prison of your mind was far worse than any iron shackles inside a jail cell. And he had helped people . . . tons of them. But sometimes, he lost them too. They were just too far gone . . .
“I was thinking . . . maybe it’s time we took a vacation. I need a break, Bunny. This one . . . this one was difficult. Think you could take a week or two? I could just really use some time away from here . . . from this. I just need to escape reality with you.”
I sit up in slow motion, and look at him with all the understanding I can muster. Oh no. This isn’t what I needed. I just don’t have two weeks to give him right now, not after the deal I made with Ransom.
I shake the thought from my head. Tucker is my husband. Husband. And he needs me. My loyalty lies with him. He comes first. And my career . . . Shit.
“What were you thinking?” I ask him, trying not to picture the image of my reputation going down like a sinking ship.
“I don’t know. Somewhere far from the city. No traffic, no social media, no paparazzi. Just peace and quiet. And us.”
I smile and nod. That sounds nice. In a perfect world, that would be all I’d ever need.
“So can you make it?” The optimism in his voice is undeniable. I can’t crush him—not now. Not when he’s already in ruins.
“See . . . the thing is . . . I have to go out of town for a little while, but maybe I can just cut it down to a few days and be back by this weekend to leave with you.”
“Out of town?” he frowns. “Since when?”
“Since today. I just found out and planned to tell you tonight. I have a client that needs to lay low for a while and stay out of the press. I told . . . them . . . I’d ensure they were set up and comfortable. But honestly, I don’t see why—”
“A client like who?” I hear it—the accusation. The skepticism. Still, I play dumb.
“Huh?”
“Your client. Who is it?”
This was not how this was supposed to go. He was not supposed to already be on the edge when I told him. I was going to wait until after dinner and a couple glasses of wine. Then I was hoping we’d break our recent dry spell and make love. I wasn’t even going to ask him for anything remotely kinky. Hell, if he wanted to do me in a floor-length gown, I’d let him.
He sits there waiting for me, growing more and more suspicious with every second of my silent unease. I just have to tell him. If I want a snowball’s chance in hell at gaining his trust and support, I just have to tell him.
“Ransom Reed.”
He opens his mouth, yet snaps it closed immediately, as if he doesn’t trust his words. I wait for the jealousy, the rage, the disappointment. But they never come. And part of me—a rather large part—craves them. At least I’d know he cares. At least I could feel like he loves me just as furiously as he cares for his patients.
“So, Ransom needs to get out of town?” he finally asks.
“Yeah, um, he’s been in some trouble; Caleb and I think it’d be a good idea for him to gain some perspective, away from the craziness of the city.”
He nods, maybe out of empathy. “And where were you planning on taking him?”
“Um, well, I’m not . . .” I’m stammering. Stammering is not a sign that I’m confident in my decision. “I was, uh, thinking of Oasis. Since Justice has beefed up security and gone public, the appeal for the papzz simply isn’t there anymore. No one wants to do an exposé on a couple’s spa.”
He nods again. “Good idea. I’ll come too.”
“You’ll . . . what?” I surely did not hear him right. Did he just say he’d come with me to take Ransom to a former sex school for bored, undersexed housewives, aka just about every married woman in Manhattan? (Ahem.)
“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to see that place and meet the guy. Plus it’s a five star resort and spa in the middle of nowhere. Sounds like fun.”
Sounds like fun? Does he know what he’s signing up for?
“Well, I haven’t actually talked to Justice about this yet. He’s sure to shut me down, seeing as it’s a couple’s resort. And plus . . .”
I can’t finish my thought. I can’t admit that I confided in Justice in something more than business, and divulged details of our personal lives, even if they were vague. The guy isn’t stupid. He knows exactly why I quizzed him about open marriages. And once I show up with Tucker and Ransom, I won’t be able to dodge that narrowed look of condescension. Because, let’s face it, no one does condescending like Justice Drake.
Tucker shifts and grips me by the hips, lifting me from his lap. “Why don’t you call and talk to him. I need to make a few calls myself and arrange for the rest of my patients to be taken care of.”
“Really?”
He kisses me on the forehead and smiles softly. “Yeah. This’ll be good. For all of us.” Then he shuffles away to his study, leaving me behind in an obscure cloud of what the fuck?
Ransom agreed easier than I expected. Tucker was borderline alien in his acquiesce. But Justice? Shit. I might as well pack my cutoffs and flip-flops and tell the guys we’re going to Disney World.
“You want to what?” he snaps after I present the idea to him. Most would wither under that clipped, cold tone, but not me. Justice is all bark, very little bite. Especially now that Ally has got him as tame as a teacup Yorkie.
“I want to bring Ransom there to Oasis to lay low for a week. Two weeks tops. The press won’t think to look for him there, and around all those old, boring ass married folks, he’s sure to stay out of trouble.”
“I’m still not seeing how this has dick to do with me and mine. This isn’t a fucking hotel, Heidi. I have clients—clients that pay me well to maintain a sense of safety and serenity. And how am I supposed to explain some young, single kid walking around when we have a strict Couples Only policy?”
“Well . . . tell them he’s with me.”
Silence, save for the sound of his unspoken accusations. He opens with a snort before continuing. “You? You’re coming too? And what does your husband think about that?”
“He thinks it’s a good idea. He actually suggested he come along too.”
Another snort, this time one of aggravation. “I said couple, Heidi. As in two. Not three, not four. Two.”
I purse my lips as I walk into the bedroom for more privacy. “And since when have you been the patron saint of monogamy?”