For now, I avoided him like I had before we’d left the ranch. It was obvious he was avoiding me as well. Amber, on the other hand, tried to spend as much time with him as possible. Fortunately, she didn’t want me around when she did. The two typically ate breakfast together. I had her for lunch. On the few occasions that Reeve joined us for supper, I slipped away early, leaving them to enjoy whatever after-dinner activities they wanted to without me. Then I’d take a swim in the heated pool, the one in the courtyard by the master suite, always sure to disappear to my room before Reeve and Amber finished their meal. I didn’t ever want to know what time She came back to her room. Whether she came back to her room at all.
We’d been on the island almost a week when she finally mentioned the prescription bottles. I’d just closed my computer on the latest script my agent had e-mailed, and I was in a bad mood. Partly because the script had been terrible. Partly because Amber was late coming back from breakfast with Reeve. Partly because I was tired of trying not to think about Reeve, a task I managed with a lot of effort during the daylight hours and didn’t manage at all in the dark, in my room with the door locked, where I thought about him incessantly. And missed him. And pretended I didn’t hear his nightly footsteps on the tile outside or the soft knock on my door or the rattle of my knob.
It was wearing. All of it. Needless to say, I wasn’t sleeping well either.
So when Amber stomped up to my chaise lounge chair, an hour after she usually returned from breakfast, I was already on the verge of snapping.
With no greeting, she said, “You found my pills.” It was already an accusation, her tone blatantly confrontational.
I slid my sunglasses down my nose and peered up at her. “Your pills? They didn’t have your name on the label.”
Her sigh reminded me of a snotty teenager, tired of her overbearing parents. Or of an addict who’d ran out of believable excuses. “Buddy gave them to me.”
I took off my sunglasses and gave her a look that clearly said tell me what I don’t know. When she didn’t volunteer anything, I asked, “In exchange for what?”
Another sigh. More exasperated than the first. “Does it matter?”
“It does. He might be working for Vilanakis. He could have killed that dog. Those pills might not even be safe.” Not that they were any safer if they’d come from someone else.
She rolled her eyes, another gesture so teenager-like I was beginning to feel old. “Buddy isn’t working for Vilanakis.”
“How do you know that?”
“Trust me. I know.” Something about how certain she was told me that she’d been a lot closer to Buddy than I’d first imagined. I would have bet money that the favors she’d given in exchange for his pain meds had required her to be on her knees.
Which only added to my foul mood. If she’d genuinely wanted to work things out with Reeve, she shouldn’t have been sneaking around his back, especially not to score drugs when he’d been so committed to help her get clean.
I almost put my sunglasses back on just so I wouldn’t have to look at her anymore.
But then she plopped down on the lounger next to me, her feet planted on the ground so she was facing in my direction. “Anyway,” she said, gentler than before, “that’s not why I brought it up.”
I cocked my head to study her. “Then why did you?” There was only one reason she’d bring them up. If she didn’t think I knew where this was going, she was an idiot.
She shrugged, embarrassed. “I just wanted you to know that I’m not taking them. I didn’t plan on taking them.”
She was earnest and remorseful and my heart went out to her despite the wreckage between us. Throwing my feet over the side of my chaise so I could meet her eye-to-eye, I asked, “Then why did you have them?”
She took a deep breath in and let it out, a much different sigh than the immature ones she’d delivered a moment ago. This one was sincere. It was a woman with a heavy load as she sat down to rest for the first time in a decade.
It took her a handful of seconds to look at me, and a few more before she answered. “Just in case. You know. In case it was too hard.”
“Too hard to what?” I tried to be compassionate but all I could think about was what she’d told me on the roof in Jackson, how she’d called me because she wanted to not live anymore, and if that was her motivation for holding on to those bottles, I needed to know so that I could be good and pissed with her. “Too hard to stay clean? Or stay alive?”
She winced as if I’d slapped her. Then, immediately, she was on the defense. “Don’t be hostile with me. I’m trying to be honest.”
I forced myself to take a deep breath of my own. “Sorry. I’m…” I’m still mad, and I don’t know how to stop being mad.
But anger wasn’t the solution. “I’m worried about you. That’s all.”
“I know.” She reached over to take my hand in hers. “I’m sorry. I really am. Like I said, they were an insurance policy. That’s all. They made me feel safe. I didn’t ever have any intention of using them.”
“Good.” I even mostly believed her. I squeezed her hand. “I’m really glad to hear that.”
She smiled. “And thank you for not telling Reeve.” I furrowed my brow, wondering how she was so sure I hadn’t when she explained. “If you’d have told him, he’d have been the one who brought it up, not me.”
“Good point.” I chuckled down at our joined hands, glad I hadn’t gotten the chance to tell him about the pills after all. Also, a little ashamed for thinking I knew where the conversation was going.