Chapter 12 The Price Of Loving A Mess.
Harper's POV,
They finally let me see him at four in the morning.
A nurse with tired eyes and a kind smile led me down sterile hallways that all looked the same, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. My heels clicked against linoleum and I was suddenly aware of how ridiculous I looked. Still in the green dress, mascara smudged, hair falling out of its pins.
"He's stable," the nurse said as we walked.
"The Narcan worked. We've got him on IV fluids and monitoring. The doctor will like to speak with both of you in a few hours."
"Is he awake?"
"In and out." She stopped at a door, her hand on the handle. "He's been asking for you."
My throat tightened. "Okay."
She pushed the door open and left me standing in the doorway.
Crew looked small in the hospital bed, and that was wrong because Crew Lawson didn't do small. He was six-foot-three of muscle and presence and barely contained energy. But hooked up to monitors and IVs, wearing a thin hospital gown, he looked young and breakable.
His eyes were closed, dark lashes against pale skin. There was still an oxygen tube in his nose and a blood pressure cuff on his arm that inflated every few minutes with a soft whirring sound.
I walked in quietly and sank into the chair beside his bed, my legs finally giving out.
He must have heard me because his eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, then finding me.
"Harper." His voice was rough, scraped raw. "You stayed."
"Of course I stayed." I reached for his hand. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got hit by a truck." He squeezed my fingers weakly. "How bad is it? The media."
"Pretty bad." No point in lying. "Video's everywhere. Twitter's having a field day."
"Great." He closed his eyes. "So my career is over and I took you down with me. Perfect."
"Your career isn't over yet."
"Harper–"
"And I can handle some mean comments." I leaned forward.
"What I can't handle is you dying on a ballroom floor. So let's focus on the fact that you're alive and we can deal with everything else."
He opened his eyes and looked at me. Really looked at me. "Why are you still here?"
"Because I love you, idiot."
"You shouldn't."
"Too late." I brushed his hair back from his forehead. "Already do. You're stuck with me."
"Even after this disaster?"
"Especially after that." I tried for a smile.
"Besides, we have a wedding to ruin in six weeks. Can't do that if you're dead."
He blinked. "What?"
"Joel's wedding. Remember? The whole reason we started this?" I squeezed his hand.
"I'm not letting him win just because you had a bad night."
"Harper, I just overdosed at a charity gala. I'm probably getting suspended. How exactly are we supposed to—"
"We'll figure it out." I cut him off.
"But first, you need to tell me the truth. All of it. How long have you been using? And how bad is it really?"
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Three years. Started after the vertebrae surgery. Pain never went away and the pills were the only thing that helped."
"How much were you taking?"
"Eight to ten a day. Sometimes more on game days." He wouldn't meet my eyes.
"I know it's bad. I mean… I KNEW it was bad. I just couldn't stop."
My stomach dropped but I kept my voice steady. "Okay. So rehab."
"Yeah. Rehab." He laughed bitterly. "Thirty days minimum. Maybe longer. Which means…"
"Which means you'll be out two weeks before the wedding." I was already doing the math in my head. "That's enough time."
He stared at me. "You're serious."
"Totally." I leaned closer.
"Listen to me. Joel is probably having the time of his life right now, thinking this proves he was right about you. Thinking I'm going to come crawling back to him. But I'm not. And we're going to show up at his wedding looking so good, so together, so in love that he chokes on his own regret."
"Harper–"
"Unless you don't want to anymore." I pulled back slightly.
"If this is too much, if you want out, I understand. But don't make that decision because you think I can't handle it. Make it because you actually want to walk away."
He was quiet for a second, his jaw working. "....I don't want to walk away."
"Good. Neither do I."
"But I'm going to rehab. I'm getting suspended. And worst of all, the media is calling you an enabler." He squeezed my hand.
"So how is any of this going to work?"
"I don't know yet." I admitted.
"But we have six weeks to figure it out. You get clean, I handle the press, and we show up at that wedding like nothing can touch us."
"That's insane."
"Probably." I smiled. "But it's also the best revenge. Joel wants me broken and alone. Let's prove him wrong."
Something shifted in Crew's expression. "You really want to do this?"
“Of course. I mean… why else would I be telling you with this much conviction?" I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles.
"But only if you do. Only if you actually want to fight for us and not just because you feel guilty."
"I don't feel guilty."
"Liar."
"Okay, to be honest.. I do." He huffed a laugh.
"But I also…" He paused, his throat working. "I also love you. Like ACTUALLY love you. Not for the contract or the fake dating or any of that."
My chest tightened. "I know. I love you too."
"Even though I'm a mess?"
"For sure." I brushed a tear from his cheek. "We match."
He pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around me despite the IVs. "This is crazy."
"I know."
"Joel's going to lose his mind when we show up."
"I'm counting on it."
We stayed like that until my phone buzzed in my clutch.
Crew pulled back. "You should check that."
I pulled out my phone and my stomach dropped.
157 missed calls. 389 text messages. 2,847 social media notifications.
"OMG."
"How bad?"
I opened Twitter and immediately wished I hadn't. #CrewLawson was trending number one worldwide.
Titan's Star Crew Lawson Hospitalized After Suspected Overdose.
Did Harper Sinclair Know? GF Under Fire.
VIDEO: Dramatic Collapse at Seattle Charity Gala
I scrolled through the comments, each one worse than the last.
‘She knew. She had to know.’
‘Gold digger probably encouraged it.’
‘From Joel Hartley to Crew Lawson—girl has a type: messy hockey players.’
"Let me see." Crew reached for the phone and I handed it over.
I watched his face as he scrolled, watching his expression go from confusion to anger.
"These people don't know anything," he said quietly.
"Doesn't matter. They think they do." I took the phone back. "But that's fine. Let them talk. We'll prove them wrong."
"How?"
"By showing up at Joel's wedding in six weeks looking so stupidly happy that no one can deny we're the real deal." I met his eyes. "Think you can handle that?"
A slow smile spread across his face. "Yeah. Absolutely."
"Good. Because–" My phone buzzed with a text from Maya.
Maya: Emergency. Joel's holding a press conference in 2 hours. Says he has "important information about Harper and Crew." Call me NOW.
I showed Crew the text.
His expression darkened. "What the hell does he think he's going to say?"
"I don't know. But whatever it is, it's not going to stop us." I stood up, straightening my dress.
"I need to go deal with this. But I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Harper, wait–" He grabbed my hand. "What are you going to do?"
"Whatever I have to." I squeezed his fingers.
"Joel wants a show? I'll give him a show. And when we walk into his wedding in six weeks, he's going to realize he made the biggest mistake of his life."
"I love you."
"I love you too." I kissed him one more time.
"Now get some rest. You're going to need your strength for what's coming."
I walked out of that hospital room with my head high, still in my green dress, mascara smudged, but somehow more sure of myself than I'd been in years.
Joel Hartley was about to learn that Harper Sinclair wasn't the same girl he'd dumped six months ago.
And Crew Lawson was going to get clean and stand beside me while I proved it.
Six weeks until the wedding.
Six weeks to turn this disaster into the greatest revenge story ever told.
Game on.