Are they conscious?
She looked at Tommy and typed:
Yes.
Call 911.
It’s complicated—it’s Tommy.
I’ll be right there.
You don’t have to.
On my way.
In the meantime?
Stay with him—not far.
She eased Tommy back against the pillows and checked his pulse. She didn’t know if it was slower than usual or faster than usual. She was mainly relieved to confirm that he had one.
“You okay?” she asked.
His head bobbed in a way she took as a yes. Then she watched as he curled into a fetal position and hugged himself at the waist. The sight of him looking so vulnerable left her struggling between wanting to protect him, and wanting to find Madison and make her pay for doing this to him.
“Don’t move,” she instructed, quickly realizing the ridiculousness of the statement. He was in no shape to wander. It was amazing he’d made it to the front door to let her in. “I’ll be right back!” She raced for the den to try to get a handle on what Madison might’ve given him.
It was just as Aster described: ap bottle of Unrivaled tequila, two shot glasses, and Tommy’s favorite Led Zeppelin T-shirt balled up on the floor. She frowned, trying to imagine what might’ve occurred for it to find its way from Madison’s body to the ground. Hating herself for even thinking that way, she forced herself to look past it to the note left on the table, tucked under his phone.
Tommy-
I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. You’ve been nothing but kind from the start, and I owe you in ways I’ll never be able to repay. I hope someday I’ll have the chance to explain, but mostly I hope you’ll find it in your heart to not hate me—even though I’ve now given you every reason to turn against me.
Just so you know, you ingested two hydrocodone pills along with two shots of tequila. I didn’t try to kill you and you didn’t OD. At the very worst, you’ll fall asleep and wake up with a raging headache and a heart that’s hardened toward me.
M.
Layla had just finished reading the note when she heard Mateo at the front door.
“Where is he?” He rushed to her side.
“It’s okay. He’s okay. Or at least he will be. I think he just needs to sleep it off.”
She handed him the note, then reached for Tommy’s phone.
“Wait—this is from Madison? She was here?” Mateo stared in what could only be described as disbelief.
“She was.” Layla sighed. “But not anymore.” She motioned him into the bedroom, where she perched on the mattress and pressed the wet towel to Tommy’s forehead. “Are we doing the right thing?” She looked at Mateo. “Should we take him to the hospital?”
Mateo paced the length of the room. Ignoring her question, he said, “I can’t believe this! After everything you went through—getting arrested, jail time, the tabloids—and you’ve actually been hiding her all along?”
“No,” she murmured. “Not all along.” She checked Tommy’s pulse again. He seemed fine. Or at least she hoped that was the case.
“Why haven’t you told anyone? Why isn’t this breaking news?”
Mateo was incredulous, and while she didn’t blame him, she also knew the explanation she was about to give would sound completely ridiculous to anyone who hadn’t been there when they’d found her. “Because Tommy, Aster, Ryan, and I unanimously agreed not to tell anyone. We’re the only ones who know. We truly thought we were helping her. Clearly, she played us.”
“I don’t get it,” Mateo said. “Why would you agree to help her?”