I shoot him a look. "It's taken every ounce of strength I have to come here today." It had. I had fallen asleep early waiting for Jax to come home last night. This morning he was gone before I woke, the only indicator that he had been there at all, a small note on his pillow saying he loved me.
"She's your best friend." The words aren't meant to slice through me the way they do. I know he's just trying to help Liz. He's always had a soft spot in his heart for her.
"Jax is my best friend." I correct him. "She's someone I used to know."
"Just think about coming here once in a while," he suggests. "Even if it's just for a few minutes."
"So I can give her false hope that we still have a friendship?" My tone is harsh. I know it is. I want it to be. "I feel horrible that she was hurt so badly but it changes nothing between us. She betrayed me. Why can't you see that?"
"Come and say hello." He pushes the door to her private room open and I'm left with little choice other than to waltz through with a smile on my face.
"Ivy," she says the word and her voice is completely different than I remember it. It's shaky, deeper and the volume so soft.
I pull my eyes across her body. Her legs are both still encased in casts. The bruises that once covered her face are now almost completely faded away. The cut on her forehead is still visible. She looks nothing like the vibrant socialite who tried to convince me that the key to a good life is a strong martini and a rich man.
"Liz." I bite my lip to temper the rising tears. I can't help but feel sympathy for her. I can't imagine how much physical pain she's in.
"Karma is a bitch." She tries to smile and I freeze. How am I supposed to react to that?
"She hasn't lost her sense of humor." I feel Brighton's hand on the small of my back, steering me farther into the room. The only machine Liz is hooked up to now appears to be tracking her vital statistics. The room itself is no less imposing than ICU was. I still feel horribly uncomfortable. I don't want her to bring up Mark. I don't think I can handle it.
"Mark died." She doesn't hesitate. She just barrels into the subject full force.
I nod. "I'm sorry," I say. The words aren't meant to offer comfort. I'm not sure what their intention is. I just know it's the right thing to say in that moment.
"I hadn't seen him in months before that night." Her bottom lip quivers and Brighton runs his hand over her forehead. "He wanted to talk to me about things. He wanted to make amends."
I don't want to hear about that night. I can't allow myself to feel any more sympathy for her. She was sleeping with my fiancé for more than three years. She was making love to him in the very same bed where I wrapped myself around him before I fell asleep each night.
"He still loved you, Ivy." I can't contain the well of emotions that now rushes to the surface. I reach for a plain metal chair that is sitting next to her bed to steady myself.
"Please don't talk about him," I say the words in barely more than a whisper. I don't want to know more about Mark than I already do. I don't want to shed one tear over him.
"He wanted to make it up to you too." She taps her hand on the bed. "You never answered his calls."
Her words feel like an accusation and I have to stop myself from pushing back. I didn't come here to argue. I'm not sure why I did.
"I'm sorry that you were hurt." I mean it. I sincerely do. "Mark is gone. Dwelling on the past won't help anyone."
I see tears well at the corner of her eyes before she shifts her gaze to Brighton's face.
"I'm leaving," I say the words knowing that both of them are glad that I'm not staying any longer than I already have. "I hope you continue to get better." It's a small offering but for now, it's all I can muster.
Chapter 17
"Mark had a daughter." Hearing the words out loud makes the reality of it that more real.
"A daughter?" Mrs. Adams points to a spot on the window. "There's a streak there, dear."
I rub the cloth over the area before I step back to take a look. "That's what I believe, yes."
"You haven't met her?" It's a natural question. Of course she'd want to know that. Up to this point, the only confirmation that I have that Mark has a child are the three text messages I found on his phone. Nathan has been working tirelessly to try and piece together who the mystery child is but so far, nothing has brought any concrete answers.
"I was going through his things." I stop once I realize that I've never confided in Mrs. Adams that Mark left his entire estate to me. "I'm helping with his estate and when I was looking through his phone I saw some messages he sent. I those messages he wrote about his daughter."
"So who is this girl?" She points back at the window and I rub the cloth along the length of it again. Coming back to my old apartment building once a week to help Mrs. Adams with her chores and shopping was a delight until it came time to do windows.
"I don't know. I wish I knew." I shrug my shoulders as I walk past her. I'm determined to put the window spray and cloth away before she notices yet another streak.