Page 100 of The Lonely Hearts Book Club

Instead of being confused by my jumbled questions, the woman only clucked a soothing sound. “I just wanted to let you know that he’s stable for now.”

“Fornow?” I echoed. I glanced up to find Brett watching me with his finger still hovering over the keypad. “What’s the matter with him?”

“I’m not authorized to provide any details over the phone. Just that he’s been admitted and is currently accepting treatment.”

She hung up before I could ask any more questions. Not that it mattered. I was already halfway to the door, my whole body shaking with the sudden pulse of adrenaline. I’d have made it all the way out, only I was stopped by a pair of hands clamping down on both shoulders.

“Calm down, Sloane. Breathe.” Brett’s low voice started working immediately to subdue the pounding of my heart. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Arthur,” I said. “He’s at the hospital. I have to go.”

Instead of releasing me and whisking immediately to Arthur’s rescue, Brett started leading me to the couch.Awayfrom the door.

“What are you doing?” I shook him off with a force I’d never used before. “Did you hear a word I just said? Something’s wrong. He had me listed as his emergency contact. Why would he do that unless he was desperate?”

“I’m sure it’s just an administrative error,” Brett soothed. He still held his hands up in midair, as if unsure where they should go now that I’d thrown them off. “Did he ask for you specifically?”

“No, but—”

“Don’t forget that he has Greg to look after him now—not to mention Mateo as his private nurse. He’s going to have to learn to make do without you eventually. He might as well start now.”

“Yes, but—”

“If he’s in the hospital, that means someone either drove him in or called an ambulance. Someone is probably already there with him. There’s no need to get hysterical.” Brett’s voice didn’t waver, not even when I groaned with frustration at the sound of that word—hysterical. I’d always hated it. “Let’s sit down and talk about this before we go rushing over.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said. “He’s my friend and he’s hurt. I’m going.”

Brett blinked. I thought I’d been speaking moderately, but I guess I might have yelled a little of that last part.

“Sloane?” he said, looking puzzled. I didn’t know why but that slight furrowing of his brow, that pucker that seemed so surprised by my reaction snapped what was left of my restraint.

“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Brett. I was informing you of my intentions.” I was pretty sure I was yelling again, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I wondered if this was what had happened to my parents, a sloughing off of all restraint, a determination to say what needed to be said no matter what the cost. Maybe, after a while, you just got used to it.

Maybe, after a while, you started to like being heard.

“You’re more than welcome to come with me if you want, but this is happening. When your friend is in the hospital, you go. When the people you care about are hurting, you take care of them. You don’t stand by the side of the river waiting to make sure they’re drowning before you jump in.”

I started heading for the door again. This time, Brett didn’t try to stop me. He was too busy staring at me with a look I’d never seen him wear before. It was as if a curtain had fallen away between us, and he was seeing me—really seeing me—for the first time.

“Sure thing, Sloane,” he said, his voice sounding as if from far away. “If it’s what you want, we’ll head over right now. But we’re taking my car. You’re in no state to drive.”

34

Hospitals were one of the worst places in the world.

As soon as Brett pulled up in front of the squat, white building surrounded by strip malls and retail outlets, I could feel myself starting to sink. Mind and body and most of all soul started to quaver at the sight of it.

Another one of literature’s great lies was that the dangers of quicksand were something I needed to look out for. Sherlock Holmes had warned me not to traverse the Grimpen Mire without a sidekick to pull me to safety; Nancy Drew had taught me to look out for them in the forests of Blackwood Hall. In this moment, I could only wish for such a fate. When it came to getting sucked in and trapped, hospitals seemed a much more likely place to fall.

“Are you sure about this, Sloane?” Brett asked as we sat out in front of the main hospital entrance, his Tesla idling like the sleek, silent mass it was.

“I’m sure.” Since I didn’t make a motion to exit the car, my words didn’t carry much weight. The whole drive over, I’d been willing Brett to go faster, take more risks, dosomethingto take the edge off my worry. Now that I was here, however, the old familiar doubts were starting to creep in. “I know Arthur probably doesn’t want me here, but I didn’t let that stop me from barging in on him before. I can’t very well abandon him now. You know how he feels about hospitals. I keep expecting to see him running out that door with an IV drip dangling from his arm.”

Brett didn’t laugh at my attempt at a joke, but that was no surprise. Whatwasa surprise was the way he turned to me and took both my hands in his. His thumb grazed the top of my enormous engagement ring. It was too big and grand for a hand like mine, but so was he.

“No, my love,” he said, his voice as serious as it ever was. “Are you sure aboutthis?”

With a start, I tried to yank my grip away, but a chiropractor’s hands were necessarily strong. They could probably pull me from quicksand in a pinch, so they could certainly hold onto me in my sudden, weightless fright.