I shake my head—at him, at myself, at our whole fucked up situation. Now I understand . . . I see why Tucker often looks at me the same way. Shaking his head in resignation, sighing in reluctance.

You can’t win with a broken person. Because you don’t want to. It’s just not a fair fight.

And Ransom—somehow, some way—is more broken than me. And something within me wants to put him back together again.

“I’ll stay,” I find myself saying. “I’ll stay if you lie down and rest. Ok?”

He seems to sober with that promise and allows a small smile to slip from his lips. “Ok,” he agrees.

I help him to the bed, assisting him with the buckles on his boots and belt. And while there’s absolutely nothing sexual about me undressing him right now, I can’t help the way my skin prickles when my fingertips graze his taut waist. Or the way my breath catches when he removes his shirt to reveal the most spectacular torso that I’ve seen in more than three decades.

He climbs into bed in nothing but his fitted boxer briefs, and while I know he should probably shower, I can’t see how I can coax him into getting up now that his head has hit the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, his eyes closed. I bring the duvet up to his chest, more for my comfort than his.

“For what?”

“For wanting you. For hating that I want you. For wishing you’d hate me too.”

“It’s ok,” I whisper.

He releases a sound from the back of his throat, something more out of pain than eroticism, and within seconds, he’s asleep, snoring soundly.

I click off the lights and gather up his dirty clothes to send out to be laundered before tiptoeing out of the room. Before I stuff the smoke-saturated garments in a plastic bag, I remove all the personal effects from his pockets to ensure he doesn’t lose anything.

At least, that’s the reason I tell myself.

Oxy. Ativan. And what’s left of an eight ball of coke.

Fuck.

Ransom isn’t just broken. He’s still breaking.

Chapter Eighteen

Pure morning sunlight filters through the curtains when I finally allow myself to go home. I’m convinced that Ransom won’t notice anyway. He probably wouldn’t even remember last night or my presence whenever he came to. However, I would never forget the things he said to me. Or the look of sheer desolation on his face. Or the drugs I found in the pocket of his jeans.

I’m still not sure what to do when I arrive at my building. If anything, I’m even more confused.

“Hey, baby,” Tucker rasps, his voice hoarse with too-little sleep. “Everything ok?”

“Shhhh, go back to sleep. It’s fine. We’ll talk later,” I smile, leaning over to kiss his lips. He returns my grin before rolling over and drifting back off to dreamland.

I slip out of my clothes that still stink with the aroma of beer and bar, and head into the bathroom for a quick shower. Just before I step under the hot spray, a pang of guilt attacks my chest. I’m washing away what little bit of Ransom I’d taken with me. He was afraid I’d forget him . . . that I’d leave him. And that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.

I’m still trying to convince myself that it’s the right thing to do when I slide into bed next to my husband.

“YOU SHOULD HAVE told me.” I stir my latte for the tenth time, trying to expel the nervous energy. If I look up, I may slap him across his pretty face.

Caleb heaves out a sigh. “I know. But if I had, would you have taken him on?”

“Of course not! Jesus, Caleb. He’s a junkie. You tricked me into representing a fucking junkie and had me in there blind. Can you imagine what could have happened once you sent me off in the middle of the night with him?”

He lifts his hands in surrender. “He’s harmless, I swear. He’s more of an emotional addict. And come on . . . what entertainer isn’t coked out of their minds every night?”

I shake my head, refusing to agree with him although I know it’s true. “This is different. Ransom is . . .”

I can’t find the words. Special? No. Better than that? Hell no. Using only to stifle a much deeper compulsion? Ding, ding, ding.

“I know, Heidi.” He nods, his eyes fixed on the wood-grain of the table. It’s the most sincere and humbled I’ve ever seen the man in all the years I’ve known him. “That’s why I asked you to meet me today. I wanted you to understand why I couldn’t tell you. And why I can’t let you give up on him, even though I know you tried to.”

“What?”

Caleb lifts his eyes to meet my gaze. They stir with a kindred somberness. “I know you. You wanted to drop him. I couldn’t let you do it. Not now.”

“And why is that?”

“Because everyone else has. And if you did, he may not survive it. And the band would be dead.”

I purse my lips and smirk knowingly. “And that’s your only interest in his well-being? The future of the band?”

Caleb shrugs before picking up his cup of overpriced mocha. “I’m a businessman first. But I’m also human. Ransom is a good kid. He just needs someone to believe that so maybe he can start to believe it too.”

I roll my eyes and cross my arms in front of my chest, leaning back in my seat. “Oh, spare me the bleeding heart bullshit. He’s a grown man, Caleb.”

Caleb matches my cynical glare, and a slow smile creeps onto his thin lips. “You would know, now wouldn’t you?”

Poker face intact, my face and body language don’t flinch a muscle. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, backing down from what would have been a fight to the death, and pretends to check his phone. “Nothing at all. It’s just interesting that he’s grown so attached to you, is all. So attached that he refused to leave that bar until you showed up. He kept saying that he had a song for you, and that you wanted to hear him sing. Quite fond of you in such a short time, wouldn’t you say?”

I don’t say a word. Fuck Caleb and all his suspicions. I would cut off my arm before I surrender my secrets to that gossip queen.

“Anyway,” he presses on. “I need a favor from you, seeing as he seems to listen to you.”

“And that is?” My voice is flat, my face unreadable.

“I need Ransom to lay low for a while. Get out of town. After last night’s antics, I’m sure the publicist in you would agree that taking some time away would be beneficial.”

“And why the hell do you think I’d do something like that? Better yet, how do you think I could convince him to even agree to it?”

Caleb shrugs for the eighth time since we’ve sat down. It’s not like him to be so indecisive. “You’re a resourceful woman. Use your God-given resources.”

I absorb the jab of his words and retaliate, leaning forward across the table so he can clearly see the seriousness on my face. “Careful, Caleb. I like you and all, but be very fucking careful about what you insinuate.”

He brushes it off with a phony laugh. “I’d never, love. Just a thought. Hey, if he lands in jail, he’s your problem—not mine. Last night, he only got into a fight with a brick wall and a few barstools. But who knows what tonight has in store for us. Hey, we’ve got Fallon tomorrow night. That should be a riot.”

With that, he climbs onto his Prada loafers, throws a bill on the table, and straightens the lapel of his crisp oxford. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I actually have work to do.”

I watch him strut away with more sass than necessary, sipping what’s left of my cold latte and wondering what the hell to do next. So I can’t quit on Ransom, for fear that he’ll spiral even further. But I can’t control him either. I thought getting into bed with him was the pinnacle of my problems, but it seems that getting into business with him is just as messy, if not messier. I’m just not sure what I’m willing to sacrifice—my marriage or my sanity.