Page 8 of The Billionaire's Promise

Terrified of what I would find, I leaned in as close as I could. Amy didn’t react to my presence. I heard the faint rasp of her breathing, ragged and shallow, but there. It took me too long to find her pulse, thready and faint. Her lips were tinged blue. So were her fingernails. Her pupils were pinpricks in her light blue eyes. I thought I was going to throw up. I hadn’t had any idea she even used drugs. Did Vance know? Was he using drugs too?

Terror seized my chest and I almost threw up. Was he just passed out, or had he overdosed too? What if he was dying, and I’d walked right past him?

I left Amy and slipped from the bathroom.

“Vance,” I shouted his name and pulled at his shoulder, trying to turn him over. He rolled to his back and spread out, one arm coming around me as I put my ear to his chest.

“Magnolia,” he murmured, tightening his arm. I barely heard him over the strong thump of his heartbeat. Relief flooded through me as I shoved away from him.

“Wake the fuck up, you asshole,” I shouted, shoving at him one more time. My phone was in the kitchen. Vance could wait.

I called 911 and was assured that they were on their way. After unlocking the street door so they could get in, I went back to Vance. I was pissed. Scared, sad, and royally pissed. Grabbing the nearest pillow, I whacked him in the face, yelling his name. If he didn’t wake up soon, I was dumping a whole fucking pitcher of water on his head.

I grabbed his wrist and leaned back, pulling until his torso rose a few inches off the mattress. Vance was seriously heavy, even though he’d lost some muscle mass in the last few months. I let go, dropping him, tears pricking my eyes.

"Wake up," I shouted, jerking on his arm, half dragging his heavy body across the bed. My heart pounded in my chest. Cold sweat dripped down my spine. Amy was dying in the bathroom, and Vance was passed out. I didn't know what to do.

There was nothing I could do for Amy. The 911 operator had told me to leave her where she was once she’d determined that Amy was in a safe location. I just had to pray she could hang on long enough for the paramedics to get to her. But Vance was another story. I'd already been at the edge of my tolerance with his drinking, but now he was leaving me to deal with Amy by myself. I was sick of the men in my life leaving me to deal with their shit on my own.

Vance stretched his arms over his head, his fingers briefly holding on to the headboard before letting go. He curled on his side and rolled his head into his pillow, apparently settling in for another hour or two of sleep.

Forget that.

He was getting his drunk ass out of bed right now. Rage and fear warring inside me, I smacked him in the face with the pillow again. No response except for a quick wrinkle of his nose. If I hadn't been so mad, it would've been cute.

I stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a vase of fresh-cut flowers off the island. Dumping the flowers on the granite countertop, I carried the vase into the bedroom and upended it in Vance's face.

That did the trick. Kind of. His eyes blinked open, bloodshot and unfocused. "What the fuck, Magnolia?" he groaned.

Fury bloomed in my chest. I snatched up the pillow I'd used before and whacked his wet face. Hard. Vance snatched the pillow from my hand and hurled it across the room.

"What the fuck? You don't have to be such a bitch."

I flinched. Vance and I had had some spirited disagreements, but he'd never, ever called me a name. The worst he'd ever said wasSugar Magnolia, because he knew it annoyed me. Hearing him call me a bitch, after getting the same from my fiancée last night, tipped me over the edge.

Setting my hands on my hips, I adopted the chilliest version of my headmistress voice and said, “Get your drunk, lazy ass out of bed. Amy overdosed on drugs. She's dying in your bathroom. Paramedics are on the way. I suggest you put on some clothes and look like a semi-coherent human being before they get here."

Blood drained from Vance's face, and he jerked to his feet, his head swinging on his neck as he looked from the bathroom to me and back again.

Too furious to talk to him, I walked around the bed to the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet lid, holding Amy's cold hand in my own. I prayed with every ounce of faith in my heart that she kept breathing until the paramedics got here. But if she didn't make it, I wasn't going to let her die alone.

I saw movement at the open door. Vance leaned against the door frame, his face sheet white, bloodshot eyes wide and panicked. He'd managed to pull on a faded pair of jeans.

"Put on a shirt," I snapped. I don't know why it mattered to me. Amy was more important than whether Vance was dressed or not. I assumed he'd be coming to the hospital with us, and I didn't want to have to wait while he got dressed. Faintly, in the distance, I heard sirens. Hoping I was right, I gave Amy's hand a squeeze and said, “Hang on, help is almost here. Just hang on."

Her chest moved in tiny increments as she breathed. My eyes were fixed on the faint shift of her T-shirt over her ribs. As long as I kept seeing that small flutter of fabric, I knew she was still alive.

"Is she . . ." Vance trailed off. I didn't look at him. I couldn't look away from Amy.

"Will you please just go get dressed?" I said flatly. "The paramedics are almost here, I hope, and I'm assuming you'll want to follow us to the hospital. You can't do that without shoes or a shirt, so get fucking dressed. Now."

I was done with babying Vance. It was one thing to watch him drink and fuck his way through life. I didn't like it, but it was his life, not mine. But this, seeing a woman I liked hover near death, I couldn't take it anymore.

I didn't have time to think about what that meant. The door flew open, and the paramedics rushed in. Seeing them, I lowered Amy's hand to her lap and stepped out of the bathroom to give them space to work.

I couldn't see what they were doing. There were too many people in a small space, and I wasn't hovering because I didn't want to get in the way.

By the time they were strapping Amy down on a stretcher, Vance had emerged from the other bathroom looking panicked but clothed. He'd even taken the time to brush his hair and pull it back with a rubber band. He watched with wide eyes as they moved Amy to the front door, headed for the elevator.