Page 26 of The Getaway

She paused, assessing the damage. Somehow, she had missed the broken glass. She had rug burn, but she was okay.

“Someone help me!” she shouted, trying to get her hands under Hazel. They all just looked at her or turned their phones toward her. Even the twins were there in matching minidresses—one red, one white—though she knew Gemma had told them they could not attend. Then she saw Marshall walk in from the patio, and he found her instantly with his eyes. He vaulted over the couch and shoved a couple of people aside to get to her. He’d changed into her favorite black bowling shirt and looked annoyingly handsome as he came to her rescue.

“Are you okay?” He cupped her face with his large hands. He smelled of cedar and sweat, and it was the first scent all night that didn’t make her want to hurl. She breathed it in.

“I’m fine. It’s Hazel. Is she . . . okay?”

Marshall glanced at Lincoln and Josh, tussling like a couple of high school wrestlers on the floor. He shoved his arms under Hazel’s back and picked her up as if she weighed nothing, just as Sean and Grant came running in from the office and started trying to break up the fight.

“Get out of the way!” Marshall shouted at the half-dozen people spectating from the couch. They scrambled to move, and he laid Hazel down carefully. Grant had Josh pinned to him in a headlock, and Sean was doing his best to hold Lincoln back from attacking again. Blood trickled from Lincoln’s nose, and there was a cut across his forehead.

Marley was on her knees on the floor. She couldn’t quite figure out what to do, where to go, or whether she could even move. Josh’s legs flailed as he tried to get away from Grant.

“Get off me! Get the hell off me!”

“Is she okay?” Marley called to Marshall.

Marshall looked across the coffee table and shattered glass at his brother. “Linc?”

Lincoln did a double take. “Oh my God! Hazel?” He hit his knees at her side and gently touched her face. “Hazel? Babe? Wake up.”

“Like you care about her! You don’t give a shit about anyone!” Josh shouted.

Hazel’s eyes fluttered, and she finally came to. “Lincoln?”

He smiled, relieved. “Okay. You’re okay.” He looked around at the crowd. “Everything’s fine. Go back to the party.”

“Everything is not fine!” Josh shouted as Grant hauled him toward the back of the room.

“Grant!” someone shouted. And Marley turned to see Gemma and Suzy standing at the sliders together as if they’d just come inside, holding hands. What the— “Be careful!”

“I’m going to end you, Lincoln Foster!” Josh shouted.

Grant tossed Josh down the hallway and out of view, and at that moment, Marley turned around and threw up on a stranger’s shoes.

By the time Marshall had helped her upstairs and into bed—thank God for one-thousand-thread-count sheets—rain was splattering the windows. As she put her head down on the soft, fluffy pillow, Marley heard shouts and a couple of screams, but the bass continued to thump. It all felt so distant and muted from up here in her cocoon. Marshall smoothed her hair back from her forehead, then went over to the window.

“I guess the weather forecast was wrong.”

“Isn’t it always?” Marley grumbled, her eyes closed, her back to him.

He returned and sat down near her feet, which she had pulled up as she curled into a fetal position. The glow of his phone lit his face as he checked the weather apps.

“Sonofa,” he said. “It’s coming right toward us.”

Marley’s eyes squeezed shut again as another wave of nausea crashed through her. She couldn’t make herself care about the hurricane right now. Let it come. All she wanted was to not throw up again.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, placing his hand gently on her hip.

One tear escaped her eye and raced across the bridge of her nose. Yesterday she would have welcomed his touch. Today she wanted to fling his arm off her. “I just want to be alone.”

Marshall sighed, a long sigh ending on a resigned groan. “Are you going to be mad at me forever? Can’t we just talk?”

“Not right now,” she said. “Not when I feel like this much dirt.”

“Well, you’ve barely been eating lately,” Marshall said, a slight edge to his voice. “Maybe the lobster roll was too rich for your empty stomach?”

“Or maybe I’m just weak because I was up all night crying after you went back on everything we’ve ever agreed on,” Marley shot back. The effort of shouting did not agree with her stomach, and five seconds later, she found herself on her knees in the bathroom, retching up whatever was left of her lunch. Which wasn’t much. With a shaky hand, she reached up and flushed, then went to the sink and rinsed her mouth, throwing some water on her face for good measure. At the door of the bathroom, she swayed and ended up leaning against the jamb to look at her husband.