I cooked all morning and have been taking my time wrapping each present. I watched a tutorial on bow making, and I’m thrilled at how beautiful the packages under the tree look.
Angel has been having a ball, too. She stole a roll of curling ribbon and has strewn it all over the house, and I’ve been giving her the empty rolls, which she growls at, shreds, and then runs around the room, tossing the pieces up in the air. When they fall to the ground, she pounces on it, takes it in her mouth, and shakes it.
I’ve already sent Danny and the kids about a hundred videos because she’s so darn cute.
I’m thinking about how this Christmas is going to be so different for me. I’ll be surrounded by family. By friends. By love. I almost have to pinch myself to believe that I’m actually here, in Danny’s house—and that it’s now our house. It’s just so incredible.
“I think I’ve earned some wine, and it’s past your dinnertime,” I tell Angel.
I’m putting food in her bowl and standing in front of the open refrigerator, trying to decide what I’m going to eat when my phone rings.
I run back into the family room, expecting it to be Danny. When I see a number with a Los Angeles area code, I’m immediately disappointed.
“Hello?” I say.
“Am I speaking to Jennifer Edwards?” a woman’s voice asks.
“Yes,” I say with a sigh, figuring, next, she’s going to try to sell me some health insurance.
“This is Mary Ann Summerfield from CS Memorial Hospital. I’m calling in regard to Troy Malone.”
“Is he in the hospital?” I ask, wondering why he’s not still in rehab.
“Yes. He was brought to our facility an hour ago. We have a document from the last time he was here, showing that you have medical power of attorney regarding his care.”
“Oh, um, we aren’t together anymore. Last time he was admitted was because he tried to commit suicide. I flew three hours there, only to find him sitting up in bed, laughing.”
“He won’t be doing that this time,” she says. “Look, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. He’s in the ICU, in a coma, and you might have to make some difficult decisions.”
“Like what?” I ask. “And what if I don’t want to do this?”
“If he should stay on life support.”
“Oh my God. It’s that bad?” I’m lucky the couch is directly behind me because my knees go weak, and I slump into it.
“Yes, ma’am. If you refuse, the hospital will attempt to find his closest blood relative.”
“His parents are both deceased, and he was an only child. I’m not aware of any family.”
“His situation is pretty dire. We aren’t sure if he will make it through the night. Our job is to save. He was resuscitated at the scene, again in the emergency trauma unit, and a third time in the ICU. Only someone with his medical appointment can issue a Do Not Resuscitate.”
“What happened?”
“Overdose. I don’t have the toxicology reports back, but a potent mixture of drugs was found on the scene by the first responders. Would you like me to have a doctor call you once we know more?”
“Yes, thank you,” I say numbly.
Angel must know something is wrong because she jumps up on my lap, giving me kisses. It’s then that I realize that tears are rolling down my face.
“You’re such a good girl,” I tell her, giving her a hug. “What am I going to do?”
I remember my conversation with Danny after the last time I went back to LA because of Troy. How he said we’re a team.
I decide to text him.
Me: I know you’re with your team, but could you call me?
Danny: Is everything okay?
Me: No, it’s not.
A few moments later, my phone rings in my hand.
“Hey,” I breathe out.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice panicked.
“I just got a call from an LA hospital. Troy is in ICU on life support.”
“Oh my gosh. What happened? I thought he went to rehab?”
“I thought so, too. Last time he was in the hospital, Jason must have given them a copy of his medical power of attorney. Since we weren’t married, it was advised that we have them, so we would be the ones to make decisions for the other should something like this ever happen.”
“What about his family?”
“He doesn’t have any.”
“Then, you have to go,” he says, causing me to start bawling.
“I don’t know if I want to! She said I might have to decide if they should keep bringing him back. If they should keep him on life support. How can I do that? And it’s Christmas! Our first Christmas. And I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
“Jennifer, calm down. You need to go. It’s the right thing to do. I understand and will support you the best I can. Grab your purse and a phone charger, lock up, and take Angel over to the Mackenzies’ house. I’ll call and let them know you’re coming and to see how fast their pilots can get to the airport.”
“Okay,” I sob. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. It will be okay, Jennifer. He’ll be okay.”
I hang up, and operating on autopilot, I do exactly what he told me to do. A few minutes later, I am knocking on the Mackenzies’ door while Angel scratches at the bottom, wanting to get in.
“Oh, Jennifer,” Jadyn says, pulling me into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. I don’t know a whole lot. Other than it’s really bad.” I start crying again. “And I know I shouldn’t, but I feel guilty. Like I could have done something more to help.”
“I thought he went to rehab,” she says, leading me inside as Angel takes off, racing downstairs. “The kids and Winger are down there. She’ll be in good hands.”
“I know she will. And I thought he went, too. I should probably call Jason. He might not even know yet.”
“Phillip is going to drive you to the airport. Why don’t you call him on the way?”
Phillip comes into the kitchen from their bedroom. He doesn’t say anything, just does the same thing Jadyn did—hugs me. His hug is a little different because he’s big and strong like Danny, and it makes me ache for him.
“What a mess, huh?” he says, releasing me.
I nod in agreement.
Jadyn hands me a backpack. “Take this with you.”
“What’s in it?”
“Just stuff I thought you might need at the hospital. A change of clothes. Toiletries. A sweater. A few snacks. And a phone charger, so you can keep us updated.”
Phillip’s phone buzzes. “Pilots are en route, and the plane is being fueled. Let’s go.”
He gives Jadyn a kiss, she gives me another hug, and once I’m in the car, I call Jason.
“Jennifer, this is a nice surprise. What can I do you for?” he says.
“Jason, when’s the last time you saw Troy?” I ask.
“A few days ago. His thirty days in rehab was over, so I picked him up, we had a celebratory lunch, and I took him home. He’s doing really great. Has a new Zen mindset. You’d be proud.”
“I just got a call from the hospital. He’s in the ICU. They don’t know if he’s going to make it. He overdosed.”
Jason is quiet for a moment, and then he lets out a deep breath. “That’s it. I’m out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t sign up for this. And I’ve had it. I’m not going to allow him to ruin another family holiday because he doesn’t care about himself. I’m sorry he did this. I’ll be very sad if he dies. But I’m done.”
“I understand how you feel. I just thought you should know,” I say and then hang up.
“Doesn’t sound like that went too well,” Phillip comments.
“No, it didn’t.”
The flight went incredibly fast because I somehow managed to sleep the whole way.
I expect paparazzi at the hospital, but thankfully, there is none. I assume nothing has hit the press yet because I think Damon would have texted me if it had.
A front desk clerk asks for my identification, gives me directions to the ICU, and lets them know that I’m on my way up. I’m buzzed into the unit by a nurse.
“Jennifer Edwards,” she says. “I’m Mary Ann. We spoke on the phone.”
“I’m sorry if I was rude. I was just in shock. Troy just got out of a thirty-day stint in rehab.”
“That’s understandable,” she says. “Let me page the doctor. You need to be updated on his condition. The police would also like to speak to you. They are working with the hotel and witnesses, trying to piece together what exactly happened.”
“How is he?” I ask.
“He’s hanging in there. His heart has stopped three times. He’s had two seizures and a stroke. Come on. I’ll take you back.”
I follow her down a hall of rooms made from curtains with patients in the beds between them. There are all sorts of high-tech noises and busy nurses doing procedures.
“I’ve never been in an ICU before,” I admit.
“This is where our sickest patients come. Our highly-trained staff is able to take care of people with serious conditions, like heart attacks, strokes, and major respiratory issues. Some are post-surgery. And because we are a Level One trauma center, we treat patients from severe accidents and things like gunshot wounds. Our patients are monitored bedside around the clock. Mr. Malone is back here.”
I step in front of Troy’s bed and immediately cover my face with my hands.
“I know it’s a shock,” she says, stepping away. “I’ll let you have a few moments with him.”
I don’t understand it. Why an incredibly talented man who was at the pinnacle of his career would be so reckless with his life that he ended up here. It’s one thing to get in an accident, but to fill yourself with drugs and alcohol, it’s just so sad. And I feel so helpless. There’s a chair on one side of the bed. I squeeze past all the medical equipment and sit down before I fall. Tears blur my vision as I slip my hand under his.
“It’s Eddie,” I say softly, wondering if he can even hear me. “That’s it. I just wanted you to know that I’m here.”
I lay my head down on the side of his bed and sob quietly.
“Miss Edwards,” I hear a woman’s voice say.
I put my head up and rub my eyes.
She hands me a tissue. “I’m Dr. Matthews.”
I shake her hand.
“Would you like to come with me? The police are here to update us.”
“Yes, thank you.”
We step into a small office just off the ICU where an officer is already seated.
We’re introduced, and he says, “Here’s what we know so far. Three days ago, on the evening of Wednesday, December the twentieth, the victim, Troy Malone, checked into a suite at the Los Angeles hotel where he was found. He hired a group of high-priced call girls. At one point, there were as many as eleven. He was a regular customer of two of the girls—they were with him during his entire stay and are the ones who called 911. They say he was not drinking alcohol on the first night but was mixing cocaine with cannabis. The following day, he added alcohol and sexual enhancement drugs.”
“He still has a significant amount of cocaine in his system,” the doctor confirms.
“They were of age and gave sexual consent. One is not of legal drinking age, but both admitted to drinking during their stay with the victim—”
“Troy,” I say. “His name is Troy.”
“Yes, ma’am. They submitted to a blood alcohol test on site, and neither had alcohol in their system at the time. They did the right thing, calling it in. Even though they were worried about all the drugs still in the room. Based on our investigation, we believe this to be a self-inflicted act and that there was no wrongdoing on the part of the girls who were with him, other than their profession.”
“Thank you, Officer,” the doctor says, dismissing him. After he leaves, she sits back down.
“I think I’m ready to hear about his prognosis.”
She opens a file folder and takes a moment to update herself. “We don’t know his prognosis at this point. He’s been revived on three occasions, and he’s suffering from strokes and seizures. His kidneys are failing. He’s on life support and in a coma. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial.”
“The nurse mentioned I might have to make some difficult decisions. When will I need to do that?”
“Well, if you believe that he wouldn’t want to be resuscitated, we can put in that order.”
“Like, how’s his brain?”
“We won’t know for a while. His brain is injured from a lack of oxygen due to the overdose. In severe cases, brain injuries from overdoses can cause a vegetative state. We’re dealing with each medical issue as it comes up and working to rid the drugs from his system.”
There’s a knock at the door, and the nurse peeks her head in.
“He’s had another seizure.”
The doctor nods her head and then turns to me as she rushes out the door. “Why don’t you step out into the waiting room?”
I look up at the large clock hanging on the wall in the waiting room. It ticks annoyingly loud and lets me know it’s now midnight. Hard to believe I’ve already been here for over four hours. There are people in the waiting room—some sleeping, others pacing nervously.
I consider calling Danny but don’t want to wake him or anyone else. It’s two a.m. back in KC, so I grab my phone from my back pocket, realizing I should probably at least check my texts and give Danny an update. I’m shocked to find my inbox flooded with messages.
I click over to one from Damon and read a news article.
International DJ and Twisted Dreams drummer, Troy Malone, found in tragic situation.
This just in.
International DJ and Twisted Dreams drummer, Troy Malone, is in critical condition at a local trauma center after overdosing. Our sources say Malone, who was fresh out of rehab, spent the last three days partying in a VIP suite at a Los Angeles hotel with numerous prostitutes, one of whom made the 911 call when he became unresponsive.
Longtime love, Jennifer Edwards, who split with the DJ a few months ago and recently announced that she was dating professional quarterback Danny Diamond, is rumored to be by his side.
I decide to send Danny a quick text, asking him to call me before his game. He calls me back immediately.
“How are you holding up?” is the first thing he asks.
“It’s bad, Danny. It’s really, really bad.”
“How are you holding up?” he says again.
“I’m okay. It’s all a little overwhelming, you know. To be responsible for someone who betrayed you. I was in with the doctor, and he had another stroke. His body is still full of cocaine. Blood-alcohol level was sky-high. He’s been revived three times. Had heart attacks, strokes, seizures. Oh, and get this: Jason didn’t know about it. He thought Troy was at home, being a good boy until Vegas. He’d said when Troy got out he acted like a new man and had a new outlook on life. Apparently, that was one that involved prostitutes, drugs, alcohol, and sexual enhancement drugs.”
“Sounds like a pretty volatile combination.”
“It was. And I don’t know what to do. How do you keep letting doctors revive a man who clearly didn’t want to live?”
“Was there a suicide note this time?”
“No. He was probably too busy having sex and doing cocaine for that,” I say, throwing my arm up in the air.
“You have every right to be mad at him,” Danny says softly. “You don’t deserve to be put through this.”
“How is it that you know exactly what I’m feeling?”
“Because I’m mad at him, too. His behavior is affecting our lives. It’s causing you stress. And that hurts me because I care so much about you.”
I break down again. “I’m sorry I’m crying. It’s just that I’ve been trying to be brave and listen to and understand the situation. When I first got here, I just wanted to get in Troy’s face and scream at him. I don’t understand how someone so incredibly talented and smart could do this to himself. But then I saw him lying there, helpless and alone. He doesn’t have any family. Most of the people he partied with were paid. And, today, when I told Jason what happened, thinking I’d get a little support from him, he quit. Said he’d had enough. So, I’m really all Troy has.”
“You’re a good person, Jennifer, and you’re doing the right thing. As far as if you should let them continue to revive him, you have to go with your gut. With your heart.”
“They told me something else, Danny. An overdose injures the brain and can leave the patient in a vegetative state. Would anyone want to live like that?”
“Probably not. Are you ready to tell them?”
I sigh. “For some reason, no, I’m not.”
“I know this is different, but when Jadyn had her accident, she lost a lot of blood and flatlined. But they kept working on her. They didn’t give up, but they didn’t know if there would be adverse brain issues because of it. We were lucky there weren’t.”
“She told me about her experiences during that time. Do you think Troy is going through something like that?”
“I don’t know. But if he survives and wakes up, maybe it will give him a new outlook on life.”
“Wouldn’t that be something? Which leads me back to my dilemma.”
“Yes, it does. Seriously, you have a good intuition when you listen to it, Jennifer.”
“I’ve been listening to it very much since you came back into my life.”
“I want you to know that anytime, day or night, even in the middle of one of my games, if you need me, you call me. I’ll have someone holding my phone during the game. If I need to, I’ll fake an injury, go in the medical tent, and call you. I promise.”
“You’re seriously amazing. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Have you remembered to eat anything?”
“Uh, not yet. But I’ll get something out of the backpack Jadyn sent with me. You go back to sleep.”
“All right. Good night, baby. I love you.”
I hang up the phone, feeling refreshed and ready to face the ICU again.
