CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR DUFFY

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DUFFY

I’m coming home for you, Duffy.

Rolling my eyes so hard I was stunned they didn’t end up all the way in Hoboken, I swiped my finger to delete the message. The alternative was to reply with something snarky to BJ, along the lines of “I know you’re good at coming, but I wish you’d reciprocate sometimes.” These days, I’d been riding the O train at least three times a day. It was always on time and reached its destination unfailingly. The only reason I didn’t rub my relationship with Riggs in BJ’s face was because I didn’t want to reduce Riggs to a mere rebound. He was so much more than that.

Oh, and because the relationship wasn’t, you know, real.

The latter was something I had to remind myself repeatedly as I found myself doing wifely things for him. Cook for him, cuddle with him, tell him about my darkest secrets and naughtiest desires while we were wrapped up in one another, limbs tangled, hearts beating to the same rhythm.

Slipping my phone back into my purse, I dashed down the corridor to Charlie’s hospital room. I felt bad for not dropping everything and rushing to his aid when I found out he’d been admitted, but earlier today Laura called to tell me her kitten, Bubsy, had fallen from the top cabinet of her kitchen. She saw him on the nanny cam while at work but couldn’t tend to him until later tonight. I wanted to repent for how shitty I’d been to her in recent years, so I rushed to her aid.

Now I was in front of Charlie’s door, dreading to open it and see what waited inside. Not only did I like my old neighbor quite a bit, but if I really was right about who he was to Riggs (which seemed unlikely and yet so incredibly obvious at the same time), I had a moral dilemma on my hands.

I knocked on the door.

“Come in, Daphne.”

I pushed the door open and padded inside sheepishly. Charlie was lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of monitors. He looked pale and sickly and not himself.

I plastered a smile on my face and presented him with a slice of pineapple pizza—his favorite—and a can of Coke.

“Medicinal junk food,” I announced.

“Just what the doctor ordered.” His eyes lit up, but the rest of him remained dimmed, curled over the big bed like a book-pressed flower.

Plopping on the recliner, I speared him with a chiding look. “You’ve got a lot to answer for, mister. You should’ve told me.”

He coughed into his fist before tucking into the pizza, not meeting my eyes. “You’ve been busy recently. Plus, I don’t go advertising my sickness for all to see.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” I followed him with my gaze. His movements were slow and labored. “You know bloody well I’m not talking about your illness. Though we’ll get to that too.”

He sighed, dropping the pizza onto the paper plate. “Fuck.”

So it was true, then. My chest felt like someone was trying to wring it dry.

“Language,” I said haughtily. “But yes, fuck sums it up nicely.”

“I guess someone needs to know.” Charlie looked around us, as if making sure we were indeed alone. “And I guess that someone must be you, since you’re the one constant person in my life.”

“Don’t sound so depressed. You could’ve had worse company. Have you met my roommate?” I wiggled my brows.

I watched his reaction hawkishly. He let out a tired laugh but stopped quickly. It must’ve hurt his lungs. I had no idea what he was here for. I assumed it had something to do with his episode earlier that week.

“Can we talk about it in a second?” He gulped, his face wrinkling with anxiety. “Because what I have .?.?. it’s bad, Duffy. Really bad.”

“Alcohol-poisoning bad?” I asked. He’d been moved from the ER to the ICU, but I still had no idea what he was here for.

“No.”

“Cancer bad?”

He shook his head. “Huntington’s disease.”

My spine went rigid. Huntington’s disease? The name was familiar, but I knew nothing about it. Only that it was quite rare and deadly.

“You look so surprised you’d think I told you I was pregnant.” He reached for his nightstand to pop open the can of Coke. “To make a long story short, it’s a disease in which the nerve cells in your brain rot progressively, until you can barely move, think, or speak.”

“You mean .?.?. like ALS?” I gulped.

Charlie unleashed a soft smile. “No. ALS at least leaves your mind unaffected. Your healthy mind is essentially trapped in a body that deteriorates. Huntington’s disease is an overachiever. It robs you of your mind and your body.”

I had so many questions. So many things I wanted to know. But the one big thing that stood in front of me was the realization that Charlie was dying. Dying and lonely. The only people who’d visited him were Riggs and me, and we lived next door.

“How long have you been suffering from this?” I tucked my hands between my thighs so he wouldn’t see me shaking.

He blew out air, swinging his gaze up to the ceiling. “Probably close to six years, I’d say.”

“I never saw you looking .?.?. uh .?.?.” I trailed off. I wasn’t sure what the warning signs were.

“Yes,” he said, and I noticed that his speech was slower than usual. “I’ve been good about taking my medication, keeping up with my appointments .?.?. did everything right. I’ve even stopped traveling because I needed to be close to my health care personnel.” His eyes gleamed with unshed tears, and now he did look at me, but I almost wished he hadn’t. His misery sucked away whatever sunshine I still harbored. “Just because you didn’t see it, didn’t mean it didn’t happen. I suffered through all the phases. Big and small. The memory lapses, the clumsiness, the muscle spasms, the impaired speech.”

“How did you hide it?”

“I got good at slinking away whenever it was necessary.” He smiled grimly. “I disappeared on the few people I was in contact with. And I wasn’t always in such pain. The time from the first symptom of Huntington’s disease to death is between ten and thirty years. I’ve been dodging the real bad stuff for a while. Looks like it finally caught up with me.”

I closed my eyes, drawing a deep breath. This was why he’d soiled himself the other day. He had little control of his muscles. It took everything in me not to cry.

“You’ve been coping with this alone for six years?” I pressed my lips together to stop myself from crying.

He tried to nod. “Though each year felt like a decade.”

“Well, what are they planning to do to help you here?” I demanded, rising up. “There’s a lot to be done. You’ve been practically fine before this week!”

He looked at me sympathetically, like I was in complete denial.

“I wasn’t fine, and there’s not much they can do. Huntington’s disease is incurable. You can slow it down and sometimes manage it, but I’ve already done those things before. They don’t work anymore. This is my final act, I’m afraid.”

“How can you say that?” I began pacing the room, frantic. “You just got here!”

“It’s not my first stint at the hospital,” he admitted. “You know all those times I told you I was going out of town?”

My eyes flared. Charlie would text me randomly that he couldn’t make it to our weekly drinks every now and then because he was away. I never questioned his excuses. He was a dashing, cosmopolitan man. I figured he took trips to see friends and family, not lie in a dark hospital room all by himself.

“Oh, Charlie.” I cupped my mouth. Despite my best effort, tears leaked from my eyes. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you out of here—”

“Duffy.”His voice sharpened. “Listen to me. I’m not getting out of here alive this time. If I do, it’s straight to a hospice. I’ve been pushing it for the last year. Things aren’t getting better for me, angel.”

“How could you give up so quickly?” I whined childishly, fire burning through my lungs.

“I’m tired.” He looked down at his fingers, which were curled into themselves, prawn-like. “And in pain. All the damn time. I just want it to stop. I’m ready for it to stop. Even if I wasn’t .?.?.” He took a labored breath. “Our lungs? They’re a muscle too. I’m sure you know that. Mine are slowing down, making it difficult for me to breathe. I’m at a thirty-percent capacity right now. Which is .?.?. not great.”

“What about a lung transplant?” I leaned forward, clutching his hand.

Charlie laughed, then coughed. “I ain’t young and have a deadly disease. I’ll never qualify.” Silence blanketed the room for a moment. “Goodbyes are hard, angel, I know. But this is what makes great hellos so significant.”

I buried my face in my hands and began sobbing uncontrollably. When I’d first walked in here, I couldn’t imagine Charlie would tell me something like that.

I thought he’d confess to drinking a bit too much, or to a mini heart attack that would finally push him in the right direction, of living sober and eating meals that weren’t frozen. I was entirely unprepared for what he’d just hit me with.

“You said this is the end.” My weeping had subsided some. “How close are you to said end?”

“A few more weeks. A month, maybe? I’ve already contacted my landlady and told her the apartment’s all hers to rent out.”

I moaned into my palms, knowing I needed to be strong for him and somehow still shamefully allowing myself to break. My thoughts spun into a messy knot. He was too young. Too good to die. He was my only friend in New York. And if my suspicion was true .?.?. he had so much more to live for. An entire human to dedicate his life to.

As if reading my mind, Charlie cleared his throat and tried to scratch the back of his shoulder.

“Now about that other thing we were going to discuss .?.?.”

I forced myself to look up. I was now furious with myself for not paying attention to the small clues. To his limited range of motion. To the way he sometimes slurred. To the fact that he’d forget basic things I’d told him about my life.

“It’s about Riggs.” He winced.

I was nauseous with fear, having put together the picture in my head.

“Huntington’s .?.?.” He swallowed hard. “It’s an inherited disease.”

I closed my eyes.

This was his admission.

His confirmation that my theory was correct.

It was mad not to notice it, even though on paper, Riggs and Charlie were from different states, places, coasts, and backgrounds; if you put them both in the same room, they looked like a mirror image of one another. They had the same height, the same build, the same golden, striking hair. The same eyes—blue with golden flecks swirling around the pupils, like tiny oil spills—and the same Roman nose. They spoke in the same low, sexy baritone. They both moved like panthers in the savanna, out to catch their next prey. They were passionate about the same things: nature, photography, extreme sports. They drank the same alcohol, had the same tics, and had the same addictive laugh. Based on their case, nature versus nurture had a clear answer: nature all the way. They’d lived their entire lives apart, and yet they were practically identical twins.

My muscles tightened. “When did you know?”

Charlie tipped his head back, looking anguished. “That he was mine?”

“Yes.”

“That very first second. That time he slipped through the entrance door of our building. It was like staring into a mirror thirty years ago. It knocked the breath out of me. All the times afterward, I waited for him to say something about it. He never did.”

“He could hardly know, though, could he?” Fresh anger slammed into me, and I momentarily forgot Charlie was sick. “Why would his mind even go there?”

“You’re right,” he said grimly. “It shouldn’t. He shouldn’t even be thinking about me at all.”

An avalanche of questions swirled inside me—why did he leave? Why did he never look for Riggs? What happened the night of Riggs’s mother’s death? But ultimately, I didn’t have the right to know anything before Riggs did. Even having this conversation felt like betraying him.

“When are you going to tell him?” My voice turned metallic and cold.

“When?”His eyes widened. “Never, angel. Why would I do that to him?”

“Because you’re his father!” I roared. “He deserves to know.”

“He’d never forgive me. Both for deserting him and for telling him.” Charlie’s chin wobbled. I couldn’t deny that he was probably right. “And I wouldn’t blame him. What’s the point in telling him? More heartache? More disappointment? He’s done well for himself. I always knew he’d be all right, with his granddad and everything, but Riggs surpassed my expectations and became an accomplished artist all by himself.”

What did he mean about his grandfather? Why did he know Riggs would be okay? Before I had the chance to ask, he continued.

“And Riggs doesn’t want to know. If he did, he’d have found me easily. Though Abby didn’t put my name on his birth certificate, she gave her father my full name. All he had to do was ask. Funny, I always assumed that he would.”

Abby.Riggs’s mother. The woman I hated with every atom of my body.

I pressed my lips together, trying to keep calm. “Both his grandfathers died when he was a small boy.”

Charlie’s face became as pale as the walls behind him. He looked torn to pieces. A part of me wanted him to hurt for what he’d done to Riggs. The other wanted to cry because he was in pain. Emotions really were quite a messy ordeal.

“Where did he grow up?” Charlie’s mouth remained open.

“Ask him.” I stood up. “When you tell him you’re his father. Which is going to be tomorrow, next time he comes to visit you.”

“I already told you—”

“Enough!” I raised my voice, smashing my purse against the foot of his bed. “I don’t care that the truth is uncomfortable. It is still the truth. Not to mention, it’s not a family reunion that I’m after.” My palms and the back of my neck began to sweat. “Riggs has been having .?.?. headaches.”

Charlie frowned. “Okay . . . ?”

“Nagging headaches that won’t go away and have no explanation.”

I raised my eyebrows, staring at him pointedly. It took a second before the penny dropped. Headaches were a telltale sign of something worse, and I imagined Huntington’s disease was one of them.

Charlie was green in the face now. “He needs to know.”

“He must get checked,” I agreed.

What I left out was that I had already booked Riggs an appointment. He just needed to reschedule it. That was because I wasn’t only worried for his health—he deserved to know the truth. What he chose to do with it afterward was his business alone.

“Tomorrow.” I bent down to kiss his cold cheek. “Otherwise, I’ll do it, and he’ll kill you himself.”

By the time I got home, I was proper knackered. I felt like I hadn’t slept for a hundred years. My mind was reeling with the revelations that Charlie was dying and that he was Riggs’s father. Amid all this, I also had to deal with the uncomfortable knowledge that I couldn’t stop thinking about my husband every second of the bloody day. I was obsessed with the man, and the prospect of him finding out about Charlie and getting upset made me want to hurl myself under a bus. I didn’t even want to unpack the idea of Riggs possibly having Huntington’s disease, which alone was a breakdown-inducing prospect for me.

Riggs was on the settee, smoking a joint and drinking a beer when I walked in, the picture of clean living. I flung my purse onto the coffee table, resisting the urge to scold him to take better care of himself, because his no-show dad could have passed a deadly disease to him.

“Hello,” I greeted. I tried to maintain “icy and proper” whenever we weren’t in bed together. “Look at you, being a health guru. Would you like a few lines of cocaine to go with your beer and weed?”

“You mean a bump?” He chugged the rest of his drink carelessly, rising to his feet. “Sure, if you have it.”

“I do not.”

“I’m shocked and shaken,” he replied acerbically, clutching his chest.

“How was your day?” I ignored his sarcasm.

“Terrible, yours?”

“Same.” I paused, frowning. “Why was your day terrible?”

He didn’t answer, but he did look like he could murder someone. And rather enjoy it too. I’d never seen Forlorn Riggs before. Cheeky Riggs? Yes. Annoyed Riggs? Most definitely. Even Angry Riggs made a cameo once or twice. But this was new and unwelcome.

We stood in front of each other, our gazes clashing like titans. I didn’t know what had changed between earlier this morning and right now, but something had. There were secrets between us. Unspoken things that could ruin us.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I huffed. I was tired, sad for Charlie, devastated for Riggs, and mostly—terrified. I couldn’t fall in love with my husband. I simply couldn’t. He had no interest in my heart. If I gave it to him, he’d chuck it in a bin on his way to his next, leggy conquest.

“Never mind about my shitty day. You seem off.” Riggs squinted.

“Well, because Cha—” I started, then zipped my mouth shut. I wanted to tell him it was about Charlie dying, but Charlie never told Riggs what was wrong with him. It wasn’t my place.

I shook my head. “I’ve had a long day.”

“Full of calls and texts from Cocksucker, I’m sure.” Riggs fastened his mouth into a taunting scowl.

My God, who cared about BJ right now?

“Have you rescheduled your appointment yet?” I grabbed his empty beer bottle and his ashtray, then carried them to the kitchenette.

“Soon.” He crept behind me like a hungry predator.

“Pack a bag.” His words hit my back, almost bringing me to my knees.

I disposed of the ashtray’s contents into the bin and swiveled on my heel to face him. My spine pressed against the counter. Riggs was crowding me, in my face.

“Excuse me?” I arched an eyebrow.

“Pack. A. Bag,” he enunciated slowly, like it was my hearing that was problematic.

“Are you kicking me out of my own flat?” I let out a sardonic laugh.

“No. We’re going on vacation.”

“Vacation? Where?”

“London.”

“London?”

“Are you just going to keep repeating everything I say in a higher pitch?” he asked, looking irritated and put-off.

“Until you make sense, yes. Riggs, what do you .?.?. okay, first of all, personal space, please.” I waved a hand between us, shooing him away. I couldn’t concentrate when his body was so close to mine.

He took a step back, still staring me down with the rage of the entire Roman army.

“Second—what do you mean, we’re going to London? When? For how long? And perhaps most importantly, with what mone—”

“Stop worrying about money,” he hissed out, trapping me by slamming his hands on each side of me over the counter, leaning in close. “Just pack a bag and let’s go.”

My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. “You mean, you booked us tickets for tonight?”

“No better time than the fucking present, kid.”

“I can’t leave the country, remember?” I asked frantically. “My visa is pending.”

“Your form I-131 just got approved.” He raised his hand, in which my passport was tucked, a brand-new visa inside it. “The USCIS expedited it because you have an emergency at home.”

“I have an emergency at home?” I shrieked.

“No,” Riggs said. “Kieran and I manufactured one, though. I knew you missed your parents, and Zimmerman was more than happy to help out and receive the extra ca—” He stopped unexpectedly, but I was too dazed to follow this thread of the conversation.

My head spun. He needed to talk to Charlie tomorrow. This couldn’t wait.

“But we’ve already filed our visa petition,” I said, scrambling. “We don’t need to pretend anymore.”

“Contrary to what you may think, I don’t live, breathe, and exist for your visa.”

“Jesus, Riggs.” I ducked my head under his muscular arm, making a beeline for the loo. “Now’s not a good time. I .?.?. I .?.?. I have a job interview tomorrow.”

You need to talk to Charlie. I don’t know how much time he has left.

“You won’t get it.” He followed me. “You are unemployable until you get a work visa. There, I hit you with a truth bomb. Now stop trying.”

I threw the door to the bathroom open, pushed my pants down, and squatted for a pee in the toilet. He balanced against the sink, knotting his arms over his chest.

“You’re being unnecessarily overbearing,” I pointed out.

“You’re being unnecessarily stubborn.” His gaze dropped between my thighs, and a small smirk graced his face. “But I like that we’ve reached this level of intimacy. I draw the line at number two, though.”

“Eyes up here!” I snapped my fingers. “What about Charlie? We can’t leave him.”

“Fuck Charlie. He’s not our kid.” Riggs shrugged. “Besides, it’s just for one weekend. He’ll survive that long.”

My stomach roiled. He had no idea it was his father he was talking about. I felt like Judas Iscariot. A deceiving Demas.

“Well, I don’t want to go.” I had a feeling there was something he wasn’t telling me.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to invite my next available hookup. Can’t let your ticket go to waste, can we?”

I flushed, bulldozing toward the sink. Riggs didn’t move. I purposely splashed water at him while washing my hands.

“You’re being a bully,” I seethed, scrubbing my fingers unnecessarily hard.

“You’re being unreasonable,” he clapped back. When I finished washing my hands, he clasped my wrist and tugged me to my room. “Now, get packing.”

“What’s the hurry?” I buried my heels in the floor, refusing to budge.

“Just wanting to get this sham marriage over with, and what better way than to finally meet the bride’s family?”

“You didn’t seem so eager to be done with me yesterday, when we shared a bed,” I said conversationally.

Riggs sneered. “First of all, it was a shower, and second, don’t confuse fucking with romance.”

We stopped in my room. I turned around. We were both panting hard.

“Riggs.” I used my shaking hands to pull my hair back. “You’re scaring me. What’s happening?”

“Look, I’m feeling very confined right now. I haven’t been outside of this goddamn state in over a month. I’m growing antsy, and this was the one trip I could write off as legitimate in Emmett’s eyes. A honeymoon. And since I can’t take you anywhere else because of your visa application, I thought you’d enjoy seeing your family.”

I felt selfish and completely self-absorbed. Of course he felt claustrophobic. Never before had he stayed in one place for so long. He was only here because we needed to pretend. And I hadn’t seen my family in so long. So bloody long, and my heart squeezed at the thought of hugging them again. Charlie could wait for one weekend. It wasn’t ideal, but Riggs’s world was about to detonate, and he deserved one last happy weekend.

“I’ll pack a bag right now.”