"She's at a launch party?" Vivian cackled like a crazy person. "So, let me get this straight, not only did my mother call you—a person she met two seconds ago—while ignoring my calls, she also skipped out on my party for someone else's? It's my birthday!"

"Technically," Miles spoke up, "your birthday isn't until Tuesday."

I elbowed him in the ribs. The date wasn't the issue. Her mom should've been there, no matter what.

"Maybe she's still there," Miles offered now, being more helpful. "Try texting her again or her assistant or—"

"I have a better idea," she cut in, her gaze shifting to me. "How about we have your girlfriend call her? I'm sure my mom would definitely answer."

"Come on, Vi, it's not her fault."

Now he was on the other end of her death stare.

"Of course you'd defend her. Why would you choose me over Little Miss Perfect?" she scoffed, turning her back to us. "Why would anyone?"

Miles was just as lost as I was about what to say next. How did you respond to something like that?

Vivian didn't add to her rant, instead she stormed out of the room. A few beats passed before we followed her out into the hall.

"Where are you going?" Miles asked.

"To cancel this party," she shouted over her shoulder. "If I can't enjoy it, why the hell should they?"

She was fuming as she pulled the jumbo sized rollers out of her hair, tossing them haphazardly in the hall. If she wasn't in such a blind rage, maybe she would've seen the one that rolled out onto the stairs. Maybe she wouldn't have slipped on it.

Vivian went down. The scene played out in slow motion as she tumbled down the steps, hitting each one on her way, her very long way down.

When she made it to the bottom, face first, everything seemed to freeze. The music, the party guests. Even Miles and I were frozen at the top of the staircase. Did that really just happen?

"Is she dead?" A girl called out.

That seemed to break through everyone's shock. A few people rushed to help her. Most stood back, watching the scene unfold.

Miles rushed down the steps and I followed a few steps behind. Vivian was sitting up now, there was blood on her face, the source unknown to me. She seemed to be more concerned with her leg. But not too concerned as she pushed a server aside who was attempting to help.

"Don't touch me!" she cried, pushing away someone else. However, when Miles kneeled beside her to ask if she could stand she didn't mind. She also insisted that she couldn't walk on her own.

As Miles picked her up bridal style, a very small, very petty part of me wondered if maybe she did see the roller.

+ + +

Four stitches on her forehead and a sprained ankle. Those were her only injuries, but from the constant demands—these pillows are too soft, this blanket smells like dust, I asked for room temperature water—you'd think they just gave her three days to live.

Naturally, being one of the richest people in Westbrook, Vivian stayed in one of the hospitals biggest, fanciest room. With a mini fridge and her own personal bathroom.

She was being held overnight for observations and like the nice guy he was, Miles wanted to stay too. Only I hadn't seen him since he left to get coffee. So, when Vivian called out for him I had no choice but to go in and see her. Something I'd been able to avoid until then.

"I asked for Miles," she grumbled, flipping through the channels on the flat screen that hung on the wall.

"He went to get coffee," I told her. "Did you actually need anything?"

She set the remote down, looking over at me with a sly smile. "You and Miles were getting hot and heavy out on the balcony tonight."

I held back an eye roll. "So, you don't need anything?"

"Have you two, you two had sex yet?"

I turned to leave, but that didn't stop her.

"He's really good in bed. You should give it a try." she giggled deliriously. She was on pain medication which only made her even more unbearable.

The smart thing to do would've been to walk away. She was only trying to bait me. Unfortunately, that night wasn't my night for making smart choices.

"First," I said, facing her. "Miles already told me about you two. I don't care. Second, this—" I pointed between the two of us, "—has nothing to do with Miles. You hate me because of your mom."

It didn't click until that night. It made perfect sense though. Vivian didn't start hating me until that night I first met Victoria at June's. Miles was just a proxy for how she felt about the relationship I had with her mom. Not that we even had one.

I couldn't even be mad at her for it. If my mom showed more interest in some random girl than me I'd probably react the same.

"Get out," she demanded, bitterly through gritted teeth.

She didn't have to tell me twice.

After checking the cafeteria with no sign of Miles, I took my search outside. He was there, sitting in the cold on a metal bench just outside the hospital. He held a small white coffee cup in his hands, his eyes trained on the object.

"Miles?"

He looked over at me, surprised. "Oh, I was just getting the coffee."

"And it was too hot so you came out here to cool it off?"

He simply smiled at my attempt at a joke. A sad, forced smile. Then I remembered when he brought me to this same hospital when my mom got hurt. He left out that time too.

"What's with you and hospitals?" I asked, taking a seat next to him.

"You don't want to hear about that," he said. "Too depressing."

I reached over, touching his knee. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Just know I'm here to listen."

"Thanks," was all that he said. He didn't want to talk about it, but it didn't feel like he'd closed a door in my face. It felt more like a to be continued.

His phone dinged and he pulled it out of his pants pocket to read the text.

"That was Kimber," he told me. "They finally cleared out the ballroom and are on their way here. They had to bribe people to leave by giving them the cake." He looked amused by that as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. "Also, it's almost twelve. I should get you home."

I'd be lying if I said I was looking forward to that. Staying there with Vivian seemed more appealing than going home. But I had to face my mom at some point.

+ + +

I asked Miles to park on the corner, just as precaution. Still, he insisted on walking me to the house. The street was quiet, except for the chirp of crickets and dogs barking a few streets over. After everything that had happened in the past few hours a little silence was nice.

It was only a short walk from his car to my house, but we made it a lot longer with our sluggish steps. Neither of us was in a hurry to get back to our noisy realities. Mom was probably waiting for me ready to choke me out and Miles had to get back to the hospital despite whatever it was that freaked him out about that place.

When we made it to my house it was pitch black. That meant Mom was probably asleep. My anxiety eased a little.

"So," Miles said once we were at the back of the house, "tonight was..."

"Eventful," I filled in, slipping off my heels in preparation for the climb.

He laughed. "That's one word for it."

"I got to see you, though," I said. "Even if we spent most of the night at a hospital."

He stepped closer to me, cupping my face with his hands. "I'll call you tomorrow?"

"No."

His eyes widened at my reply, then relaxed as it clicked. "Your mom has your phone." I nodded. "Then I'll contact you through carrier pigeon or smoke signals."

"I'll keep a look out."

He kissed me goodnight and didn't leave until I had safely scaled the side of the house and was in my room.

I flicked on the light to see if everything was in order. The stuffed bear I sat behind the door was unmoved, which meant my mom hadn't come in. I might have actually gotten away with it.

Grabbing a sleep shirt from the drawer, I proceed to pull off my clothes, starting with Miles's jacket that I forgot I was wearing.

When I went to hang it in my closet to return to him later, something fell out of the pocket. His wallet. A few things fell out of it and as I picked them up, I realized one of them was a picture. It was a graduation photo of a girl I instantly recognized.

My heart lurched at the image. It couldn't be her. Why would he have Elizabeth's picture tucked away in his wallet? I flipped the photo to find a note neatly written there. My eyes scanned over the text, only two words stood out to me.

Love, Rose.

As much as I wanted to believe Rose and Elizabeth were different people, they weren't. They were the same. Same curly hair brown hair, same dimpled chin, same silver heart pendant as in the picture from the news article I printed out.

And just like that, just as I was getting my bearings, the floor caved right from under me.