She looks at me now, then tries to say something else, but Tyson stops her.

“Don’t try to talk. We can talk later. Right now, you need to rest.”

Lainey gives us the slightest nod before her eyes flutter shut.

“We love you, Lainey,” Tyson says.

“We love you so much,” I whisper.

She doesn’t reply, but I tell myself she can hear us.

Chapter 33

Lainey

One minute I’m partying on a yacht; the next minute I’m waking up in a strange bed, staring at fluorescent lights. The room is freezing, and cool air is flowing into my nose.

I try to look around, but my eyelids are too heavy. So I listen instead. I can hear the low-pitched whir of a motor, a steady beeping sound, the rattling of wheels rolling along a hallway, and voices speaking Italian. Some are near, others are farther away, still others sound like they’re coming from a television or radio.

The din is eerily familiar, taking me back to the end of my mother’s life. I don’t know what happened to me, but my body feels numb—like it’s not my own. It crosses my mind that I could be paralyzed. Or dying.

—

When I finally open my eyes, I see Tyson’s face. Then Hannah beside him. They are both peering down at me with expressions that scare me. I ask where I am, my voice coming out in a scratchy whisper. My throat is dry and sore. Tyson confirms that I’m in a hospital. I can’t remember how I got here, but I’m guessing that it was my fault. I drank too much. I may have done drugs, too. I remember dancing with the Croatian girls that I met on the Piazzetta. I remember having sex. I remember falling. After that, my memory is a black hole.

Overcome with regret, I stare into Tyson’s eyes and whisper that I’m sorry.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s all going to be okay.”

I try to reply, but Tyson stops me, telling me I need to rest.

I do as I’m told, closing my eyes.

—

I can’t tell whether it’s morning or night, but at some point, a doctor comes to talk to me. Standing at the foot of my bed with a clipboard in her hand, she informs me that I fractured three ribs and my humerus. I look down at my right arm, now in a full cast, as she explains that they were able to do a closed nonsurgical reduction to set and realign the bone in the two places I broke it.

She goes on to say that I suffered acute alcohol poisoning. She tells me that if I hadn’t been brought into the hospital when I was, I may have lost my life. My heart and liver were that distressed.

As I stare at her, trying to process everything she is telling me, she clears her throat, then says, “Lainey, you also had some bruising and bleeding that can be consistent with sexual assault. Were you assaulted?”

I shake my head.

“So the intercourse was consensual?” she asks.

I nod, choosing to believe that it was. I can’t bear to consider the alternative.

She gives me a look like she isn’t sure whether to believe me, then asks if I have any questions.

My mind races as I look down at my arm. “How long will I have this cast?” I ask.

“Ten to twelve weeks,” she says.

I nod, fighting back tears, knowing that I will likely have to give up my movie role.

“How much longer will I be here?” I ask her.

“That depends on your bloodwork and other tests. We want to make sure you’re stable before we discharge you. For now, you need to rest.”

I nod as she gives me a small smile, hangs my chart on a hook, then walks out of the room.

—

A short time later, Hannah and Tyson appear in my doorway with furtive expressions.

“Good morning,” Hannah says. “We brought you a cappuccino. Extra hot.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m dying for some coffee.”

She hands me the cup and I raise it to my lips, inhaling the delicious scent, then taking a long sip.

“That might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” I say.

“Wait till you try these croissants.” Tyson smiles, then asks how I’m feeling.

“A bit sore,” I say.

“I bet,” he says.

I don’t know what to say, so I give them a rundown on my doctor’s report, minus the sex part. They both nod, listening intently. When I’m finished, I brace myself for the inevitable questions about what, exactly, happened. At the very least, I expect them to mention our argument or explain how they found me.

But they don’t go there with any of it. Not that morning or during any of their following visits that day. At first, I’m relieved, but as the hours pass, their silence is unnerving.

Maybe they know how ashamed I already am. Maybe they feel too much guilt of their own for lying to me about my sister. Maybe they are just waiting for me to broach the subject. I know I need to—and that I also need to call my agent—but I can’t quite find the courage.

—

That evening, Hannah and Tyson get permission to take me outside in a wheelchair. The sky is filled with stars. There has still been no mention of our fight or anything else that happened during those blacked-out hours. As we sit in silence, enjoying the night air, Alessandro walks up to us with a big pink teddy bear.

“You’re just the woman I’m looking for,” he says, handing me the bear.

I cradle it in my arms and tell him thank you.

Alessandro smiles, then pulls a Sharpie out of his breast pocket. “May I be the first to sign your cast?”

“Yes, please,” I say, watching as he uncaps the pen and scrawls his signature across my forearm.

“You know, Lainey,” Tyson says, “this guy led the search for you.”