I stoop down and my fingers find his pulse point—thready but present. I scan his gray-tinged face. "Hailey, call 911. Now."
The scent of spilled alcohol mingles with expensive cologne. Concerned guests gather in a circle around us, their voices creating a backdrop of worried murmurs. At least the band is playing. People are dancing. I can feel the weight of eyes watching me, expecting me to have answers, expecting me to fix this.
Maxwell stares up at me with a blank expression that sends shivers down my spine. This wasn't on any list Sarah and I made up for potential Whitmore sabotage. Whatever just happened, it's real—Maxwell wouldn't fake something that makes him this vulnerable.
I loosen his tie and check his breathing while Hailey talks to the 911 operator, giving them our address.
Even as I issue calm instructions and reassurances, part of my mind remains stuck on that moment that Wyatt looked at me with panic in his eyes. I don’t know what kind of panic that was. Was it the kind of fear a man has when his sins are laid bare for the world to see? Or was it something else?
This could destroy not just our relationship but everything the Halloway family has fought to save. I feel like I’m drowning. I need to get back to the Halloways but also, I don’t want to face the possibility of a baby. I can’t stop theimage of Brittney’s post with him—the one with his shirt off and he’s asleep—from screaming at me that it’s true.
All the things Brittney’s done, the mean-girl texts, following Wyatt from rodeo to rodeo—it makes sense if she’s pregnant.
A shadow falls across Maxwell's prone form, and I look up to find Ford standing over me.
"He's fine," Ford announces. He takes Hailey's phone and hangs up the call.
“Are you kidding me?” Hailey asks. She blinks in shock at his audacity as he hands it back to her. “He’s clearly not fine.”
"Everything's good here, folks. Just a guy who had one too many." Ford drops to one knee, and he grabs Maxwell's shoulders. "Just got a little overwhelmed by the alcohol, didn't you, Maxwell?"
The crowd twitters uncertainly. They want to believe what he’s saying—want to believe that Maxwell drank too much and passed out. Most of them disperse. A few men ask if we need help getting him up.
“No thanks,” Ford answers for us.
I stare at Ford, not sure of his motives.
A member of the wait staff appears with a handful of towels and a bucket and starts mopping up the mess. Hailey takes a towel and swipes the wall clean.
Maxwell's eyes flutter, confusion swimming in their pale depths as Ford moves him to a sitting position. He looks disoriented, not drunk.
“Take his arm,” Ford tells me.
I do and the next thing I know Ford’s pulling Maxwell to standing. I hurry to lift my side.
“Should he be up?” Hailey asks. “He could have hit his head.”
Ford waves away her concern. “He’s fine. We’ll get him home and he can sleep it off.”
My instincts ping like radar. There’s more to this situation. Ford’s acting like this has happened before.
Eleanor appears, swooping in like a protective hawk with gracious smiles and firm redirections. "Just a little too much excitement," she tells the few people left watching. Her voice carries the kind of warm authority that makes people want to believe her. “It’s such a wonderful evening.” She turns to the couple nearest her. “Are you having a good time?”
They respond and she asks a follow-up question. The crowd starts to disperse.
I can see every move that they make, and I want to call them out, but my emotional bandwidth is already stretched to breaking. Maxwell is starting to get heavy and I shift so that his weight is more on Ford.
“I think it’s time we leave,” Eleanor slides her arm between me and Maxwell and I step aside to let her in. Maxwell’s eyes are clearing and he coughs several times as he comes to himself.
He looks old and worn out. Certainly not the image they wanted to present tonight.
Ford catches my eye as they help Maxwell toward the door. I stare at him. I’m not sure if I should thank him for taking this situation away from my event or if there’s another level of manipulation going on here.
Before I can make up my mind, he turns and walks out.
Hailey huffs. “That was weird.”
“Not the weirdest thing that’s happened tonight,” I fire back. I turn to her. “Thank you for being so quick to respond.”