Page 28 of The Darkest Knight

The waiter arrives with plates of food—steaks cooked to perfection, sides that look more like art than food. Dex chats up the sommelier, ordering a bottle of something vintage and stupidly expensive.

I should feel satisfied sitting here, surrounded by my brothers, eating food most people can’t afford. But that restless feeling gnaws at the edges.

Alicia is smart. Beautiful. Easy to be around.

But an image of Tobias, Savannah, and their children flashes through my mind again, and I still feel like something’s missing.

Chapter 14

CARI

Aunt Scarlett calls me in a panic.

I’m still at work. Jett left about an hour ago to meet his brothers for dinner, and I’d planned on going home to take it easy for once. But now my heart lurches at Aunt Scarlett’s words.

“Your mom’s getting worse, Cari. She had a fever last night, Cari—I had to bring her to the hospital.”

Everything inside me freezes for a beat. “What do you mean, the hospital?”

“She’s being tested right now, but just … just come, sweetheart. Okay? Come quickly.”

My stomach pitches with fear, and my hands turn cold and clammy. I frantically fumble around, trying to gather my belongings, my breaths sawing in and out, sharp and painful in my chest. My nose stings as I hold back the tears, refusing to accept what this might mean.

But a part of me already knows what this means.

Aunt Scarlett wouldn't tell me to come quickly if everything was okay. There’s a heaviness in my chest, as if my heart has turned to stone and now sinks into the pit of my stomach. I rush out, leaving work strewn across my desk. This doesn’t matter. It’s not important.

The drive to the hospital blurs. The cab’s tires hum over pavement, and I press my phone to my chest, clutching it like it’s the only thing holding me together.

When I get to Mom’s room, Aunt Scarlett is waiting, pale and tired but solid. Her arms pull me into a hug that doesn’t last long enough.

“They think it’s a urinary tract infection,.” Her voice is soft, as though speaking any louder might shatter something fragile. “It’s common with her immune system being so compromised.”

I let out a shaky breath, my heart twisting like vine. An infection. It doesn’t sound like the worst news, but seeing Mom curled up in that bed makes my knees weak.

I sink into the chair beside her, staring at her pale face. Her eyes are closed, her breathing shallow, and her skin is flushed with fever. She’s always been so strong, but now—she looks so small.

“Oh, Mom.” My throat closes up. I reach for her hand, and it feels fragile in mine, like something I have to hold carefully or it’ll break.

The hours crawl.

Aunt Scarlett and I keep vigil by her bedside through the night. Machines beep softly in the background, the fluorescent light buzzes overhead. We don’t speak much—there’s nothing to say—but every so often, Aunt Scarlett squeezes my hand or hands me a cup of lukewarm coffee from a vending machine.

When morning comes, Mom stirs. Her eyelids flutter, and then she’s looking at me. It’s faint, but she smiles.

“Cari,” she whispers.

I lean forward, trying not to cry again. “Hey, Mom. I’m here. I’m right here.” My heart aches. She looks the weakest and most ill that I've ever seen her.

She doesn’t say anything else. Her eyes close again, but for this moment, it’s enough.

Outside the room, a short while later, I crumble.

I cover my face with my hands, my sobs ugly and too loud in the sterile hallway. Aunt Scarlett wraps me up in her arms, holding me as I shake.

“She’s fighting an infection, Cari,” she whispers. “She’s strong. She’s a fighter, just like you. She’ll get through this.”

“But look at her!” I choke out. “She’s never been this sick. I can’t bear to see her like this.”

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