Page 79 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

There’s nothing else to say.

It is what it is.

Throwing a tantrum about how unfair life is won’t get me anywhere. It won’t bring Mom back. It won’t cure this stupid disease or get me a new kidney. All it will do is send my heart rate skyrocketing again and make me feel like even more shit.

Thaddeus pauses at the door and turns back to me. “What about your ‘fiancé’ who was here? Do you want me to keep him informed if he asks?”

Regret twists my stomach, and I shake my head. “No. Anything he needs to know can come from me.”

It needs to come from me.

“He seems…nice.”

I laugh despite the lack of humor in this entire situation. “I think that may be the first time in history anyone has ever referred to Jameson Fury as ‘nice.’”

He shrugs. “He’s been here with you since the moment he brought you in. That says a lot.”

Unfortunately, it says a lot of things that are tearing me apart inside.

All I can do is watch Thaddeus walk out of the room with a parting sympathetic smile and settle in for what will undoubtedly be a long and painful road.

20

JAMESON

My hand shakes as I pick up the phone to call Bash. The adrenaline I've been operating on since Isabella collapsed has finally run out, and now, my entire body is revolting and screaming at me to stop and go to bed.

It’s so tempting to just give in, to let myself crash and sleep and forget the awful reality of what’s happening…but I can't. Not knowing Izzy is lying there all alone in that awful hospital room. The last thing I wanted to do was leave her there, but the look the doctor gave me and what Isabella said made it pretty clear she didn’t want me there for whatever conversation they were about to have.

That hurt almost as much as the fight I got into during my last game that earned me these bruises and this black eye. But even though I want to crash, for some reason, I just have to talk to Bash. Something tells me he’ll understand.

He answers almost immediately. “Jamo, what's up? It’s late there.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and suck in a deep breath. I wasn't even sure I was going to call him, but as soon as I got home, it was the first thing I did—the only thing that felt right. “Isabella is sick.”

“Huh?” Bash jostles the phone, and the background noise that floods around him dissipates before he comes back on the line. “Did you say Isabella is sick? What's wrong?”

What isn’t wrong?

It feels like I got a glimpse of something beautiful only to have it violently ripped away from me the next minute.

“She isn't just sick, Bash.” I have to fight back a sob before I can continue. “It's really bad.”

“Shit.”

“Apparently, she has some form of kidney disease that's been killing her for a long time. Only it just got a lot worse. She collapsed and is in the hospital.”

“Oh, hell. Is she okay? I mean, obviously, she's not okay, but is she going to be?”

I lean back on the couch and grab the bottle of Jack Daniels off the side table. “I don't know.” My gaze drifts to the bag that fell to the ground when she crumpled into my arms. I take a huge drink from the bottle and wince, push myself up from the couch, and wander over to pick up her bag before sitting back down. “She needs a transplant.”

“And if she gets one, she will be okay?”

“I don’t really know. I guess. Maybe?” I pull one of her signs from the bag.

Grandma's Kitchen opening Saturday, September 30th!

Not anymore.

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