Chapter 24 #3
Carrie stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening. She turned to me, her expression melting, and pulled me in for a grateful kiss. "They’re beautiful, Alex. Red roses have always been my favourite.”
"I figured," I smirked, pride drowning out my nerves. "They suit you—classic, but with a bit of a sting."
We decided on fancy mocktails—muddled berries and fresh mint—because I didn't want to lose a single second of clarity while I was with her. As we ate and talked, I realised how much I’d overthought this.
I’d worried she’d look out of place in a spot that wasn't Michelin-starred, but Carrie knew the value of a place with soul.
The highlight of the night happened when a group at the bar treated the room to a wildly off-key rendition of Silent Night. It was objectively terrible. Carrie tried to maintain her composure, her lips twitching, until a genuine, unbridled snort-laugh escaped her.
It was one of the best sounds I had ever heard. I pocketed that memory away like a treasure—the woman behind the PhD, letting me see the parts she hid from the rest of the world.
By midnight, the other tables were empty, and the staff were starting to stack chairs.
"I think we might be overstaying our welcome, darling," Carrie murmured.
"Best date I've ever been on," I admitted.
Carrie reached across the table, lacing her fingers with mine. "The best I've had in a very long time, Alex. Thank you."
The second she slid into the driver’s seat of the car, before her hand could even reach for the ignition, I was done being patient.
I reached across the centre console, my fingers tangling in her hair, and pulled her into a deep, frantic kiss. This was the Alex who had been starving for a week, watching Carrie under the soft glow of candlelight all night.
Carrie let out a sharp sound of surprise that dissolved into a needy moan.
She dropped the car keys into the footwell, her hands finding my waist and pulling me as far across the console as the cramped space allowed.
The kiss was a release of all the tension from the evening—the nerves, the worry, the effort of being proper.
When we finally pulled back, our foreheads remained pressed together.
"I take it," Carrie whispered, her voice a dark velvet, "that the date was a success?"
"I'd say so," I breathed. "But if I don't get you somewhere private soon, I might lose my mind."
Carrie’s grip tightened. "Monday isn't over yet, Alex.”
As she pulled away, the phantom heat of her touch fought with the sudden, sharp image of my mum pale on the sofa. The guilt returned, heavy and tight.
"Carrie," I said, my voice small. "Can we... can we nip to mine before we go to yours? Just for a second. My mum was bad today. I just want to check she’s tucked up in bed before I can truly relax."
I saw a flicker of sharp annoyance in Carrie’s profile. ”Alex, why didn't you tell me? We could have rescheduled. We could have stayed with her."
"My parents insisted," I said, looking at my hands.
Carrie’s expression softened, her hand reaching across the console to squeeze my fingers. "Let’s go ease your mind.”
As we turned onto my street, I leaned forward, searching for the familiar shape of our house. I froze. My heart stopped.
"My dad's van," I breathed. "It’s gone. He never takes the van out this late."
I fumbled for my phone. Nothing. No missed calls. The car hadn't even fully stopped before I was pulling at the door handle, but the child locks were on. "Carrie, open the door!"
She killed the engine and vaulted out, tearing my door open in a heartbeat. I bolted up the path, shoved the key into the lock, and burst into the hallway.
"Mum? Dad?"
Carrie followed me, calmly removing my keys from the lock and securing the door behind us while I lost my mind.
I tore through the lounge—the sofa was empty.
I ran into the kitchen—the tin of soup sat unopened on the counter.
I flew up the stairs to their bedroom. Empty.
The whole house was cold and terrifyingly empty.
I stumbled back down to the hallway, my vision blurring. I hit dial on my dad’s contact, pressing the phone to my ear.
"Darl, don’t panic," my dad’s voice crackled through the line. He sounded exhausted, a distant hospital intercom humming in the background.
"Where are you?" I choked out, sliding down the hallway wall.
"Your mum took a turn shortly after you left," he said. "Her breathing got shallow. I brought her into A&E. They’ve admitted her, Lex. They're running tests on her lungs."
"What room?" I snapped, panic sharpening into cold focus. "What room is she in?"
"Lex, listen, she’s stable—"
"Dad, what fucking room is she in?" I barked. Carrie stood right in front of me, her eyes fixed on mine, keeping the walls from closing in.
"Room 402. Ward C," he finally muttered.
"I'm coming now." I hung up, my phone slipping from my sweaty palm. The high of the date felt like a different lifetime.
I tried to pull back, my old instincts telling me to handle my own mess. "No, Carrie, this is my problem. It’s a hospital, and you have that nine a.m. thing. You should just go home. I'll get an Uber."
"Alex, be quiet," she said. The command was quiet but absolute.
She pulled me a fraction closer, her hands firm on my shoulders.
"I am not a fair-weather companion. And I am certainly not letting you navigate a hospital at one in the morning in a state of shock.
You are going to put your coat back on, get in my car, and I am going to drive you. "
"But your work—"
"My work can wait," she interrupted. "Your mother cannot."
We moved in a blur. Carrie led me back to the car, her hand firm on the small of my back, guiding me like a tether in a storm.
The drive was a nightmare of blurred streetlights. I shifted in my seat, my left leg jittering at a frantic pace. I felt a deep, acidic nausea born from pure dread.
Carrie didn't try to fill the silence with empty platitudes. Instead, she reached across the centre console and took my hand. Her grip was steady, cool, and dry against my shaking fingers. She laced her fingers with mine, pinning my hand to her thigh, anchoring me.
"Breathe, Alex," she said quietly, her eyes never leaving the road. "Deep breaths. We’re five minutes away."
I looked down at our joined hands, the contrast striking—the remains of my date makeup, the skirt I'd worn to impress her, and her expensive dress, all heading toward the fluorescent-lit reality of a hospital ward.
"I can't lose her, Carrie," I whispered, a single tear escaping.
Carrie’s thumb stroked the back of my hand with rhythmic, grounding pressure. "We aren't going there to lose her, darling. We’re going there to be with her. Focus on that."