Chapter 17
JETT
It’s been an hour since Cari called.
She told me everything’s sorted, and just like that, the weight pressing on my chest lifted. That girl is amazing—too good for me. And I was a complete bastard to her.
I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling as the weight of my actions settle over me like a lead blanket.
The day has been relentless, but a call from the CEO of Vanhelm cuts through the haze.
"Jett," he says, his tone lighter than before. "I appreciate your swift action. Getting that addendum submitted so quickly shows real dedication. You've proven you're the kind of partner we value."
Relief floods through me, untangling some of the knots in my chest. "Thank you. I won't let you down."
"We’re looking forward to working with Knight. Let’s get everything finalized, " he adds before the call ends.
I should feel triumphant. Vindicated. But all I can think about is Cari and how I lashed out at her.
I don’t feel good.
I feel like shit.
I’ve been a ruthless asshole to Cari—the one person who never fails me. I push away from my desk and head toward her workspace, ready to make things right. But when I get there, she's gone.
The bouquet of flowers lies abandoned on her desk.
Her computer is still on, documents open, notes scribbled in her precise handwriting scattered about. It looks like she stepped away for a moment, expecting to return.
I pull out my phone and call her. It rings straight to voicemail.
"Hey, it's me. Call me when you get this."
I linger by her desk, running a hand over the back of her chair. The emptiness gnaws at me.
I return to my office, trying to focus on anything else, but an hour slips by, and still no word from her.
I call again. Voicemail.
A cold dread seeps into my veins.
Something's wrong. By the time I come out of my office again, the light outside has turned dusky. Still no Cari.
I call her phone once more. Nothing.
And then it hits me.
Hard.
Like someone’s driven a knife straight through my ribs.
Something happened to her mom.
It’s the only reason she wouldn’t pick up. The only reason she’d drop everything, even this deal, and disappear without a word. The only reason she hasn’t come back to properly pack up for the day.
A cold dread settles deep in my stomach. I see her pale face this morning, the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she flinched when I snapped at her. And now her mom...
Fuck. I’ve messed up.
Regret tightens around my throat. I've been such an ass, too wrapped up in my own world to consider hers.
I grab my coat and sprint for the elevator. I don’t call my chauffeur. I don’t wait for anything. I barrel outside, into the sharp evening air, and hail a cab and rush straight to the hospital.
CARI
I burst through the hospital doors and race down the familiar corridors, my heart pounding so hard it hurts. Two doctors stand by Mom’s bed. Machines hum quietly, their steady rhythm a cruel contrast to the chaos inside me. Mom lies still, her face pale, her eyes closed.
“Is she—?” My voice cracks, and I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence. Aunt Scarlett looks up from her seat, her face streaked with tears.
Aunt Scarlett turns to me, her face streaked with tears. "She's still here," she sobs. Relief buckles my knees, and I collapse into her arms. We cry together, clinging to each other like we’re drowning.
When I can breathe again, I move to Mom’s side, reaching for her hand. It’s still warm. The tiniest flicker of hope sparks inside me.
“Mom?” I whisper, bending down to kiss her cheek. My tears drip onto her skin, but she doesn’t stir. “Mom, can you hear me? Please, open your eyes.”
The female doctor shifts uncomfortably, her expression pinched with sympathy. “Her immune system is too compromised,” she says quietly.
“But she’s still breathing,” I cry, panic clawing up my throat. “She’s still alive. She’s a fighter. She wouldn’t give up—she wouldn’t. ” Because she knows I still need her.
The doctor rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We’ve given her antibiotics and fluids, but her body isn’t responding. Her immune system is too weak to fight the infection.”
The words hit like a sledgehammer to my chest.
I collapse against the wall and slide down to the floor, wishing I could go where my mom is. I try to pull myself together, but my body feels hollow. I look at my mom's face and I know this can't be it. I can't lose her. She's the only parent I have.
Memories flash across my mind, loving moments of us going to the park, the beach, that one vacation to Hawaii. Eating ice cream, her taking photos of me while I blow out birthday candles. Us in pajamas on Christmas morning, sitting by the Christmas tree, and my mom smiling as I opened my presents. Aunt Scarlett kneels beside me, pulling me up with shaky hands. Her face is red and blotchy, but she holds me like she’s trying to share whatever strength she has left.
We cry together, willing, wishing, praying for a miracle to save my mom. “But she still might have a chance, right?” I manage to say, when the sobs subside. “It could still happen?”
Aunt Scarlett’s tear-streaked face stares back at me. “The doctors are doing all they can, hon.”
It’s not the answer I want.
“She’s comfortable,” the doctor adds, so quietly it makes my heart break all over again. “She can still hear you, even if she can’t respond.”
That’s enough for me. She hasn’t gone yet. She might fight this and win again. The next few hours blur into a haze of tears and whispered memories. Aunt Scarlett and I sit on either side of the bed, holding Mom’s hands, recounting old stories—good stories. Happy ones. The kind that keeps her with us, even as we feel her slipping away.
We talk about the future too—about the things we wish she could be there for. My wedding. A grandchild, someday. More Christmas mornings.
We’re desperate. Holding on to hope with shaking hands.
At some point, my body reminds me it has limits. I need the bathroom. I tell Aunt Scarlett, and she nods wearily.
“Go, sweetheart. I’ll be here.”
When I return, Aunt Scarlett stands, looking even more exhausted. “I need to step out for a moment. Coffee, maybe something for you to eat?”
I nod, grateful, but I can’t eat. My stomach feels like a pit. “You go. I’ll stay with Mom.”
I sit by her side in a daze, not quite comprehending the moment. In a sea of bad days, in an eternity of bad months, today stands out like something big is coming. Something I’m not ready for. A quiet tsunami heading my way, ready to change the course of my life forever.
The room is quieter than it should be. The machines’ beeps have slowed, their rhythm faltering, unsteady.
I sink into the chair beside Mom’s bed. Her skin looks paler now, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. I take her hand—it’s colder than before.
“Mom,” I whisper, tears blurring my vision. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
Her eyelids flutter. Just barely, and I cling to it like it’s a miracle. I lean closer, my tears spilling hot and fast onto the edge of the bed.
I lean closer, my sobs choking me. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. I still need you.”
Her breathing hitches—a shallow rise and fall. The air in the room feels wrong, heavy, like the world has stopped turning.
And that’s when I know.
The fight has gone out of her. She can't do it anymore, and it's wrong of me to beg her to stay. My mom is done fighting this terrible disease.
I press my forehead to her hand, clinging to it. Accepting defeat, and facing the inevitable. I have to stop being selfish. I have to let her go. “It’s okay, Mom,” I whisper brokenly. “You don’t have to fight anymore. You’ve done enough. You’ve done everything.” My words are barely words anymore, just broken sounds choking out between sobs.
That’s when the heart rate machine flatlines.
The wave disappears.
And an eerie silence falls.
I don’t know how long I stay like that, standing by my mom’s bedside, bent over, kissing her cheek and whispering promises she’ll never hear, that I’ll be okay, that I love her.
A nurse steps in a moment later, murmuring something I can’t process. She reaches for the machine, but I don’t look. I can’t look. I’m frozen, still holding Mom’s hand, as though if I just hold tight enough, I can keep her here.
“Cari,” the nurse says softly, a gentle hand on my shoulder. “She’s gone.”
Gone.
The word knocks the air out of me, and I collapse onto the edge of the bed, gasping like I’m the one who can’t breathe.
Because she’s really gone. And there's nothing I can do to fix it.
Sobs wrack my body, each one a fresh wave of pain crashing over me. The enormity of it all threatens to swallow me whole. This has been the darkest night of my life, and I can't quite comprehend this reality, this impossible idea, this cruel fact, that my mom has left this world. I'll never hear her voice, never see her open the door to me, never feel her arms around me, never see her smile light up a room. Never hear her laughter.
She was the kindest person and she had the biggest heart. I hate this cruel, cruel world so much.
The room blurs around me as the tears fall harder. Outside, life goes on. People talking, moving, walking, laughing. Clocks ticking. The sun setting, rain falling. It will all go on, like nothing’s changed.
But everything has changed.
My world is shattered. And I have no idea how to begin picking up the pieces. The door suddenly bursts open, and I look up sharply, expecting Aunt Scarlett.
But I don’t see her.
I see Jett.
His eyes sweep the room, taking in the silent monitors, the stillness. Without a word, he crosses the space between us and pulls me into his arms. I bury my face in his chest, my tears soaking into his shirt.
“Cari,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Cari, I’m so sorry.” He looks awful. His warmth surrounds me, and he holds me together while I fall apart.
His body is warm, his scent familiar and welcome in this cold, sterile room. "I'm here," he whispers. "I've got you."
He holds me tighter, his embrace the only thing keeping me from collapsing entirely. I let myself lean into him, grateful for the support, for not having to bear this alone. I clutch him as if he’s the only thing stopping me from shattering completely.
Aunt Scarlett appears in the doorway, a coffee cup slipping from her grasp as she takes in the scene. She lets out a wretched sob, and Jett gently releases me so I can go to her. We cling to each other, our grief a shared burden.
Eliana and Bianca arrive shortly after, their faces etched with concern. Jett steps back but stays close, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of emotions swirling around us.
"I have to ..." I start, and try to pull myself together. There's so much to do, so many things that need attention, but I can't think straight.
Jett meets my eyes, his gaze steady. "Whatever you need, I'm here for you.”