Chapter Twenty-Three
Raina
I woke slowly on Monday morning, stretching beneath the soft sheets of my own bed. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting warm stripes across the comforter, and for a moment I just lay there, savoring the rare luxury of not having to rush.
Today was the day. Alexander was signing the contract to partner with Powers Investment Group.
The meeting was scheduled for eleven o’clock at his office, and excitement hummed beneath my skin at the thought of what Simon and I had accomplished.
The relationship we’d built with Alexander, the negotiations and strategic planning, all of it culminating in signatures on the dotted line.
Simon was at GalvaTech this morning. Liam had been working tirelessly to prepare for the launch of their new EV charger, and the marketing team finally had their presentation ready for review.
Simon needed to approve everything before they moved forward, so he’d be tied up there for a few hours and planned to head straight to Alexander’s office afterward.
Which meant I wasn’t needed at Powers Investment Group first thing.
My tasks were simple when I did arrive: print the finalized contract that our own lawyer had reviewed and approved, and deliver it to Alexander’s office around ten, giving us plenty of buffer before the eleven o’clock meeting.
Everything was ready. All that remained was making the partnership official.
Sleeping in on a Monday felt almost rebellious, and I took my time getting ready.
A long, hot shower instead of my usual rushed five minutes.
A proper breakfast of eggs and toast instead of a grab-and-go granola bar.
Coffee that I actually sat down to drink while scrolling through the news on my phone.
When I finally stood in front of my closet to change into my work outfit, I considered my options carefully. This was a big day, the culmination of everything we’d worked toward. I wanted to look polished and professional.
I also wanted to look good for Simon.
He’d made it abundantly clear over the past few weeks that he had a particular appreciation for my pencil skirts, so I chose a black one that hugged my curves and paired it with a blue silk blouse, long-sleeved with delicate buttons down the front that made my eyes brighter.
Professional and polished enough for an important business meeting, but feminine enough to catch his attention.
I’d just finished applying light makeup—mascara, a touch of blush, neutral lip gloss—when my phone rang.
Hazel’s name flashed on the screen, and I answered on the second ring.
“Hey, can you do me a huge favor?” The words tumbled out of her in a rush that immediately set me on edge.
“Of course.” I straightened, my reflection in the bathroom mirror frowning back at me. “What’s wrong?”
Hazel took a breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was more controlled, but I could hear the strain beneath it.
“I’m not sure anything is wrong. I just…
I’m worried about Miles. He wasn’t feeling well last night.
Nauseous and more tired than usual. I figured it was a stomach bug—he’s been a little off since he got back from Jersey after Saturday’s game.
But today, I haven’t been able to reach him. ”
“He’s not picking up?” My voice tightened. I was already moving toward the living room, reaching for my purse.
“No and that’s not like him. When I left this morning at six, he was still asleep and he’s usually up by eight.
I’d run home and check on him myself, but I have a live interview in ten minutes.
” She paused, and I heard the worry she was trying to contain.
“I’m probably freaking out over nothing, but I have this feeling.
Would you be able to swing by? Just to make sure he’s okay? ”
“I’m not at the office yet, and I have some extra time this morning.” I grabbed my keys from my bar as I headed out the door. “It’s no problem. He probably just left his phone on silent. I’ll tell him to call you.”
I was trying to reassure Hazel, but unease had already taken root in my chest. Miles wasn’t the type to ignore his phone. Something about this definitely felt off.
“Thank you,” Hazel breathed. “I owe you.”
I ended the call and drove straight to the house she and my brother shared—a two-story home in a quiet neighborhood where everyone had manicured lawns and waved to their neighbors as they drove by. The kind of wholesome place where they could raise kids someday.
Miles’s car sat in the driveway. I parked beside it and walked to the front door. I rang the doorbell, hearing it echo inside the house. I tapped my foot, waiting impatiently.
Nothing. I knocked and rang the doorbell again, a couple of times. After a few minutes, a muffled thud came from somewhere in the house. I frowned, straining to listen, but the door didn’t open. I rang again, my finger pressing the button harder than necessary.
Just when real worry started settling in, the deadbolt clicked and the door swung inward.
My heart dropped to my stomach as soon as I saw my brother, dressed in sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. One look at Miles told me that something was seriously wrong. His brow was furrowed in confusion, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. But it was his eyes that made my blood run cold.
His right pupil was blown wide, so dilated that the blackness had nearly swallowed his blue iris. Bright morning sunlight streamed directly into his face, but his eye wasn’t reacting or contracting at all.
“Raina?”
When he spoke, the stench of vomit hit me, sour and sharp. I forced myself not to recoil. Hazel mentioned that she thought he’d caught the flu, but this seemed more than that.
“Are you okay?” I stepped closer, pressing my palm to his forehead. No fever, but he was clearly, terrifyingly not okay.
He jerked back, wincing at my touch. His hand went to the back of his neck and he frowned at me. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”
The words came out on a mumble, and he stumbled to the side and caught himself on the doorframe. I watched his unsteady movements with mounting dread.
“Hazel asked me to check on you. She couldn’t reach you.”
More confusion clouded his features, like he couldn’t quite process my words. “Hazel?”
He was still rubbing his neck, his face tight with pain.
“Are you hurt?” I asked carefully.
“Just sore,” he muttered. “From the game.”
Saturday night. The hit. I’d watched him get slammed into the boards, his body crumpling onto the ice. He’d skated off under his own power, but what if his neck wasn’t the only thing that had taken the brunt of the impact? What if he’d hit his head harder than anyone realized?
What if this was more than a stomach bug?
“Come with me.” Making a spontaneous decision, I grabbed his arm, tugging him toward the door. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“What? Why?” He blinked at me slowly. “I’m fine.”
But he didn’t resist. Didn’t pull away. He let me guide him outside, and the fact that he wasn’t fighting me only sharpened my fear. The Miles I knew would have argued. Would have insisted he was fine, that I was overreacting.
He would have asserted himself, and this Miles just followed, docile and confused.
We’d almost reached my car when he stopped abruptly, wrenching his arm free of my grasp. I’d been pulling out my phone to text Simon, to let him know something had come up and I might be late, and the sudden jerking movement knocked the device from my grip.
The crack of glass when the phone hit the pavement made me curse. I snatched it up to find a spiderweb of fractures across the screen. The display flickered, unresponsive to my touch.
No. No, no, no.
But I didn’t have time to panic about that.
Miles was bent over the lawn, retching into the grass, his entire body heaving.
I shoved the useless phone into my purse and rushed to his side, rubbing his back until the spasms passed.
Then I helped him into the passenger seat, buckled him in, and drove, breaking every speed limit between there and the hospital.
Miles rubbed his eyes the whole way, complaining about a headache, about the light being too bright, about feeling like his skull was splitting open. Each symptom confirmed what I already suspected, and my hands shook on the steering wheel.
Please let him be okay. Please.
The emergency room was a blur of fluorescent lights and antiseptic smell.
They didn’t make Miles wait. One look at his dilated pupil and they rushed him through, a doctor shining a penlight in his eyes while firing off questions about his symptoms. Miles was too confused to answer coherently, so I filled in what I could.
The hockey game, the hit against the boards, the delayed onset of nausea and disorientation.
They wheeled him away for a CT scan, and I was left alone in a cold waiting room with paperwork on a clipboard to fill out for him with shaking hands.
The paperwork blurred in front of me. I filled in what I knew, grateful that Miles had been here before and they already had his insurance information on file.
His emergency contact was Hazel, and they must have called her, because she burst through the waiting room doors just as I handed the clipboard back to the nurse.
“Is he okay?” She rushed toward me, breathless, panic bright in her eyes. “How was he when you got there? God, I can’t believe I left him alone—”
“Hey.” I caught her shoulders, steadying her. “You couldn’t have known. But he’s here now. He’s where they can help him.”
“Are you the family of Miles Seager?” someone asked from behind us.
We both turned. A man in blue scrubs stood nearby, his expression calm but serious.
“Yes,” Hazel said, reaching for my hand. Her fingers were ice cold. “Is he okay?”
“Imaging shows Mr. Seager has a grade two concussion, which is serious, but moderate. I fully expect him to make a complete recovery with time, but he’ll need physical and mental rest over the next several days, along with pain management for the head and neck discomfort.
We’ll keep him here for monitoring overnight, but I anticipate significant improvement by tomorrow. ”
I shook my head in confusion. “If he got the concussion Saturday night, why didn’t the symptoms show up right away?”
“You mentioned he was playing hockey when it happened?” I nodded. “In high-adrenaline situations, symptoms can take up to forty-eight hours to fully manifest. The body’s stress response can mask the severity of the injury initially.”
“So he’s really going to be okay?” Hazel’s voice cracked.
The doctor offered a reassuring smile. “I believe he will. You can see him shortly, but please keep the visit brief. Rest is essential right now.”
As the man walked away, I finally let myself breathe. The vise around my chest loosened, and beside me, Hazel’s entire body seemed to deflate with relief as well.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much for checking on him. We’re so lucky you were free this morning.”
The words hit me like a jolt of ice water.
My eyes snapped to the clock on the wall, and my stomach plummeted.
11:46 am. The meeting with Alexander had started over forty-five minutes ago.
I was supposed to be there with the contract—the contract I’d never printed, never delivered, because I’d been here.
And my phone was shattered. Simon had no idea where I was or why I hadn’t shown up.
“I have to go.” The words came out in a rush. “I’m late—there’s an important meeting—tell Miles I’ll come back later to see him.”
I didn’t wait for her response. I was already running for the exit, my heels clicking against the linoleum, praying that I hadn’t just lost this deal for Simon.
All I could think was that Simon had trusted me.
He’d given me one job today—print the contract and deliver it to Alexander’s office—and I’d failed him completely.
The document was still sitting on the server at Powers Investment Group, useless, while I’d been unreachable for hours with a shattered phone and no way to explain.
Simon had gone to that meeting expecting everything to be ready, expecting me to have handled my part, and instead he’d walked in empty-handed. No contract. No assistant. No explanation. Just silence from the person he’d counted on most.
I could only imagine what Alexander must have thought—what Simon must have thought—when I never showed up. All those weeks of building trust, of proving myself capable, of showing him I could be relied upon… and I’d undermined it all in a single morning.