Page 118 of Choosing Hope

I open my mouth to reply, but my phone buzzes on the arm of the chair. Seeing Carlo’s name flashing on the screen, my stomach tightens. He know I’m in session, so if he’s calling, something’s wrong.

“Sorry,” I mutter, already answering. “Carlo? Everything okay?”

“Spence!”

His voice is shaky but urgent.

“Carlo, what’s wrong?”

Every muscle in my body goes rigid. I don’t even realize I’ve stood up until Dr. Klein’s gaze flicks to me, concerned.

“She’s alive, Compagno.”

“What?”

There’s a long pause, and when he finally spits it out, the words hit like a punch to the gut.

“She’s alive, Spence. Chess is alive.”

The words slam into me like a fist to the chest. My breath catches, ragged, as disbelief wars with fury. Thirteen years of mourning, thirteen years of watching Carlo destroyed by loss—only for this? Only for it to come out now?

“What are you talking about?”

I stay rooted to the spot, my phone still pressed to my ear, as he sobs.

“Where are you?”

It takes him a moment to catch his breath.

“The club,” he whispers.

“Stay there. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

He makes a rough noise in his throat—approval, I think—and I tap to end the call before I second-guess myself.

Chess.

Not dead.

My vision tunnels, sound muffled as if someone’s shoved me underwater. All those years of wasted grief, the broken pieces of him that were only loosely glued together just enough to survive—obliterated in one breath. My hands are shaking so violently I almost drop the phone.

I drag in a breath that doesn’t fill my lungs and shove a palm against the wall, fighting to stay upright. Rage and hope and disbelief churn in my gut, a storm that threatens to tear me apart.

My first thought isn’t even about me—it’s Carlo. The pain he’s in right now. How the hell is he surviving this?

“Spencer?”

I snap my head up. Dr. Klein’s standing a few feet away, concern etched on her face, her usual calm presence now sharpened with worry.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says softly, stepping closer but keeping her tone gentle, coaxing.

I force air into my lungs, but it tastes like ash.

“Maybe I have,” I rasp, my voice raw, shaking my head. “Christ...I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”

She reaches out but doesn’t touch me, letting me choose.

“Do you want to sit down?”

I rake a hand through my hair, pacing like a caged animal, adrenaline tearing through me.

“No. I need to find Carlo. Because if what he’s just told me is true...” My voice cracks, fury and desperation colliding. “I have no clue what it means.”

“Is there anything I can do?” The doctor asks not pushing for details, but her careful words and steady gaze tell me she’s there if I need her.

“Chess. Carlo’s girlfriend. She’s alive.”