Page 26

T he smell of ground coffee beans filled the kitchen as Clara poured hot water into the French press.

For some reason, the exhaustion was hanging around.

It was a strange exhaustion. One she’d felt for days.

The type that dragged at her limbs and made her feel heavy and her head foggy.

And she still had that headache from her birthday even though it had been almost a week. She hadn’t felt like this since—

She shook her head.

No. She wasn’t going to go there. She was fine, just stressed. Jesse still didn’t have Scarlett’s toxicology report back, and that had been playing on her mind.

Once her mug was filled with coffee, she took a sip. She didn’t usually drink coffee, but this morning she needed it.

She took a few deep breaths…only to press a hand to her chest.

It wasn’t just the fatigue these last few days. She’d also been short of breath.

Acupuncture. That’s what she needed. Calming music, a dark room, and some of her fix-everything needles.

Her phone vibrated, and she lifted it to see a text from her cousin.

Indie: I have an idea and I need you to tell me it’s as crazy as I think it is.

Clara: I’ll call you now.

Indie: No. This is definitely an in-person conversation. Are you free later today?

Clara: Absolutely. Lunch? And remember, crazy ideas aren’t always bad ones.

Indie: You haven’t heard this one yet. See you soon.

Clara set her phone back down on the counter. Did this crazy idea involve Colt? Maybe she was finally thinking about flying out to California and really talking to him. God, she hoped so.

Indie had shared a little bit about the night they’d broken up.

Well, the night Indie had broken up with Colt.

Emotions had been high with her getting the news that her tenth and final embryo hadn’t taken and she wasn’t pregnant.

And to make things worse, Colt was supposed to be with her to receive the call, only he hadn’t been.

Of course, the reason for that had involved his mother.

Clara didn’t know exactly what Indie had said to Colt when he’d finally gotten home, but whatever it was, Clara was certain it had been a buildup of years of frustration.

Clara could still remember the moment Indie had told her they were done. She’d assumed it was just a fight, and Indie was making it sound worse than it was. But almost a year later, Indie was filing for divorce.

Her heart gave a sad twist as she sipped her coffee again, only to immediately scrunch her nose.

Argh.

How did people enjoy the taste of this stuff? Sure, she’d drunk it a lot when she’d lived in New York, but that was because she’d been chronically sleep-deprived and had relied on the caffeine to keep her awake and functioning.

The front door opened and Holden stepped in. His gaze immediately went to her, scanning her body as if needing the reassurance that she was okay.

“Hey.”

She smiled at his deep, raspy voice, but her eyes remained fixed on the width of his chest. The light sheen on his skin. He’d gone for a run, and man, did he look good. It chased a bit of her exhaustion away.

“Hi.”

He took slow, almost predatory steps toward her. “Did you do okay without me?”

“I survived, but it was tough. I might need a reward for my bravery.”

A slow grin curved his lips. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m partial to kisses. And cuddles. And touching in any form.” She set her mug on the counter.

“Is that right?” When he reached her, he slipped an arm around her, hauling her against him.

“Yeah.”

He lowered his head and kissed her neck. “That sounds a bit like a reward for me too.”

“Mm, win-win.”

He kissed her shoulder, and she sighed.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over her. She swayed and grabbed his shoulders.

His hands tightened around her waist. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just really tired today.”

“You’ve been tired for the last week. Are you sick?” He touched her head and frowned. “Shit, Clara, you’re hot.”

She was? Maybe she was sick. “I might go take a shower and rest.”

“I’ll come with you.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m okay.”

“Clara, you just almost passed out. I’m not letting you stand in a hot shower by yourself.”

His phone rang.

“Answer it,” Clara said softly. “Then join me.” She lifted to her toes and kissed his cheek before heading out of the room.

When she reached the bathroom, she touched her forehead. He was right—she was hot. Was it a virus?

Once the shower was on, she stripped and stepped under the stream. The hot water beat down on her shoulders, and for the first couple minutes, the warmth made her feel better. Then that light-headed feeling returned, this time hitting her with force, making her sway again.

She tried to grab the wall to catch herself but missed and hit the floor of the shower.

“It was just a client about a cabinet I’m—” The bathroom door opened, and Holden cursed before sprinting to her, turning off the water, and dropping to her side. “Clara, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think the heat made the dizziness worse.”

“We’re going to the hospital.” He grabbed a towel from behind him, wrapped her in it, and lifted her. She barely had to do anything as he dried her and helped her pull on leggings and a shirt. Then they were in his truck and he was speeding to the hospital.

Holden felt sick, and if a fucking doctor didn’t come and check on Clara in the next five minutes, he was going out there and finding one himself.

He shot a glance at Clara on the bed. They’d been shuffled into this small room where a nurse had asked a few questions, but so far, no one else had come to see her.

The rhythmic beeping from other rooms drummed in his ears. The smell of antiseptic and something metallic made that nausea in his gut ripple.

Fuck, he hated hospitals. His skin crawled just standing in this room, but he couldn’t let Clara see that. This wasn’t about him—it was about her.

He shifted his gaze back to her on the bed, but the memory of her on the shower floor replayed in his head, and he could almost feel that fear again like he was right there.

He’d found his mother like that a few times. As young as fourteen years old, he’d had to call an ambulance for her. One second she’d be fine, the next she’d be on the floor.

“Where’s the damn doctor?” Holden growled. “We’ve been here an hour.”

He went to step away, but Clara grabbed his arm. “Holden, they’re busy. They’ll come when they can. And I’m actually feeling a bit better with the rest and water.”

How was she so calm?

When her thumb stroked his elbow, the edge of his anger smoothed. Not all of it, but a bit.

He sat on the bed beside her. “I hate that you’re not feeling well.”

“Me too. But it’s probably just a virus.”

There was something in her voice, a hint of uncertainty, that made a knot form in his gut. Did she not think it was a virus? What was she not saying?

The door opened, and Clara looked up first. Her fingers immediately tightened on his arm. He followed her gaze to see an older man with white hair and a mustache. In his hands was a folder.

“Dr. Bennett,” Clara said. “I didn’t know you were in today.”

To anyone else, her voice would sound normal. But he heard the ring of nerves that shadowed each word.

“Hi, Clara. Fortunately, I was here seeing patients when the nurses told me you were in.”

She nodded, but the move was jerky. She turned to Holden. “Holden, this is Dr. Bennett. He was… is my oncologist.”

Oncologist—the word hit him at full impact in the midsection, knocking the breath from his body. Why would her oncologist be needed?

“He works between here and Bozeman, so he isn’t always in Amber Ridge,” Clara finished.

The doctor moved to Clara’s bedside. “You passed out in the shower, is that correct?”

“Yes. I was already feeling light-headed earlier. I’ve also had a headache.”

“And you told the nurse you’ve been having some shortness of breath?”

“Yes. For a couple of days.”

Holden flinched. She’d had shortness of breath for days and hadn’t told him? And how had he missed her telling that to the nurse?

Dr. Bennett placed the diaphragm of his stethoscope on Clara’s chest and listened. “Any other symptoms?”

“Tired…really tired. And a bit of a fever.”

The oncologist nodded, shifting the diaphragm to another part of her chest. “Well, Clara, I’m sure it’s nothing. But I’d like to do a physical examination and take some x-rays just to be sure. You were due for your annual checkup in a month anyway, so this can just replace that.”

The tightness in Holden’s muscles grew stronger, and it was suddenly accompanied by a sharp pain in his chest. How many oncologist appointments had he sat in on with his mother? And the constant helplessness he’d felt then matched the concern crawling through his body right now.

Clara turned to him. “You should go.”

“No. I’m staying.”

“Holden, I know you hate hospitals, and this may take some time. Get a coffee, go outside, and get some air. I’m okay.”

He gritted his back teeth together, another “no” on the tip of his tongue. But then Clara squeezed his hand.

“Please,” she said softly, a note of desperation in her tone.

He didn’t want to leave her side. But maybe him leaving was more for her than him. He forced himself to rise and press a kiss to her temple. “Call me when you’re done.”

She nodded, worry in her eyes as he turned. Worry about what her oncologist was going to say?

Almost on autopilot, he walked into the hall. He’d only taken a few steps when Deb turned a corner and bumped into him.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She looked up. “Holden?” She wore her nurse’s uniform and her hair was pulled up into a slick bun.

He tried for a small smile but was almost certain he didn’t pull it off. “Hi, Deb.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Clara isn’t feeling well.” A fucking understatement.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, that’s not good. Do you need anything?”

“No. I’m just going to grab a coffee. But thanks.”

She nodded quickly. “Okay. Text if you need me.”

He continued down the hall. But he didn’t step outside or get a coffee. He didn’t want to leave the hospital, and he couldn’t stomach anything right now.

Instead, he went to the waiting area and paced. Then paced some more.

Back when his mother had been sick, he’d sit and wait for hours. Sometimes by her side in her room. Sometimes in the waiting area. And it had always felt like he was waiting for the worst news. Like every day was both a gift and a ticking time bomb.

What if Clara’s oncologist told her the cancer was back?

His skin turned to ice, and a fist wrapped around his heart, squeezing and twisting…yanking him back into the past. Into a time when the world had been dark and lonely.

His phone rang, and he looked down to see Jesse’s name on the screen. “Hey.”

“Hey, you got a sec?”

He had a million seconds, because he didn’t want to spend a single one of them just waiting and thinking about worst-case scenarios. “Yep.”

“I’ve got Scarlett’s cause of death.”

Holden straightened. “Tell me.”

“A mix of fentanyl and morphine was injected into her neck. She then went into respiratory depression and the lack of oxygen killed her. This possibly happened while she was sleeping over her desk.”

So she was murdered…probably by the medical staff member she was investigating. He glanced around. Fuck, was Clara even safe in this hospital?

He started moving down the hall.

“Where are you?” Jesse asked.

“At the hospital. Clara passed out.”

“ What ?”

“She’s with her oncologist now—”

“Her oncologist?”

“He was already here, so he’s running some tests.”

Jesse cursed. “I need to call Mom. But Holden, I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t let them give her anything unless absolutely necessary, especially fluids.”

“Why?”

“It’s looking like that’s how some of those patients got sick. We think something was added to the bags of fluids.”

Holden cursed and ran down the corridor, not stopping until he reached her side.