27 - BARGER

27 - BARGER
"That's odd because the patients are not allowed access to phones. And even weirder because Evelyn Scott died in her sleep last night."

The words felt like a hammer to my skull. A dull, echoing thud that didn’t register at first. The wretched-faced nurse was still standing there, looking between Cheryl and me like she had just announced the weather. Casual. Indifferent. Like she hadn’t just told me that the woman I spent years searching for was now nothing but a cold body.

"No," I said. It wasn’t a question. It was a rejection.

The nurse frowned. "Excuse me?"

"No. You’re lying. That’s not possible."

Something primal burned in my chest, a slow, spreading fire that threatened to consume me whole. I had been so close. A few goddamn hours.

"Aiden—" Cheryl’s voice was soft, but I wasn’t listening.

"You expect me to believe that she just happened to die the night before I came looking for her? That’s bullshit."

The nurse sighed, already annoyed. "Look, I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. She was a very sick woman. She passed in her sleep—peacefully, if that helps—"

"It doesn’t," I snapped.

She flinched, but I didn’t care. My head was pounding, my fists clenched so tight I could feel my nails digging into my palms.

Cheryl placed a hand on my arm. "Aiden—"

I jerked away. "No. I want proof."

The nurse exhaled sharply. "What kind of proof are you expecting?"

"Her file. The records. I want to see them. Now."

The nurse hesitated. Good. That meant there was something to hide.

"Sir, that information is confidential—"

"I’m her son," I growled. "And I’m not leaving without answers."

The woman wavered, glancing at Cheryl as if she expected her to talk some sense into me. But Cheryl’s face was unreadable, her gaze sharp as she studied the nurse. Then she spoke—calm, collected, but firm.

"Is there someone else we can talk to? Someone in charge?"

The nurse exhaled, annoyed but wary. "Dr. Lin oversees the patient records. But I doubt she’ll—"

"Then take us to her."

The air in the tiny administrative office was stale, suffocating. Dr. Lin was a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and an expression that said she had seen far worse things than two stubborn visitors demanding answers. She studied me carefully as I stood before her desk, Cheryl seated beside me.

"Evelyn Scott," I said before she could ask.

Dr. Lin sighed, rubbing her temples. "You must be her son."

"That’s right. And I want to see her records."

The woman’s fingers drummed on her desk. "I’m sorry, but patients' medical information is private—"

"I don’t care about policies. I just found out my mother died five minutes ago. Humor me."

Something flickered in her expression—pity, maybe. Then she let out a slow breath and turned to her computer. Click. Click. Click. The screen cast a dim glow on her face as she pulled up the file.

"Evelyn Scott. Admitted three years ago. Advanced neurological decline. Last evaluation recorded..." she paused, frowning.

"What?" Cheryl asked.

Dr. Lin’s brows knitted together. "This is strange... There's no final entry."

"What does that mean?" I demanded.

"When a patient passes, the attending physician usually writes a closing statement. But there’s nothing here. No time of death. No attending physician listed. Just a blank space."

A cold sensation crept down my spine.

"You mean to tell me there's no official record of how my mother died?"

Dr. Lin clicked again, scrolling through the digital records, her frown deepening. "Hold on... There is something here. A note attached to her file. Signed by..." She squinted at the screen. "Dr. Renner."

Cheryl and I exchanged glances.

"Who’s Dr. Renner?" I asked.

Dr. Lin hesitated. "He was on staff here for years. Resigned a few weeks ago. No explanation."

Cheryl sat forward. "And what does the note say?"

Dr. Lin read aloud: "'Transfer completed. Case closed.'"

Silence.

Transfer?

I felt my heart slam against my ribs. "What the hell does that mean?"

Dr. Lin shook her head. "I don’t know. But if there was a transfer... then someone moved Evelyn Scott before she died."

A sharp breath left Cheryl’s lips. "Or... maybe she’s not dead at all."

My pulse roared in my ears.

This wasn’t just bad timing. This wasn’t just cruel fate.

This was a cover-up.

And I was going to find out the truth.

Cheryl’s POV

The second we stepped into the house, I could feel it.

That weight. That tension. It clung to Aiden like a second skin, dark and heavy, pressing down on his shoulders. He had barely spoken the entire ride back, his hands gripping the wheel so tight I swore he was one bad thought away from snapping it in half.

And honestly? I didn’t blame him.

His mother was missing—maybe dead, maybe not. Someone had lied to him, maybe done worse. And now, all we had were more questions, the kind that felt like dead ends.

I followed him inside, closing the door behind me. Aiden ran a hand through his hair, his movements slow, deliberate, like he was trying to hold himself together. My chest tightened.

I hated seeing him like this.

"Hey," I said softly, stepping toward him. "If you need anything… I mean it. I’m here. Just say the word, and I’ll do whatever you need."

His head tilted slightly, his eyes locking onto mine. There was something unreadable in them. Something deep, intense—dangerous.

My stomach clenched.

And then, he moved.

Not fast. Not slow. But purposeful.

The air in the room shifted, thickening as he took a step toward me—then another. My breath caught in my throat. I should have moved. I should have done something. But my legs weren’t listening.

He was so close now.

My pulse hammered against my ribs, my throat suddenly too dry, too tight. Aiden didn’t say a word. Didn’t blink. Just stared at me like I was something he couldn’t decide whether to ruin or worship.

I’d kissed him before.

Twice.

Both times had been… nothing. A fleeting thing, a comfort, a stupid impulse.

But this?

This was not nothing.

This was everything.

The heat between us was unbearable, blistering. He inched even closer, his chest nearly brushing mine. My knees felt weak, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I couldn’t even breathe properly.

My eyes dropped to his lips. God, I was an idiot.

His head dipped—slow, steady, like he was giving me a chance to stop him.

I didn’t.

And just when his lips were about to touch mine—

BANG!

The door slammed open.

A whirlwind of movement. A blur of anger, force, and muscle.

And then—

CRACK.

Aiden’s head snapped to the side as Damon’s fist collided square with his jaw.

I barely had time to scream.

Damon stood there, seething, his chest heaving, his eyes wild.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" he spat, his voice a deadly growl.

Aiden wiped the blood from his lip, then looked up at him—smiling.

Oh, shit.

This was about to get so much worse.