As soon as I see the screen, my heart drops.

Three missed calls from Dempsey.

Two from Jake.

One from Fielding, since I unblocked his number weeks ago.

Then one single text message.

Dempsey: Call me when you get this. It’s about my mom. She died in her sleep last night.

I drop my phone on the counter, and my heart shatters into a million tiny pieces for the man I’ve been mentally pushing away all day.

42. Dempsey

Chapter 42

Dempsey

We’ve always planned for the worst. An overdose. Liver failure. A major fall. A car accident she caused.

I never expected her to go quietly in her sleep.

The official cause of death is sudden cardiac arrest. But when Fielding tried to bring her breakfast this morning, she looked like she was sleeping, her expression placid and peaceful.

It’s a gift I never expected: an extended sigh of relief after all this time.

We called our family doctor, and we had some time to say goodbye to her together before they took her body away.

I checked in on her after dropping Maddie off at home last night, and we talked for a few minutes, but I wish I’d spent more time with her. I wasn’t all there. Instead, I was preoccupied with a girl I have no business worrying about.

I did kiss my mom goodnight. I told her I loved her. She squeezed my hand, and she said what she’s said to us our entire lives.

“I love you. Both of you.”

Even if we weren’t both in the room, that was always her thing. Recognizing that my life is intertwined with my brother’s in a way so few people will ever truly understand. She saw us both. She loved us both. And now she’s gone.

She wasn’t naïve to the reality of her situation. A planner by nature, she had everything mapped out and ready. All I had to do was make a few calls and pick a date to set her plans in motion.

Calling hours and the funeral won’t be until the middle of next week. That will give people time to make arrangements and come to town.

I have a task list to keep me busy over the next several days, but it feels like I’m facing this empty expanse of time. What the hell am I supposed to do now that she’s gone?

I keep catching myself in the middle of a task that sparks a fresh wave of grief when I remember she’s no longer here. I’ve absentmindedly walked to her wing of the house at least ten times over the last twenty-four hours. I’ve picked up my phone to text her twice, only to remember she won’t respond. She’ll never text me again.