“Thank you,” I hear Nichole say through tears.

Before Myla can say anything, I’m dialing Huxley’s number on my phone. It rings a few times before he picks up. “Ryot?”

“Hux, man, I need a favor.”

“Name it,” he says.

“Your plane, can I borrow it?”

“I’ll make arrangements now. Where and when do you need to leave?”

“Now and we have to go to Chicago.”

“Say no more. Be down in the lobby in ten minutes. I’ll have everything arranged.”

“Thank you so much.”

“You’re more than welcome. I’m assuming something is wrong?”

“I’ll fill you in later.” I thank him again and then hang up the phone as Myla still talks to Nichole on the phone.

I race around the room, packing us, shoving clothes and toiletries in our bags. I then strip out of my suit and into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I grab a set of leggings for Myla and one of my shirts and help her change while she stays on the phone with Nichole, reassuring her the entire time that everything will be okay. Once I have everything packed, I help her into a pair of sandals and say, “Got a plane. We need to head to the lobby where a car is waiting.”

Gratefulness passes over her eyes as I guide her out of the hotel room with our bags in hand. When we make it to the lobby, there’s a black SUV waiting for us. I hand off the bags and then help Myla into the car. Tears are streaming down her face. Once buckled up, I shoot off a text to Banner, asking him to grab Myla’s dress and my suit from the hotel room and anything I might have left behind and let him know I’ll be in Chicago for the foreseeable future.

Then I put away my phone as Myla hangs up. When she turns toward me, she falls into my arms and bawls.

I don’t ask questions.

I don’t say anything.

I just hold her and hope it’s not as serious as it sounds.

Chapter Twenty-Three

MYLA

Present day . . .

Tears clouding my eyes, I push through door 210 and find Nichole lying in bed, hooked up to a bunch of machines, her head wrapped in gauze.

Her balding head.

When I was on the phone with her, she told me that her doctor found cancer in her liver, not her breasts, but her liver. They came up with a plan of attack, and she’s been going through chemo . . . alone. She said she was doing fine up until this last round. She felt so nauseous, and so weak that she passed out in her kitchen and hit her head. She woke up to a puddle of blood and immediately called emergency services to get her.

The thought of Nichole lying unconscious on the floor makes my stomach twist in knots.

The worst part of it all, though? She has stage 4 liver cancer. These treatments are, as she called it, a last-ditch effort.