Rain plops harder. It soaks my shirt and hair.
My heart drags against the ground. I fling myself into the front seat and start the engine.
At that moment, my phone rings.
I snatch it up. Answer desperately. “Atlas?”
“Lev, this is Miss Staine from across the street.”
“Oh, Miss Staine.” I blink. Shake my head. “How can I help you?”
“It’s about your mom, dear.”
“Mom?” My eyes widen.
“We were supposed to meet at your place to plan the annual PTA fundraiser, but she’s not answering the door or responding to our calls.”
The hole in my stomach gets bigger.
“Are you home?”
“No, I’m not,” I croak out.
“Oh, well. She must have forgotten. I was just calling to check if she was okay.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Staine,” I say hoarsely.
“No problem, sweetie.”
I hang up. Toss the phone into the backseat.
My fingers grapple the stick shift. I haul the car into gear and slam my foot on the gas. My heart pounds hard and fast the entire drive to my house.
The storm roars at me as thick as the dread pooling in my veins. Mom was nursing a cup of ‘hot cocoa’ when I left today. She had her hair bound in a ponytail. No makeup. No fancy clothes.
It’s her routine to get dressed several hours in advance when she’s meeting people. She’s never slipped up before.
Mom, what happened?
When I near my house, I press the button that opens the automatic gate and speed into the driveway.
Lighting flashes in the cloudy, black sky. Torrential rain pounds my head, my shoulders and my back as I stumble out of the car and sprint to the front door.
My fingers are shaking so much I can barely get the keys in the lock. Finally, I twist the knob. Push. Rush in.
The house is dark.
I glance frantically around. “Mom?”
A figure lies slumped on the sofa.
My heart jumps to my throat. “Mom?”
No response.
My first step is shaky. The second is longer. By the time I get to the third, I’m in a full-on run.
“Mom?” I roll her over. Shake her. “Mom, open your eyes.”
Still nothing.
Alabaster skin glows momentarily from the flash of the lightning outside.
I notice the pain pills sprawled out on the coffee table.
No, no, no.
I scoop my mother into my arms and dash through the front door. Back to my car.
I lay her out on the backseat.
She’s so still.
So cold.
I drive frantically to the hospital, tears pressing at the back of my eyes.
I’m not losing my mother.
I’ve already lost too freaking much tonight.
***
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More books about strong yet vulnerable black women and the diverse men who love them are coming soon.
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Be My Forever
Be My Darling
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Be My Light
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The Love Repair Series
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Caught In You
Bound In You
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