Page 2 of Poisoned Promise
02:42 am.
What the… a dream?
I blink and unstick my tongue from the roof of my dry mouth, then roll to one side and bite back a moan as my sticky thighs remind me just how good that dream was.
Fuck.
I haven’t dreamt of Felix in… years. Holy shit.
My heart races as if Felix was just here, buried between my thighs and pressed against my aching core, but as the song continues to blare, the echo washes away any lingering warmth that dream left behind.
Groaning, I wrestle against the tight wrap of the bedsheets and finally free one of my arms, then I blindly throw my hand at my bedside dresser seeking out the source of the song.
“Hello?” I’m barely awake, eyes too blearily to read who’s calling at this early in the morning, and I’m tired enough that sleep weighs my eyes closed as an unfamiliar voice busses in my ear.
“Hi there, I’m looking for Ms. Dove James?”
“This is she,” I reply with a wide yawn. “If this is some kind of sales call, I’ll make sure you’re out of a job by lunchtime.”
“Ms. James, I’m calling about your son, Alex.”
All hint of tiredness leaves me in an instant and I bolt upright, gazing through the darkness of my room to my bedroom door that sits ajar. “What?”
“Your son, Alex? Am I speaking to Dove?”
“I already said you were!” I snap, frantically kicking my bedsheets away from my legs and leaping from the bed. “I don’t understand why you’re calling me about my son at three in the fucking morning!”
The door hinge squeals as I wrench open the door and sprint down the short hallway toward the closed door of my son’s bedroom.
I get there and open the door to emptiness just as the voice continues and my pounding heart plummets into my gut like a rock.
“Ms. James, I’m calling from Laiten General. I’m afraid there’s been a car accident.”
“Where is he?!”
A stunned young woman with oval glasses and pink lipstick that’s far too bright for a hospital gazes back at me in alarm as I slam both my hands down onto the desk with such force that my bag dislodges from my shoulder and catches on my elbow.
“My son!” I yell again. “Where is my son?!”
“Y-Your son?”
“Yes! Alex James. He’s fourteen and I got a call telling me he was in a car accident?—!”
All the air in the room suddenly vanishes and a strangled gasp rips past my lips.
The moron who called me refused to give me details over the phone, leaving me to drive here and break a hundred rules of the road just to arrive here within twenty minutes.
My thoughts clash together, a cacophony of horror stories and pain to explain how my fourteen-year-old son, who went to bedbefore I did, has somehow ended up in a car accident at three in the morning.
“Ms. James?” A voice rises from behind me and I spin around abruptly, facing a tall, plump woman with a warm smile that bounces off the tight curl of worry between her brows. “Dove James?”
“That’s me. Please, where is Alex? Someone tell me what the fuck is going on?!”
She doesn’t even flinch at my curse. The doctor adjusts her white coat and tilts her head. “Follow me,” she says, stepping away from the desk and as soon as I fall in step beside her, she continues speaking. “Your son was brought in approximately ten minutes before you were called. He’s alive, don’t worry.”
Those words are like a prayer and yet they don’t ease the overwhelming tightness within my chest.
“He arrived with another boy, Michael? He’s currently in?—.”
