Page 27 of Possessive Sinner
By late afternoon, they concluded it probably wasn't a stroke, but her blood pressure was still dangerously high, and they wanted to keep her overnight. She fought them on almost every treatment, the way she always does.
Now it's past seven. The sky is dark when I finally park in our driveway, exhausted, emotionally wrung out, and carrying the weight of another day that somehow managed to be worse than the one before.
Inside, Pete is already in bed. He came by the hospital earlier, brought some food for Mom and me, along with a bag he packed for her with her glasses, charger, an extra blanket, stuff like that.
He's propped against the headboard with his laptop open on his knees. When he sees me, he closes it immediately and sets it aside. Then he opens his arms. I don't even hesitate. I climb onto the bed and curl into him, pressing my face into his chest. Thegesture is so natural despite all my conflicted feelings about us from earlier. His arms close around me.
"She's okay," I fill him in. "They didn't find anything."
He lets out a slow breath. "Thank God."
"They think maybe it was a traveling clot. They want her to take blood thinners." I sigh. "But she refuses."
Pete's hand moves slowly over my back. "Yeah, that's a given with your mom."
I nod against him. For years now, I've taken her from doctor to doctor, specialist to specialist. Hours spent driving across the city. Hours sitting in waiting rooms. Just to hear the same thing over and over again. She's fine. Her blood pressure is high. They want to prescribe something for it. Something for the kidneys. Blood thinners because of the stroke she had last year. Maybe another pill or two if they can think of something. Mom refuses every single one. And I still drive her. Still sit there. Still listen. All that time. All that money. All those hours away from work. Wasted.
Pete pulls me a little closer.
"You did the right thing," he murmurs.
I close my eyes. I wish I believed that as easily as he does.
"How about you?" I ask, snuggling in. I need to talk about something else.
Pete exhales and runs a hand through his hair. "Busy. They already dumped a new application on my desk."
"Already?" I laugh softly. "You just got promoted."
"Exactly. That's why."
He shifts slightly and reaches for the laptop on the nightstand, tapping it open again. "This one's… big."
"How big?"
"Four and a half million."
I blink. "Dollars?"
Pete chuckles. "No, peanuts."
"Pete."
"Yes. Dollars."
My jaw drops a little. "Someone just… walks into your bank and asks for a four-and-a-half-million-dollar loan?"
"Not exactly. They're paying cash."
"Cash?" I repeat, stunned.
He nods. "That's what makes it interesting. They're buying property outright. No financing needed. But we still have to verify the funds."
"That kind of money…" I shake my head. "I can't even imagine it."
Pete scrolls through something on the screen. "The problem is, the deeper I dig, the weirder it gets."
"How so?"
