Page 22 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
I don’t answer. Just flip to another page—and there, tucked between two photos of me and Zae holding buckets of candy, is a folded piece of paper. A recipe card in Zae’s loopy handwriting.
I pull it out carefully. “Hey... did you put this here?”
Gram leans over to look. “No... oh. That’s one of Zae’s. I haven’t seen that in years.”
“Heartbreak candy?” I read. “What even is that?”
“It was something she made up. Wanted to use some rare edible flower—what was it called? Oh, I can’t remember now...”
Her voice trails off, and then she wobbles.
“Gram?”
She puts a hand to the table, steadying herself.
I’m already moving, heart slamming. “Are you okay?”
She tries to smile. “Just a little dizzy. I—”
And then she collapses.
“Gram!”
I drop to my knees beside her, catching her head before it hits the floor. She’s breathing—but shallow. Her skin is pale, too pale.
“Stay with me,” I whisper, fumbling for my phone with shaking hands. I call 911 and give them the address, my voice trembling. “Please hurry. It’s my grandmother. She’s collapsed.”
I cradle her hand in mine, trying to blink back tears. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. Just stay with me, Gram. Please.”
Somewhere in the distance, I hear sirens. Closer. Closer.
I press my forehead to her shoulder, whispering promises I’m not sure I can keep.
“Don’t leave me. Not yet. I’m not ready.”
Chapter twelve
Dane
The living room smells like takeout and old leather, the windows open just enough to let the evening breeze roll in. Jamie's sprawled on the oversized couch, legs crossed at the ankles, holding a beer bottle against his chest like it's some sort of lifeline. Theo's across from him in the armchair, a book in his lap he hasn't turned a page of in ten minutes. I'm parked on the floor, back against the couch, a half-finished whiskey in my hand and the comfortable ache of a good day’s work in my shoulders.
It's rare that we all relax like this. Even rarer that we manage it without someone bringing up repairs, permits, or tenant drama. Tonight, it feels easy. Warm.
“Tell me again why we thought running a property business would be relaxing?” Jamie muses, lazily tossing a popcorn kernel toward Theo, who bats it away with a grunt.
“Because we were idiots with too much ambition,” I say. “And not enough self-preservation.”
“I blame you both,” Theo mutters, but there’s no heat in it.
Jamie chuckles, and the sound settles into the room like sunlight. We lapse into silence, the kind only forged through years of shared effort and deeper loyalty.
And then we hear it.
A siren. Close.
Jamie stiffens. The beer bottle lowers slowly, forgotten.
“That’s not right,” he says. His voice is soft, but I catch the edge beneath it.
