“Sir, we don’t havetime,” the doctor pushed, “and he signed the consent so—”
“Did I?” Rhett interrupted. “How confident are you?”
The color drained entirely from the doctor's face, and Jeremiah hacked a laugh.
“You did,” the doctor insisted. “I saw you sign it myself. Our hospital lawyer has already filed it in our system.” He snatched a tablet from one of the nurses and tapped furiously on the screen before beaming with relief. “Ah, see? Here. Signed and dated.”
He twirled the tablet around to show us, and I frowned. I’d seen enough of Rhett’s signatures on posters, merch, fan’s skin, to know that wasn’t it. My confusion cleared up as Rhett leaned forward and swiped the screen to zoom in.
Sure enough, on the signature line instead of his usualRhett Silverscrawl thatanyself-respecting Bellerose fan would recognize, the document read: GoFuckYourself.
“Whoops,” Rhett murmured with smug sarcasm. “Someone really should have verified that before accepting it.”
The doctor's face turned a deep red that suggested he was seriously thinking about just knocking Rhett out and cutting the liver out of him, consent be damned.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” I said quietly, squeezing Rhett’s fingers, “don’t. We have security parked out front, and they’re fully prepared to doanythingto protect Rhett. And the media would have a field day with this story… with how famousBelleroseis, and all.”
With that line drawn in the sand, Jeremiah ordered the staff to leave until Mary could arrive. At least he was smart enough—or defeated enough—to see when Rhett wouldn’t be moved.
Time ticked past, minute by minute, soon turning into an hour. Jeremiah didn’t try to speak, seeming to doze while we waited, so I just sat on the edge of Rhett’s bed and waited silently with him. When two hours had passed and a nurse came by to check Jeremiah’s vitals, Rhett sighed in frustration.
“Why is it taking so long?” he snapped. “If she was in the commune, she should be here by now.”
Jeremiah cracked his lids open, his wrinkled lip curling up in a slight sneer. “She’s working, son. And your mother takes a lot of pride in a job completed thoroughly.”
Rhett’s jaw clenched so hard it clicked. “Workingwhere?”
Jeremiah gave him a sick smile. “At the temple, where she’s worked every day and night since you left the community.”
Whatever happened at “the temple,” it was bad. Real bad. Enough that Rhett lurched off the hospital bed and vomited into a nearby trashcan. I stared, shocked speechless, and Jeremiah just chuckled to himself. The sadist.
Before I could suggest to Rhett that we just leave now, a frail, emaciated woman started along the hall with one of the stern-faced nurses escorting her. With the way Rhett jerked like he’d been shot, I guessed that was her. Mary.
“Mom,” Rhett croaked, extending a hand to her as she drew close. But the woman with sunken eyes and limp hair walked straight past him like he didn’t exist, going to Jeremiah to fall to her knees beside the bed.
Her whispers were panicked and pleading, but I couldn’t make out the words. I was too fucking shocked at how she’d totally ignored her son like he was a ghost.
“I don’t know what you expected, son,” Jeremiah croaked between heavy breaths. “You know the rules. You died that day, and your poor mother has had to pay your debts ever since. But see? I gave you what you wanted. She’s alive.”
As if summoned by magic, the social worker was back along with the doctor.
“Sign the form,” the doctor snarled, shoving the clipboard at Rhett’s chest.
My love just brushed right past the doctor, stalking across to where his mother still knelt on the floor, her hands clasped together on the side of the bed and her head hung low.
“Mom,” he tried again, crouching down beside her. “Mom, it’s me. It’s Nathan.” His voice broke with emotion, and my heart ached for him.Nathan.I hadn’t known the name he’d gone by in this community, and I had to say,Rhettfit him so much better. He’d been reborn the day he left Townsend, and my Rhett was too good to even set foot back in this place.
Mary gave no indication that she could hear him, just continued whispering herprayerover and over. When Rhett gently touched her frail shoulder, she flinched so hard he shook his head and stood up.
“How long does he have left?” Rhett asked the doctor, nodding to his dying sperm donor. His abuser. His worst demon. “Without the transplant. Weeks? Days? Less?”
The doctor visibly swallowed, then frowned. “Less,” he growled. “Hours.”
Rhett nodded, thoughtful. “Well. Let’s see how long it takes, shall we? Take your consent form and shove it up your ass. You’re not getting my liver, old man.”
Gasps of shock rippled through the nearby staff, then Jeremiah started laughing. His laughter then morphed into coughing, which went on and on and then… stopped.
The monitor beeped long and low, and medical staff leapt into action to try and revive theFather of Good,but Rhett just turned his back on them all. He knew, like I did, that it was too late. Karma had come calling, and that demon had just breathed its last gasp.
