Fated Series. Book #2
"Be possessive of me, own me, keep me, because if you do then nothing and no one else can." - Maddox.
My name is Maddox Vallero, and I'm dead.
Well, that's not quite true. I'm alive in the breathing, walking, talking sense-but...
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Chapter 35 A Step Sophia
Fear is a useless emotion. It's temporary, fleeting, the cause of a million unnecessary problems, and yet, when it has you in its grip, it feels endless. Like it's wrapped around you so tightly that there's no way out. I know this because I'm in it.
I am drowning in it.
It coils around my ribs, buries itself deep in my gut, gnaws at my thoughts like a rabid animal. Even the parts of me that usually know how to shut it down are cracking, unable to contain the panic that's clawing its way to the surface. My body is running on empty—no sleep, no food, just pure adrenaline. But I don't stop. I can't stop. If I stop moving, stop thinking, I'll have to face the brutal truth staring me in the face:
I can't do this alone.
And that? That would mean admitting defeat.
My arms are numb. I try to remember when that happened, but I can't. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten, but I ignore it and stay curled up on the couch, wishing I could pretend I have this handled. That I'm the confident woman I make myself out to be.
But I'm not.
In fact, I—Sophia Larovich, who can handle just about anything—am not handling Jax being sick very well at all.
In fact, I think I might be losing my mind.
WebMD is loaded up on my phone, and I scowl at it, wondering if the pediatrician I spoke to is even board-certified. I did exactly what they told me—gave it time, waited for Jax to get better. But now? Now I'm wondering if that doctor is full of shit. I know I shouldn't Google symptoms. I know the joke about how Google will basically tell you you're either dying or already dead.
But fuck it. I'm desperate.
And hat kind of fucken advice is that anyway? Give it time?
I want to rip the sickness out of him. I want to destroy whatever invisible force has invaded his tiny body, making him feel like this. I want to fix it. But all I can do is wait.
A bitter, humorless laugh bubbles up, but I swallow it down. God, I was so fucking clueless before this. Before Jax, I never understood why parents freaked out when their kids got sick. I used to think, unless it's serious, it'll pass. Simple logic.
Now? Now, I know the truth. When it's your child—when it's your entire world lying there, helpless, staring up at you with tear-filled eyes that beg for relief you can't give—logic doesn't exist. The world outside of your child doesn't exist. The sickness isn't just some passing virus. It's an enemy. A monster. And it's taunting me with its ability to make my baby suffer.
A parent's worst nightmare. And the scariest part? I never even saw myself as a mother before. I never planned to have kids. Never even dealt with them. Hell, I barely had a childhood before adult problems smacked me in the face. But I went through the adoption process, took the wellness courses they required. Passed with flying colors. Read all the parenting books.
