Chapter 6

WHERE IT HURTS

Pov: Xavier Brooks

Hospitals had a smell. Not a bad one-not like garbage or bleach. It was this weird, sterile cocktail of too-clean linen, old sweat, and metal. I'd learned to hate it. The smell meant waiting. The smell meant pain. The smell meant things were out of my control.

I stood at the third-floor window of St. Vincent's, watching the traffic down below crawl through Brooklyn like veins pumping through a dying body. My hands were stuffed into the pockets of my hoodie, my back stiff from sleeping in the visitor's chair overnight. Again.

The nurse on duty-Claire Morales-gave me a small nod as she passed the doorway. "She's doing okay today," she said softly, Southern accent brushing over her words like honey. "Vitals are stable. No fever."

"Thanks," I said, barely managing a smile.

She gave me a longer look. "You get any sleep, Xavier?"

I shrugged.

She sighed. "You can't help her if you burn yourself out, baby."

I didn't respond. I just turned back to the window and counted how many yellow cabs I could see below. One. Two. Three.

The door creaked open again. I didn't need to turn to know it was her. My mother had a voice like rusted silk-soft but tired.

"Xav?"

I turned and forced a smile. "Hey, Ma."

She sat up in bed slowly, bones creaking like old floorboards. The hospital gown clung to her small frame. Amanda Brooks used to be the strongest woman I knew-five foot five and tougher than steel. She raised me alone in a South Bronx apartment with bad heating and worse neighbors. She taught me how to fight with words, how to stand tall even when you're broke, and how to make cornbread from scratch.

Now she looked like she might snap in half.

"You didn't go to work today?" she asked, her voice scratchy.

"I had to check on you first," I said, walking to her bedside. "You're my priority."

She gave me that look-part affection, part suspicion. "You can't keep skipping work for me."

"I'm not," I lied.

I hadn't told her I got fired from Ocho Food Crawl three weeks ago. She didn't know about Carmela Carlo, about the strange deal I'd made just to get her this surgery. And I was planning to keep it that way.

"You're a bad liar, Xavier," she said, reaching for my hand.

I smiled. "Only when I care."

She chuckled, then coughed.

Claire reappeared, carrying a tray. "Time for meds, Mama Brooks."

My mother grinned. "Lord, you call me Mama like I'm 85."

"You act like you are," Claire teased, easing the tray onto the bedside table. "These pills are gonna make you groggy, so don't go acting up."

Amanda raised a brow at me. "Hear that? You're lucky she likes me."

I leaned down, kissed her forehead, and stepped aside as Claire helped her take her meds. The nurse moved like she had all the time in the world but a thousand things on her mind. She smoothed the sheets, checked the IV, and even tucked in the corners like she was wrapping a gift.

"She's lucky to have you," I said quietly.

Claire looked up. "She tells me every day how proud she is of you."

I swallowed hard and nodded.

When she left the room again, I sat beside my mother. The silence between us stretched wide, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was familiar.

"Remember the time you made me that burnt-ass birthday cake?" she said out of nowhere.

I laughed. "Ma, I was ten. I didn't know what baking soda did.

"You used salt instead."

I laughed harder. "It looked like cake. That's what mattered."

She squeezed my hand. "That's always been you, Xav. You make things look good, even when they're broken."

I glanced at her IV drip, at the machine monitoring her heart rate. She didn't know how close we were to not affording any of this. The surgery she needed-a total hepatectomy (liver resection). Which means the surgeon will removes the cancerous tissue and surrounding liver tissue to ensure no cancer cells remain -this wasn't just complex, it was brutally expensive. And rare. It wasn't just chemo and prayers anymore. It was life or death.

And death didn't negotiate.

Later That Day

I stepped out into the hallway and called Carmela.

She answered on the third ring. "Brooks."

"You were right," I said quietly. "Someone's been following me."

A pause. "Where are you?"

"Hospital. With my mom. But it's not just here. I saw the same black sedan yesterday, parked outside the Carlo estate. Now it's outside St. Vincent's."

Her voice turned sharp. "Get inside. Now."

"I'm already in the building," I said. "But I don't like this."

"I'll send someone."

"I don't need a bodyguard, Carlo," I snapped.

"You work for me," she said. "You're part of this now, whether you like it or not."

I wanted to argue. Instead, I ended the call and went back to my mother's room.

But I couldn't sit. I paced the hallway instead, hands clenched. The scent of disinfectant made me dizzy. I wasn't a fighter. I was a damn chef. I was supposed to be arguing about truffle oil, not watching shadows for threats.

And yet here I was, caught between two lives.

Nightfall

The black sedan was still there when I stepped outside to get some air. One guy in the driver's seat, head tilted back like he was sleeping. But I knew better. His engine was off, windows rolled down just enough to see out.

I walked a few feet down the block, pulled out my phone, and called Carmela again.

"He's still out here," I said.

"I'm sending Gino and Sal. Don't do anything stupid."

I clenched my jaw. "You think I'm the stupid one in this?"

"No," she said after a beat. "I think you're scared. So am I."

That surprised me. "You don't seem scared of anything."

"I have more to lose than you think, Brooks."

I didn't know what to say to that.

By the time I returned to the hospital room, my mother was sleeping. Claire had dimmed the lights and adjusted the oxygen. The machines beeped softly, steady and alive.

I sat beside her again. Stared at her face. Memorized every line, every wrinkle.

And then I pulled out my phone and opened my notes app.

I wrote a recipe.

Spiced Tomato Bisque

For when the world feels heavy and cold.

2 tbsp olive oil

1 yellow onion, chopped

3 cloves garlic, minced

1 tbsp smoked paprika

1 tsp red pepper flakes

1 can fire-roasted tomatoes

1 cup vegetable broth

½ cup heavy cream

Salt, pepper, and patience to taste

Because that's all I could do right now-create something warm in a world going cold.