Chapter 8

Everett’s POV I had a nightmare. A really bad one. Everything was pitch black. No sound, no paper—just endless darkness. I wandered forward, lost. Suddenly, a gravestone appeared ahead of me. I stopped. Something didn’t feel right. A sharp pain rose in my chest as I slowly backed away. Then I saw it. A black-and-white photo on the stone. It was Scarlett Taylor, smiling. The color drained from my face. Scarlett. My eyes jolted open, flinching against the harsh fluorescent hospital lights. "Mr. Robinson?" I turned and saw Davis standing beside the bed, his face etched with concern and relief. "It was just a dream," I muttered, still disoriented. "Sir, are you okay?" he asked gently. I looked around. Yep. Hospital room. Sterile white walls. Monitors beeping. I blinked slowly, trying to piece things together. "What happened to me?" Davis didn’t sugarcoat it. “The doctor said you had a major gastric bleed from drinking too much. They caught it in time, but it was close.” I didn’t respond. “