Chapter 2
Two
“Madi, you need to go to the hospital.”
I open one eye.
Piper stands over me with her arms crossed, dark hair loose around her face.
“I absolutely do not,” I say. “I’m fine.”
“You’re lying on the kitchen floor with an ice pack,” she replies. “You can’t move.”
“Yes, I can.”
I try to prove my point. What actually happens is a sharp, blinding pain in my lower back that shoots down my leg and makes me hiss through my teeth.
I didn’t even injure my leg.
What fresh hell is this?
Piper sighs and looks down at me as if deciding whether to call an ambulance or simply step over my body and let nature take its course.
For the record, this is not how I pictured my Sunday morning.
Last night, after the hot yoga incident, I took the hottest bath I could tolerate and convinced myself I’d beaten it. I even went to bed feeling smug. Then I woke up, swung my legs out of bed, and immediately learned a valuable lesson about arrogance.
I made it as far as the freezer before gravity won.
So now I’m flat on my back, in pajamas, staring at the underside of my kitchen table.
“We should call someone,” Piper suggests.
“No.”
“You can’t move.”
“I don’t need to move. I need time.”
“Time for what?”
“For my body to cooperate.” I pause. “Make me a margarita.”
She rolls her eyes. “No.”
“Why not?”
“A margarita won’t help.”
“Are you even my sister? Margaritas solve all problems.”
“It’s nine in the morning, Mads.”
“And?”
She rubs her forehead, already exhausted. It feels unfair considering I’m the one lying horizontal.
From the couch, Rowan clears her throat.
I forgot she was here. She’s always been the quiet one. The elusive one. The sister who ghosts family dinners and reappears whenever it suits her.
I’m honestly shocked she showed up at all.
She rummages through her oversized tote bag and pulls out a small bottle, giving it a gentle shake. “Here. Take a couple of these, and you’ll be great again. Just don’t drive if they make you woozy.”
Piper’s head snaps up. “What are those?”
“Painkillers.”
“And what the hell are you doing with them?”
Rowan straightens, offended. “Jesus. Don’t look at me like that. My doctor prescribed them.”
“For what?” Piper presses.
Rowan shrugs. “Sometimes my knees and ankles hurt.”
I frown at her. “That still happens to you?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yep. Still getting those growing pains.”
Piper looks back down at me. “Do I have to call Noah?”
“Don’t threaten our big brother on me.”
“You can’t move, Madi. I’m worried.”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “I need to be fine. I’ve got shit to do.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I’ve got a meeting in the morning,” I continue. “A politician got caught flipping the bird at a reporter and his team would like the internet to forget it ever happened. After that, I need to convince three different men that sometimes saying nothing is the sexiest option.”
Piper huffs. “You can’t move.”
“I don’t need to move. I need ibuprofen.” I squint up at her. “Also, can you move?”
“Why?”
“Because the sun is hitting that ring and I’m being flash-banged. Congratulations on the engagement. My retinas hate it.”
She almost smiles. Almost.
“We should probably talk about your wedding soon,” I say, hoping it will distract her from my position. “It’s less than a year away.”
“Plenty of time.” She waves it off. “It’s practically fictional.”
My phone alarm buzzes beside me. Carefully, I reach for it, making sure not to move too quickly. “Shit. I have to pick up Mom’s medication.”
“I can pick them up.”
I eye her. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“Make sure you put them in her sorter,” I say. “Only the blue ones on Fridays.”
“I know, I know.”
She pulls out her phone and starts typing.
“You better not be texting Noah.”
“I’m not,” she says quickly. “But I do have practice in thirty minutes.”
My gaze drifts to the violin case leaning against the sofa. It’s scuffed but probably treated with more care than most people give their children.
Our little musical prodigy.
Rowan steps closer and crouches, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You can feel your legs, right?”
“Yes, sweetie. I can feel my legs.”
“Any numbness in your lady garden?”
“No.”
“Okay.” She straightens. “I don’t know what to do, so I’m going to leave. Good luck, sis. Love you.”
Despite everything, I smile. “Love you too.”
“You’re leaving?” Piper asks.
Rowan looks around the room, then at me, still on the floor, still breathing. “Yeah. I’ve got things to do. She’s good. She’s on the floor.”
“Rowan—”
“It’s okay,” I say. “You should both go.”
“See?” Rowan grabs her bag.
As she heads for the door, I call after her, “Check in once in a while. Let us know you’re alive. Maybe come to the family dinner this month.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbles, just before the door clicks shut.
Ten minutes later, Piper is still glaring at me from her spot on the sofa.
It’s when I hear the front door fly open that I feel the shift in energy in my apartment.
“Where is she?”
Goddammit.
Why did she have to call them?
Piper doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Kitchen floor. Don’t ask.”
Emmy rounds the corner first, takes one look at me sprawled out, and sighs. “Why are you such a stubborn bitch?”
“Hi, Emmy,” I say sweetly.
Celeste appears behind her, and I don’t even pretend to be civil.
“Oh no,” I mutter. “Get that traitor out of my apartment.”
Celeste lifts her middle finger without breaking stride. “Shut up.”
Piper claps her hands once, already halfway to the door. “You two got her?”
“Yes,” Emmy says, resigned.
“Absolutely,” Celeste adds.
“Great.” Piper grabs her violin case off the floor. “I have a rehearsal. Don’t let her die.”
And just like that, she’s gone.
The apartment is quiet for all of six seconds.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
We all look up at the ceiling.
“What the hell was that?” Emmy asks.
“My neighbor.”
Celeste glances back at me. “Mr. Rogers?”
I groan. “Mr. Rogers passed away a couple of months ago. He shuffled,” I explain. “I never heard a single sound from that apartment in two years.”
Right on cue, something slams overhead, loud enough to rattle the light fixture.
Celeste squints. “That sounds… aggressive.”
“Correct,” I say flatly. “Whoever lives up there now is apparently training for war.”
Emmy frowns. “Didn’t you say this place has state-of-the-art soundproofing? I thought it was quiet here?”
“It was,” I mutter. “That’s why I took it.”
I lift the ice pack and gesture half-heartedly toward the ceiling. “The apartment was a steal because it’s the only one in the building with soundproofing issues from above. Management was very transparent. They knocked money off the rent.”
Celeste blinks. “And you still moved in?”
“Two years ago, it was an elderly man who shuffled,” I remind her.
Another bang hits, this time right above my head.
They both ignore it. Instead, they kneel beside me.
I zero in on Celeste. “I meant what I said earlier. You’re dead to me.”
She sighs. “Mads, get over it. I’ve been back for two weeks. You need to forgive me eventually.”
“You eloped.”
“Because planning a wedding was stressful.”
“I had plans, Celeste. You robbed me of the chance to organize a bachelorette. There were strippers.”
She makes a face. “Gross.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s the point. It’s about the embarrassment.”
Emmy pinches the bridge of her nose. “Can you two kiss and make up before she seizes up permanently?”
Celeste and I lock eyes before we smile at the same time.
She leans down and kisses my cheek.
I lick hers.
She recoils with a groan. “You’re disgusting.”
“You love me.”
“You two are children,” Emmy mutters.
We all laugh, but I immediately regret it.
Ha. Ha. Fucking ha.
Emmy’s smile fades. “Hot yoga really did this to you?”
“Yes.”
“Was he at least worth it?”
“He wasn’t even worth the shower I took beforehand.”
She presses her lips together. “I hate to say it, but I think you need to go to the ER.”
“What do you know?”
“I’m a midwife,” she says. “I know a thing or two about back pain. You need muscle relaxers.”
“I’m not going.”
“Yes, you are,” Celeste says.
“No, I’m not.”
Celeste tilts her head. “And what exactly are you going to do about it?”
I pause.
That’s a fair point.
What am I going to do?
Yell? Moan for help?
They’d barely hear me over the jackhammer noises coming from upstairs.
I really need to talk to whoever my new neighbor is.
Eventually.
Preferably, when I can stand without blacking out.
Emmy and Celeste each grab an arm.
“Okay,” Emmy says. “On three.”
“No sudden movements,” I warn, already bracing.
They try.
I scream.
They drop me.
“New plan.” Emmy steps back. “We slide.”
“We are not sliding her,” Celeste protests.
“We are definitely sliding her.”
I am, in fact, slid.
After some bribery involving coffee from my favorite coffee place and a promise of that margarita I so badly need, I am finally upright.
I look down at myself. “You are not bringing me to the ER like this. These are fluffy pajamas.”
Celeste smirks. “You’re immobile.”
“I don’t care. You’re my best friends. You’re both dressing me, underwear and all. I refuse to be wheeled into triage like this.”
Emmy sighs. “I knew today was going to be weird.”
Celeste grins. “I’ve waited years to put your bra on for you.”
“Touch me wrong,” I warn, “and I’ll bite.”