Page 12

But I’m painfully aware of another side. One where Ivy could easily be laying somewhere, unconscious, with no recollection of how she got there. And that’s the best case scenario—that she wakes up and can’t remember.

Some never wake up at all.

A slow breath eases from my lips. “I⁠—”

“I’m going to call this number right now,” she says before I figure out what to tell her.

And I’m grateful because I don’t want to be the one to tell her that perhaps Ivy isn’t okay.

And maybe she’s fine.

Just like my sister was fine.

Like I was fine.

Fine. Fine. Fine.

I really do fucking hate that word.

* * *

Zayla goes into her room while she’s on the phone, so I collect my bag and plop down on my bed to get my study session going, trying to shove thoughts of Ivy aside. But the moment I get my psychology textbook open, that possibility flies out the window as my phone rings.

I almost ignore it. But guilt crushes down on me, and I end up picking it up.

“Hey, big sis,” I try to sound as upbeat as possible. “What’s up?”

“Hey.” Her words are quick and hushed. “I’m so glad you’re awake. I’ve been freaking out for the last hour.”

I pick up a pen, open a notebook, and start doodling on one of my note pages. “About what?” Typically, when she gets like this, it’s due to the fact she’s having anxiety over something, like she has too many chores to do or her kids overwhelming her.

And I do think those are all valid things. However, a lot her anxiety stems from, at least in my opinion, Liam, her husband.

I’m not a fan of him, and I have many reasons for this. He’s the worst person I’ve ever met and I hate that my sister married him. To this day, I’m still attempting to figure out why she did it. After every awful thing he has done, how could she marry him?

“I did something stupid,” she says. “And now I’m in a parking lot, locked out of my car, and Will and Penelope are locked inside. And Will still hasn’t figured out how to get out of his car seat, so I can’t get him to unlock the door.”

Will is only two and a half and Penelope is barely six months.

I drop the pen. “Doesn’t your car have a safety feature so you can unlock it?”

“Well, it has a passcode for the door lock, but I can’t remember it.” She starts crying and her voice is trembling. “Can you please go pick up my spare keys from the house and then come help me out? I’m worried the kids are going to get too cold.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier for you just to call Liam?” His name tastes bitter on my tongue. “He’s not working today, right?”

“He’s not, but he’s watching a football game at the neighbor’s house. And I don’t want to bother him. Plus…” She hesitates. “I don’t want him knowing I locked myself out again.”

“Again?”

“I’ve done this like three times in the last few months. I’m such a ditz, but I can’t seem to concentrate on how much stuff I have to do and the kids…” Panic is rising in her tone. “I’m so tired, Harper. It’s all I feel these days.”

God, my heart aches for her. The thing is, though, that if I try to suggest she get help, like from a therapist, she shuts down the conversation. She once even said Liam hates therapy and that it’s a scam, which is so nice of him, let me tell you, since my mother was one.

“Okay, yeah, I can get your keys. Just try to stay calm, okay?” I hate telling her that while she’s veering toward a panic attack because it never helps, but right now, it needs to be said, since… “If the kids see you cry, they’ll probably panic too.” I climb off the bed, slip my shoes on, and grab my wallet and car keys.

“Okay, I’ll try,” she promises me. “Just please hurry.”

“I will.” I head for the door, telling myself this is no big deal when the truth is: I hate going to her house where I’m a risk to cross paths with Liam. It’s something I avoid as much as I possibly can. And yet, every once in a while I’m forced to cross paths with him.