Page 115 of Broken Breath
Piper shuts the door behind him and turns with that no-nonsense look she does so well. “What the fuck is going on?”
I let out a breath. “I don’t know. My hip hurts like a bitch, which is normal, but now it’s also my lower back and abdomen.”
She frowns. “Did you fall?”
“No.”
“Get on the bench, show me where it hurts.”
I climb up slowly, my body feeling like it’s made from rusted parts, and lie back with a wince. I press my hands tothe spots, and she watches, eyebrows knitting tighter by the second.
“Are you on your period?”
“No.” I snort, which might also be a wince. “I haven’t had a period since the crash.”
That stops her. “Wait, really? How come?”
I keep my eyes on the ceiling because looking at her feels like too much. “My abdomen was a train wreck. Surgeries, internal damage. They said there’s scar tissue around my fallopian tubes. Apparently, that means I’m infertile.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Piper’s face has softened when I glance back at her. “But that wouldn’t usually stop your period completely.”
I blink. “It wouldn’t?”
She gives me a look. “Well, I’m not a gynecologist, but… didn’tyouask one?”
“Uh… no? And honestly? I was kind of psyched to be done with it. I figured it was a silver lining. Please don’t jinx it.”
She narrows her eyes. “I’m not the one lying here doubled over in pain.”
“It’s not cramps,” I bite out. “It fuckinghurts. And I’m not bleeding.”
“Could be PMS or something. I get cramps two or three days before anything shows up.”
“Maybe my appendix burst,” I mutter, shifting like that might help. It doesn’t.
“If your appendix burst, you’d probably be unconscious, not sass-talking me.”
“I have a high pain tolerance.”
“Still. You’d know.” She pulls out her phone. “Let’s check. I’m not a doctor, but Google and I are basically interns by now.”
I groan. “This is hell.”
Piper scrolls, mumbling to herself. “Well, apparently, itispossible. I’ve had a lot of female riders in here who don’t get their period regularly. All the training, stress, hormone imbalances… it messes everything up. Maybe yours were all scrambled and now they’re rebalancing?”
I shoot her a look. “Why would they? I’m not training less. If anything, I’m doing more than before.”
“Okay… maybe not then,” she admits. “Maybe you have a stomach bug? Ate something bad. Magnesium overdose? You guys drink those giant recovery drinks like it’s your job. Normal people would hang over the toilet for days.”
I perk up. “That could actually be it. I chugged a full bottle this morning before practice.”
“There you go,” she says, visibly relieved. “Let’s go with that, but let me work on your hip a little if it’s giving you that much hell.”
I nod stiffly and flop back with a grunt, pulling up my hoodie to free my hip and stomach, and trying to breathe through the steady throb in my abdomen. As Piper starts working, her fingers move too precisely to be soothing. She finds a knot on my side near my hipbone and presses, and a bolt of pain shoots down my leg like fire.
I hiss. “Jesus, woman.”
“Breathe. I’m not even going hard yet.”
