Page 65 of Second Chance Ex
I rack my brain, trying to think of something, anything. But there’s not a lot I can do while I’m on the opposite side of the country. Instead, I decide to dial Madison. Maybe she’s still with Prue; they were having her bridal shower today.
“Hey, Joey,” Madison answers, but her voice isn’t its usual chipper tone. There’s something there, and I get a feeling it has to do with my text message from Prue.
“Hey Maddy, are you with Prue?” I rub at the tension knotting in the back of my neck.
“No, I’m home,” Maddy says. “I left Prue’s parents’ house a couple hours ago.”
“Was Prue okay?”
“She was…”
“Was?” I press.
“Well, yeah,” Maddy explains. “Everything was going great, but then I don’t know what happened. I announced that I was pregnant, and then she went off with the fortune teller, and then suddenly she ran inside. I think she was crying, but when I went to check on her, she said she was fine. But her eyes were all red, like she’d been crying.”
I squeeze my eyes closed. Did she just say a fortune teller? There’s so much to unpack from that info-dump that my mind feels like it’s running circles around itself. But one thing in particular sticks with me, and it causes my gut to roil. “You’re… p-pregnant?”
“Yeah,” Maddy says, and I can hear the cautious happiness in her voice, like she wants to be happy but she’s not sure if she can be. “We haven’t told anyone…well, not until today.”
Fuck. I drag a hand down my face. “Wow. Congratulations, Maddy. Tell Ryan I’ll take him out for celebratory beers when I’m home.” I try to sound happy, but it’s more difficult than I could’ve ever prepared myself for, and I hate that there’s an obvious pang of jealousy that tugs deep in my chest.
Madison giggles.
“Well, I’ll keep calling Prue,” I say, trying hard not to sound too worried about my girl. But the truth is, now it all makes sense. And now, I’m more worried about her than I’ve ever been.
“Okay, but Joey?”
I have to stick a finger in my other ear to hear over the sudden cacophony of city traffic backed up on the street right in front of me. “What is it, Maddy?”
She sighs again. “I don’t know what happened,today or… between you guys, but I have a feeling there’s so much more to it. And I truly feel like you’re the only one who might be able to bring our old Prue back.”
I heave a sigh, looking up, trying to catch a glimpse of the stars hidden behind the sky-scraping buildings. “I’m trying, Maddy. I promise you, I’m trying.”
Exhausted,dirty, still dressed in a custom Isaia suit that originally fit like a glove but now feels like a goddamn straight jacket, I pull up outside Prue’s house, right as the sun is starting to come up.
After an abrupt exit from the fundraiser, I had my agent pull a few strings and he managed to get me a ride on some tech billionaire’s private jet at the last minute, landing at a small air strip just out of San Jose. In return, I agreed to make an appearance at his kid’s birthday party in June; a small price to pay.
Now, as I sit here, in my car, parked at the curb outside Prue’s, I chew on my thumbnail, staring at her house, at the window to the right of the front door where I know her bedroom is. It’s early. Too early. On a Sunday. But fuck it. I’ve always been a little reckless, and before I can talk myself out of it, I hop out of my car and hurry up the path, the rickety old porch planks groaning beneath my weight.
I knock and wait, listen for any hint of movement or sign of life coming from inside. Nothing. I knock again, slightly louder this time, waiting, my stomach twisting with nerves. When I hear something loud bang inside, my spine stiffens. Did she just fall out of fucking bed?
I knock again, bang my fist against the door. “Prue? Are you okay?” I yell, because fuck the neighbors.
Moments later, I hear a rushed shuffling of footsteps on the other side of the door seconds before it’s yanked open and there, looking equally disheveled and adorable is Prue, hair all over the place, motherfuckingSimpsonspajamas on.
“What the hell?” Squinting, Prue looks up at me, clearly confused. “What time is it?”
“Five something,” I answer, looking her up and down. “Are you okay? I heard a thud?”
“I knocked my water bottle off the nightstand,” she croaks, brows knitting together. “What are you doing here, Joey?”
Oh yeah, that’s right. I’m here, on her doorstep at the ass crack of dawn, still dressed in my suit. What am I doing here? I square my shoulders, clear the bubble of apprehension from the back of my throat and steady her with a knowing look.
“Your text message,” is all I say, quirking a brow.
Prue huffs, scrubbing a hand over her face, her shoulders sagging a little.
“What happened yesterday, Prue?”
