I don’t keep an office at the mansion because frankly, kitchens and electronics don’t mix well. Cassidy prints out everything I need to know and tacks it up in my kitchen. Recipes are kept under lock and key on laminated sheets of paper in the same cupboard as my knives. If that’s not a deterrent, I don’t know what is. The only items I keep in there out of necessity are my mounted voice-activated speakers that operate my Spotify playlist, and the phone which sits in a corner.

As a result, it isn’t until I’m at home that I get a chance to pull up my company email and calendar to see what was added to it by my efficient sister. Sitting with a glass of wine, I take a large mouthful before opening the message from Bryan.

To: Freeman, Corinna

From: Moser, Bryan MD

RE: Upcoming Appointments

Dear Miss Freeman.

Attached you will find the schedule of your upcoming appointments. I trust the dates and times are agreeable amidst your busy schedule. Should you have any difficulties, please contact Dr. Braddock’s secretary, as I was forced to deal with yours earlier.

Cordially,

Dr. Moser.

I spew my wine everywhere. Men and their fragile egos. I hope it has nothing to do with their dick size, or Bryan’s got to have some massive problems getting laid. I use the napkin I brought over with my wine to wipe off the screen of my laptop. Even though I know Cassidy’s meticulously entered in my appointments, I want to get an idea of what I’m facing over the upcoming months.

Opening the attachment, I’m not surprised at my physical getting moved earlier. I make a mental note to switch primary care doctors eventually. I want no association with anyone or anything having to do with Jack O’Brien’s practice. Continuing my perusal, I see blood work. Ugh, another series of MRIs, and one takes two hours? Now that my family knows, they can just drug my ass for those.

Then I pause. A psychologist? Why the hell do I need to talk with some quack? After Phil, Cass, and Em ensured Ali, Holly, and I weren’t permanently scarred by what happened to us, I no longer felt the need to bare my soul to someone outside of my immediate family. What the hell are they trying to learn? Whether or not some mental deprivation caused my brain tumor?

Snagging my phone up, I quickly pound out a text to Bryan.

I just saw the schedule. Why on earth do I need to see some shrink to have you operate on my head?

The little dots move, pause, then finally his text comes through.

This is after regular business hours, Ms. Freeman. Please contact my secretary with any questions about your schedule.

And those two simple lines put me over the edge. Five years of emotional support, and I’m supposed to trust my life to you because you get into a snit? What if there’s a blade in your hand after we have a spat in pre-op? I hit Send. I’m so done.

Furiously, I keep writing, ignoring the bubbles below my message. Fine. Then I’ll coordinate my cancelation of all procedures. If this is your attitude because of the one time in five years I couldn’t drop everything to do something you wanted me to, well you and your magical hands can go whack off together.

Hitting Send, I toss my phone aside. Shoving my computer off my lap, I grab my glass of wine and toast myself. “To you, Cori. To the end of your life, however long it is. Live it the way you want to.”

Tipping the glass back to my lips, I guzzle the wine even as my phone buzzes next to me.

I ignore it. Instead, I get up and grab the bottle from the kitchen. Making my way up to my room, I decide it’s as good a night as any for laundry.

“What the hell do you mean you might not have the surgery?” Em explodes at me. I’m lying on her chaise, taking a break after having just dropped off the grapefruit cake and cinnamon buns for the bridal brunch.

Mugsy, her ancient rescue dog, whines at her tone, scooting back toward me. I shush him and rub his velvety soft ears. “You heard me. I’m not saying I’ll never have the surgery.” I shrug. “Just not with a doctor whose ego is as fragile as Wordsworth china, or whatever that blue and white crap is.”

“It’s Wedgewood. And you know all doctors have egos,” Em counters.

I nod to acknowledge her point. “However, when you’re used to a certain level of treatment from your doctor, and the dynamic changes in less than twelve hours because you didn’t jump when they asked you to, you really need to consider if you’re with the right surgeon.” Tipping my head back, I whisper, “My life is going into his hands, Em. I have to trust him explicitly. If I can’t, what happens?”

Em opens her mouth to argue and then closes it. “I have nothing to come back with. Absolutely nothing. You’re right. If you’re no longer comfortable with your doctor, and this isn’t critical, then let’s find someone else.”

I roll to my side and curl into a ball facing my sister. “Exactly.” Something else has been on my mind. “Em, would you say you, Holly, and I go on the same amount of dates?”

Em sits down across from me and grabs one of her sketchbooks. “About that.”

“Why is it that I’m the only one branded a slut?” It’s not meant to insult my sisters. I’m trying to figure out the thoughts of others. The things Colby said are rancid in my gut. I still can’t think of him without wanting to go back to my kitchen for more therapy.

Em lifts her head from her book before saying something odd. “You’re the dream, Corinna.”

I’m confused. “Excuse me?”

Resuming her drawing, she explains. “Holly’s dates usually involve an intellectual meeting of the minds over some piece of art. She’s friendly with all of her dates because there’s no spark.” She scratches against the paper continue while I wait. “My dates are all about the challenge. What will impress me enough…” Her voice trails off leaving what she wants to say unsaid, but I know how to finish the sentence. What will break through the ice around her heart?

Tucking both hands beneath my face now that Mugsy’s lying down next to me, I ask, “Do you know what that is?”

“I wish I had a clue. Part of me wants the fairy tale we create day after day, yet the other part of me understands that’s just for fools.” I nod, understanding that perfectly. “But you, Cori? You’re unapologetically sexy, outrageously funny, with a healthy dose of temper. You’re basically every man’s dream. Men get pissy when they can’t have what they want, so they pout.”

“And pouting devolves into bullying, badgering, and assumptions?” I demand.

She shrugs. “For the insecure ones, the ones whose dicks are too small to handle a woman as strong as you, certainly.”

“I’m not that strong,” I protest.

“Corinna, there are only five other people whose strength I would compare yours to, and we’re related to all of them,” Em says bluntly. Putting her sketchbook aside, she rests her arms on her upturned legs. “Now what, or should I ask who, brought this question on?”

Leaving nothing out, I tell Em about my night out, where I started out eating Mexican with Colby, running into Addison, ending up at Redemption, and the dance with Marco. When I get to the part of Colby’s accusations at my front door, I hear the hiss of breath she sucks between her teeth. “Now I’m left with another man alluding to me being a—”

“Don’t you dare say it. First, because we both know it’s not true. And second, even if it was, who are these righteous assholes to judge? Men who have slept with God only knows how many women before they come to us?” Em is bursting with anger. “It’s okay for a man to sleep around but not a woman—not saying you have.”

I pull a hand from under my cheek and wave her on.

“Right or wrong, personal decisions are just that—personal. The only moral compass you have to answer to is your own. Fuck ’em all.” Em finishes her tirade. “Know what we should do tonight?”

“What?”

“Let’s go back to Tide Pool. We’ll force Jason and Caleb to drive. Keene too if he’s not working,” she decrees.

“Em, the last time we went to Tide Pool, we ended up lying on the bar while random guys did body shots off of us.”

Her navy blue eyes flit away briefly before they come back to mine. “Precisely.”

Tide Pool, located on the outskirts of Collyer, is a complete dive. Jason and Caleb’s protests are vociferous as we make our way over the uneven lot. “Keene’s going to have our nuts for this, and I can’t say I blame him,” Caleb mutters.

“So, don’t come with us,” I tell him breezily.

“I prefer to lose my nuts over dying, Cori,” he retorts. Turning to Jason, he demands, “What happened the last time you were here with them?”

Before Jason can open his mouth, we enter the dilapidated honky-tonk. My hands immediately go over my head, and my body begins swaying.

Jason sighs, coming up behind me. “Can you promise me no body shots this time?”

“Body shots?” Caleb’s eyes are about to fall out. Tucking his wife closer, he asks, “Which one of you did body shots?” All of our hands, including Cassidy’s, shoot up. He gapes down at his wife. “No fucking way.”

Cassidy shrugs and points at Em. “Em dared me.”

Em grins at Phil. “He started charging money, saying it was for charity.”

Phil grins. “It was. The charity was our bar bill that night.”

Ali’s smile is lethal. “Remember the guy who…”

A chorus of “Oh yeahs” followed her lead-in. None of us will ever forget the man who had dreams of Holly’s long red hair flying as she rode off on the back of his bike.

Caleb’s looking at us like we’re all certifiable. “And we’re here why?”

I’ll answer that one. “Because no man has a right to tell me—tell any of us—who and what we are. We’re not victims. We’re not doormats. And sure as shit, we’re not sluts. So, stay or go, Caleb. But tonight is for family pride.”

Em high-fives me. “Damn straight, sister. I’ll get the tequila.”

Caleb makes one last appeal to Ali. “Does Keene know where you are?”

She raises a brow. “When he finishes playing war games in his secure room and sees his phone, he will. After he gets over being pissed, he’ll enjoy me this drunk. Our drunk sex gets outrageous.”

“Eww. That’s my brother.” Cass shoves her.

“And boy, can he use his cock,” Ali taunts her as they sit down around the large table. “Then again, you were there that first night.”

“True. Speaking of which, you never told me…” And my two sisters are off and running.

Phil, who’s dressed in a tight-fitting black T-shirt and jeans, merely says, “No one makes my girls feel less than what they are—strong and beautiful. One of us is hurting. Don’t like how we fix it? There’s the door. You can wait outside until the fighting starts.”

“What fighting?” Caleb asks, signaling a harried waitress, who just flaps her hand at him.

“The minute all these douchebags finish texting their friends and this bar packs full of guys.” Em stumbles past Phil and drops a full bottle of rotgut on the table with shakers of salt and limes.

Phil continues. “Maybe my sister will find one who won’t call her a damn slut and I can sleep better at night.”

I lean up to kiss my brother on the cheek. “If I die, I’ll leave you my chocolate icing recipe.”

Phil looks at Caleb. “Let me amend my statement. First, we’re about to toast asshole doctors who have somehow convinced my sister not to immediately have a very necessary surgery. Then we’re toasting all the dicks who have disparaged her this week. Stay, go, we don’t care.” He turns to Holly, who’s meticulously pouring shots. “It’s the worst tequila in the world. Who the hell cares if it gets on the table?”

Holly gives him a cheeky smile before tipping the bottle to her lips and taking a swig.

Jason picks up his phone and takes a photo.

Caleb pulls his out of his pocket before making a call. “Keene, you’d better get your ass to my location the minute you get Ali’s text. I swear to God, there’s no way I can control this shit alone. It’s going to go bad tonight. Something happened and they’re on a mission…”

Tuning Caleb out, we start the night with a toast that’s all too perfect for us. “Fuck ’em all. Here’s to us!” Our shot glasses clink as we lick, suck, and shoot as fast as we can.

One shot down. The whole night to go.

My back arches as the guy who just poured tequila in my belly button sucks it out. Holding up the lime to his mouth like a boxing coach, I give a war whoop. Holly, whose hair is intermingling with mine, is laughing. “Pay that guy over there.” I wave vaguely in the direction of Phil. “It’s all for charity.”

“What charity is that, gorgeous?” The dark-haired biker leans toward my face.

I blink at him once, twice. “Ask my brother. He’s handling the details.”

“I’d rather ask you what you’re doing later.” Hmm. He’s not bad-looking, and if I’m going to be pegged as a slut, I might as well have some fun with it.

“Later she’s likely to have her head over the toilet at home, ’cause if she’s not, her ass is going to be so red from being spanked it’s not going to be funny.” Funny. That sounds like Colby’s voice…nah.

Still staring at the dark-haired stranger, I ask dreamily, “Did you mention spanking? I’ve never done that before.”

“For fuck’s sake, Corinna.”

I frown. “How do you know my name? There’re no names right now. I’m trying to forget who I am.”

“Dude, if you don’t get the hell away from my sister-in-law, there’s going to be some major problems.” Ah hell. Keene’s here. Behind my head, I hear Holly mutter, “Shit. Playtime’s over. Why’d Ali have to get with such a buzzkill? They’re not even married yet.”

“Dare you to say it.”

“Let me borrow your orange Valentino heels sometime and you got a deal.”

I shrug. I might be dead soon. She can have ’em. “Okay.”

She takes a deep breath. “Keene, you’re a damn killjoy! What are you doing here?”

His angry face softens when he realizes the two of us are sitting up on the bar. “Making sure my favorite sisters-in-law are safe.”

Well, damn. That’s sweet. Holly and I exchange glances. She shrugs. “Okay, but we were having fun.”

“And Phil said it was for charity,” I call back.

Keene’s face darkens again before he spins around to confront Phil.

“Do you think he’s mad at Phil? Hey, what charity was that for anyway?” I ask Holly, my words slurring together.

“Not so sure. S’long as it’s one that helps out people like you. We had to help you tonight.”

I shake my head. “Not worth helping, Hols. Didn’t ya know? Just a low-class, fat slut. All the people think so.” My nose itches, and my eyes start to burn.

“No! No drunk crying,” Holly protests.

I sniff it back. “Fuck ’em all, Hols. We’ve got each other. I know—let’s just get married. I know you love me. You won’t call me fat or dumb, or complain if I work too late.”

“Sounds perfect except for the sex.”

“Vibrators!” I slap the bar beside me. “We’ll be a new definition of sister wives!”

Holly cracks up.

“It’s the perfect solution. See? Problem solved.”

“In no way are your problems solved, Corinna,” the rough voice next to me mutters. Hooking an arm around my waist, he separates me from my sister. No, wait—my sister wife—before hoisting me over his shoulder.

“Hols! Help me!” I screech.

“I hate to break it to you, Cori, but I don’t think I can. Colby’s got you pretty firmly in hand.” Holly falls sideways on the bar before the dark-haired biker who had been standing there observing our antics rights her. Smiling up at him, she beams. “Thanks!”

“Some sister wife you are!” I yell back. Beating against Colby’s muscular back, I screech, “Put me down!”

“Not until I have you out of here,” Colby snarls.

Amid the confusion of Keene yelling at Phil, Ali yelling at Keene, and Phil yelling in general, no one else notices Colby making his way out the door with me. Frustrated, I resume taking my frustration out on Colby, hurling every insult I can at him as he makes his way across the parking lot. Finally, as he opens the door, I yell, “You are not the boss of me!”

Flipping me upright into the seat, he leans forward until his face is inches from mine. “The old boss was doing a shitty job. I just fired her. Now, let’s see if you can avoid puking until we get you home.” Stalking around to his side of the Jeep, he swings in before we peel out of the lot.

This is so not even close to the way I wanted this night to end.