Serena

My phone rings halfway through Days of Our Lives. I mute the TV and pull my lazy bones into a seated position, dragging my iPhone across Derek’s coffee table and squinting at the Caller ID.

Poppy?

I clear my throat and sit straight. “Hello?”

“Oh, my God. Serena?” Poppy’s high-pitched lilt blasts through the speaker. “I can’t believe you answered.”

Rolling my eyes, I muster all the positivity I have and force myself to pretend to be happy to hear from her. Where was she twelve weeks ago? Where was she when I was holed up at Belcourt Prison?

“Are you okay? Is everything okay? I’ve been so worried about you,” she says, breathless and excited.

Really? She’s been worried about me? Last I knew, worried people called and checked on their friends.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Ironing a few things out, but I’m fine.”

“Oh, thank God.” Poppy laughs. “I’ve been trying to reach you for months. I ran into Veronica at Bergdorf’s not long after . . . the airport incident . . . and she said you were seeking medical help and recovering at Belcourt and that you weren’t taking visitors. I sent flowers. Did you get them?”

I lean forward, brows meeting. “Flowers?”

“Yes. Pink roses. Your favorite. And boxes of European chocolate from that little shop on Madison. I even sent you a care package with nail polish and face scrub and magazines and essential oils. Random things I thought might cheer you up.”

“Poppy, I never got anything. You sure you sent them to Belcourt?”

“Positive.”

“Why would they be intercepted?”

“No clue.” She blows a breath into the receiver. “That’s really odd. Anyway, where are you now? When are you coming home?”

“I’m staying in a little town called Rixton Falls. My attorney is here.” I leave it at that. There’s no sense in giving her more information than necessary. Not until I know what she really wants.

“Never heard of it. When are you coming home? We miss you. Everyone misses you.”

My chest tightens for a moment. I want to believe they all miss me. And maybe some of them did try and reach out. I’ll never know.

“You’ll be happy to know Natasha and Tenley have essentially been shunned from our little social circle.” Poppy’s tone is low. It’s the very tone she takes when she’s sharing insider information. Gossip. “After what they did with Keir . . . what it did to you . . .”

She needn’t continue. No point in rehashing the worst moments of my life.

“You know, we all think they baited Keir. Natasha was always so jealous of you, and Tenley always wanted what you had. She copied your makeup, your haircut, your shoes and bags. She even stole your stylist.” Poppy rambles on, and I tune her out for a second.

“I don’t care if they baited Keir. He took the bait. That’s all that matters. There’s no coming back from that. I’ll never trust him again.”

“Oh, sweetie, I know.” Poppy groans in sympathy. “The entire thing was so horrid. It never should’ve happened to you. You didn’t deserve it. Anyway, it’s safe to come home now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Natasha’s been vacationing in the Maldives the last two months. Supposedly. And Tenley moved back to LA to be with her sugar daddy. I’d be shocked if those two showed their faces in this city again.” The phone is muffled for a moment. “Sorry. My meal delivery just came. I’m getting so sick of chicken and broccoli and sweet potatoes. I haven’t had a real meal in months. Hey, you should come back this weekend. My sister finally moved out, so I have a guest room.”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on,” she whines. “I’ll send my driver to come get you in the morning, and he’ll drop you off Sunday night. You’ve been gone far too long. I miss you. I mean it. You were my best friend. Still are. You know I like you a million times more than any of those other bitches.”

I laugh through my nose.

“Please?” she asks. “Don’t make me beg.”

I contemplate my answer in silence.

“I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer,” she says. “Give me your address, and I’ll send Carlos to come pick you up at nine o’clock tomorrow. When was the last time you had your hair done? I can call Katinka and see if she’ll squeeze you in. We can do some shopping after. Have dinner at Giuseppe’s on Fifth. Get some drinks at Bar Gray. Anything you want to do.”

It sounds good. It really does. I tuck my hair behind my ear, my fingertips grazing my smiling cheeks.

I give. “Fine, Poppy. I’ll text you the address.”

“Yay! I’m so excited. You have no idea.”

An incoming call places a beep in my earpiece, and I pull the phone away. It’s Eudora.

“I have to let you go,” I say.

“Don’t forget to text me.”

“I won’t.” I end Poppy’s call and accept the incoming one. “Eudora, hello.”

“Serena.” She’s breathless. “I’m so glad you answered.”

“What’s going on? Everything okay?”

“No.”

My heart thuds, and I sink back into the cushions. “What’s wrong?”

“Your father,” she says. “He fell. Hit his head. Couldn’t get up. I think he may have broken something as well.”

So many questions race through my mind, like why was Eudora with him? What happened to her paid leave status? But none of that matters right now.

“Where’s Veronica?” My question comes out like an angry demand.

“I don’t know, darling,” Eudora says. “She left this morning. Said she had business to attend to out of town and wouldn’t be back until after dark.”

Of course.

“Where is he?” I ask.

“Ambulance just took him to Amherst Good Samaritan Hospital, just outside the Hilldale Estate. You should come.”

“I’ll get there as soon as possible.” I end the call, fingers shaking, mind scattered as I search through my contacts for Derek’s number.

I’m not sure why my instinct is to ask him for help first, but my fingers are seconds from hitting the “send” button when his apartment door swings open.

He stands in the doorway, briefcase in hand, tie loose around his neck. I glance at the clock, and it’s barely past one-thirty. He shouldn’t be home yet.

Derek’s heavy footsteps fill the open apartment. Judging by the storm in his eyes and the tenseness in his shoulders, he’s still very much in the same mood he was in this morning. Maybe more so.

But I can’t think about him right now, or his man tantrum or his ridiculously over-the-top reaction to not getting his way with me.

My hands tremble, and the phone slips through my fingers, landing on the rug beneath me with a hard thud. I swoop down and grab it, rising and taking ginger steps toward the kitchen, where he’s flicking through mail as if it disgusts him.

He stops for a moment, glancing up at me, then to the mail and back. His face pinches. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Um.” My lips feel wavy, my voice faltering. “I . . .”

“What? Say it.”

“My dad fell. He’s at the hospital.” My eyes mist, and I blink them away. “I need to be with him, and I . . .”

He grabs his keys from the counter, his harsh expression suddenly softer. “Let’s go.”