Page 94 of Middle Ground

Once Atticus lets me out of his embrace, he takes my hand—the one Jackson was forced to drop—and drags me inside. Jackson trails after us.

Pippa waits for me in the entryway.

“You said Attie was sick,” I say. Her text came in just as Jackson and I were finishing up breakfast, saying she couldn’t make it this morning.

She shrugs, a small smile on her lips. “I lied.” She gingerly wraps her arms around me, cautious of my sore ribs. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispers.

I squeeze her tighter, uncaring that it hurts. “Me, too.”

When Pippa eventually lets me go, Declan swoops in for his own hug. “Good to see you, kid,” he says.

I laugh. “Hey, you’re the kid, not me.”

He releases me and grins.

A knock at the door has me spinning on my heels. Declan reaches over and opens it, revealing Wells standing on the porch.

I shake my head. “You did not come all the way here for this.”

Whateverthisis. I still don’t really know what’s going on, but it feels good to have all my people in one place.

He grins. “Oh, I definitely did.”

I look at all of them, my friends, my family, in disbelief. “You guys really didn’t have to do this.”

“We did,” Pippa says firmly. “In case you haven’t noticed, we kind of love you.”

Declan throws an arm over my shoulder, tugging me against his side. “Had to make sure our Meyer was okay. We all deserve a sick day anyway.” He reaches out and ruffles Atticus’s hair. “Gotta teach him the art of playing hooky.”

“I wanna play!” Atticus says. “Show me!”

With a laugh, Declan leads his nephew away, explaining what he meant.

“Come sit,” Pippa urges me. “You shouldn’t be on your feet.”

“My ribs are bruised, Pip. I don’t have one foot in the grave.”

She crosses her arms. “Sit.”

I’m tempted to roll my eyes at the babying, but I know she’s just showing that she cares in the only way she can. A lot of this situation is out of her control—out of my control—so if doting on me makes her feel better, then I’ll let her.

Pippa follows me over to the couch while the guys all crowd around the kitchen. I’m not sure what they’re doing, but if Jackson is involved, I don’t think I want to know.

“Hey, Sunny,” Wells calls. “Where are your mixing bowls?”

“They’re in the bottom cupboard beside the stove,” she says.

Wells smiles and returns to his task, and I don’t miss Pippa’s blush. When her attention falls back to me, I raise a brow.

“What?”

“You know what.” I poke her arm as I lower my voice. “Someone has a crush,” I tease. “And a new nickname,Sunny.”

She scoffs. “I do not!” she hisses. “Besides, I’m with Shawn.”

“Barely,” I mutter.

Her sorry excuse for a boyfriend barely comes around, let alone talks to her. I truly don’t know if there’s anything going on with Wells, but it would be much better for her than how she’s being treated now.