Alec follows me in. “You the one in the army, son?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I know you probably get tired of hearing it, but I’m going to say it anyway. Thank you for your service.”
“Appreciate it, sir. Never get tired of it.”
I beg to differ. When I said that to him, Alec was downright rude. Deciding to ignore all that, I hobble to the couch. Once there, I flop down onto the old thing and groan as I reach for my side. “My ribs.”
“Your ribs too?” Alec looks concerned. “Let me see.” He gets to me in seconds and then tries to lift my shirt.
“Uh…” I hold the edge down before he’s got it up too high. “No.”
“Let me see.” He sounds like the old grump from the first day we met.
“It’s fine.”
“Don’t be stubborn, Matilda. Let’s see.”
The last thing I want is for Alec Marchesani to see underneath my shirt. First of all, I’m wearing an old sports bra.
I’m talkingold.
One that used to be white but now isn’t. Second, the way I’m sitting will show my tummy rolls.
No, thanks.
“Lift it just enough for me to see where it hurts.” He’s waiting. I’m not budging. “I’ll close my eyes.”
I almost fall for it, and I might’ve if my dad hadn’t snickered.
“It’s fine.”
“Matilda is modest.” My dad directs that comment to Alec as he reaches for the afghan that’s thrown over the back of the sofa. It’s one my grandma Vicky made for my mom. “Cover the parts you want to conceal with this. We need to see if there’s bruising, Muffin.”
“Fine,” I say with a huff. Lifting my shirt, I don’t bother with the afghan. I only raise it to the starting edge of my bra. “See? It’s fine.” And then Alec touches my rib, and I nearly jump off the couch it hurts that much. “Ouch. Alec. Jesus.”
“Could be broken.” Alec looks at my dad. “Most likely bruised, though. They were really whaling on each other. Matilda was in the crossfire.”
“How in the world did you get yourself into that predicament, Muffin?”
“I was trying to stop the fight.” I was trying to help.
My dad directs this question to Alec. “Is the wedding off?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “As far as I can tell, it’s still a go.”
My dad grumbles something as he heads to the kitchen. “I’m getting you some ice, honey, and some acetaminophen.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Try to get some sleep,” Alec says, standing up. As he goes, his phone chimes. “Here we go. Updates.” I watch as he reads the message, then stuffs the phone back into his pocket. “Time change. I’ll pick you up in the morning. They want us at the church by ten thirty.”
“Why? The wedding isn’t until five.” And why is he picking me up?
He shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine, but I’d bet it has something to do with changing up the maid of honor.”
“Why are you picking me up?”
