Page 57 of None Of Your Business

“W-what are those? What’s… POTS?”

“Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome.”

Her hands ball into tight fists in her lap. “What does that mean?”

“It means my connective tissue is basically wet tissue paper, my autonomic nervous system loses its mind when I’m upright, and my joints dislocate way too easily.” I keep my tone light to shield myself from the look on her face. “It’s why I fell yesterday. My heart rate spiked, my blood pressure dropped, and I passed out.”

The color drains from her face.

“Piper, it’s fine. I promise.”

“And Hudson?” she asks, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“He was there. He caught the tail end of it and called paramedics. He stayed at the ER until I was ready to go home, then came back this morning to make sure I wasn’t dying.”

Piper sits frozen. I can see the math happening behind her eyes—all the missed family dinners, early exits, subtle limps, and guarded answers clicking together.

“How long?” she asks.

“Eighteen months since the formal diagnosis.”

“Eighteen months?” A tear spills over her bottom lash, tracking down her cheek.

“Hey.” I take her hand. “Don’t cry, Pipes.”

“Is that why you were always sick when we were young? Oh God, I knew you weren’t doing it for attention,” she whispers, her thumb rubbing over my knuckles. “I knew it, Ro.”

She did. Piper never accused me of putting on a show. When we were little, she would quietly climb into my bed, press her small, warm hands over my aching joints, and stay there until the crying stopped. She never believed I was dramatic, even on the days I believed it myself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The guilt hits me right in the sternum.

The truth is, eighteen months ago, Piper was going through her own hell. I didn’t want to add to it. But if I tell her that, she’ll feel guilty for something she shouldn’t carry. This isn’t on her. It’s on me.

“Because the second I tell you, it becomes a thing,” I explain, the honesty spilling out whether I want it to or not. “If I tell you, you’ll look at me like I’m made of glass. Mom and Dad will feel guilty for the years it went unnoticed. I just wanted one place where I was still Rowan, even if it’s the clumsy version.”

Piper closes her eyes, swallowing hard.

“I wouldn’t have treated you like glass,” she whispers. “I would’ve just brought you better coffee.”

We both laugh before wiping at tears.

After a long minute, she takes a breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’m still mad you lied about yesterday,” she clarifies. “And you’re going to have to tell the rest of the family eventually. But for now… okay.”

For the first time in so long, I feel like I can breathe properly. “Thank you.”

“Now,” she says, leaning forward, “why the hell was Hudson at your support group? And why are you not sleeping with him?”

I groan, dropping my head onto my arms. “Would you like a glass of wine? I don’t have any, but we should get some.”

She laughs under her breath. “Why?”

“Because we’re going to need it for this story.”