Medical Center. Emergency Entrance.
An ambulance screeched to a halt.
Two taxis pulled up right behind it.
"What's going on?"
Adam had braced himself for something wild, but when the ambulance doors swung open and he saw the scene on the stretcher being wheeled out, his jaw still dropped. 😲
"Brooke Boyd, female, 32 years old. Broken nose, facial injuries, scalp torn off, but vital signs stable," the paramedic reported, clearly trying hard to keep it together.
"And Phoebe Buffay, female, 32 years old. Dislocated shoulder, thigh injury, vital signs stable."
"She ripped my hair out!"
"She broke my shoulder!"
"You pushed me off the platform and broke your own shoulder, idiot!"
The two of them were like mortal enemies. Even with all those injuries, they were still screaming at each other—while lying on the same stretcher, tangled up together, locked in some kind of death grip.
In the middle of it all? A blood-stained white wedding dress, clutched tightly by both of them. Neither was letting go. Nope, not a chance.
"Mike!"
Adam shouted at Phoebe's fiancé, "Ant-Man" Mike, who'd just hopped out of one of the taxis following the ambulance. "What the hell happened?"
"Ugh," Mike sighed, throwing his hands up. He looked totally lost, like he didn't even know where to start.
"Adam, wait, she's your friend?!"
A woman who'd come with Brooke stepped out of the ambulance and spotted Adam. She didn't hold back. "You need to rein her in! She went way too hard—acting like some street thug!"
"Kelly, is this your friend?" Adam greeted her, trying to smooth things over. "Let's not get into that right now. We need to separate them first so I can treat them. You talk some sense into your friend too, okay?"
Kelly Bradshaw was a columnist for a New York city paper. Her column, Sex and the City, loved digging into relationships from a woman's perspective.
Ermmm.
No surprise she's a female writer—she clocked Phoebe's vibe in a heartbeat. Just look at Brooke's injuries: broken nose (face-smash), facial scratches (claw marks), scalp torn off (hair yank). Total street-fighter Phoebe signature moves. 😬
Tsk!
Ripping off a chunk of scalp? Phoebe, the queen of street brawls, didn't mess around!
As for why Adam knew Kelly? Totally normal. They were both big names in New York's literary and publishing scene. You'd have to be living under a rock not to cross paths at some event or another.
Back in the day, Kelly had even tried to pull the "cougar move" on him.
But newbie Adam shut that down fast.
First, even though she called herself a "beauty writer," her looks didn't impress him.
Second, she had this annoying habit—kinda like a certain famous pop star down the road—of turning her love life (or her friends') into juicy, detailed columns.
And with a column name like Sex and the City, you knew she wasn't shy about spilling the tea—private convos, bedroom secrets, ex-boyfriend drama, all of it.
That's how she made her name. Real-life stories, spicy as hell, guaranteed to grab attention. Her readers? Not just city gals—plenty of thirsty dudes too.
Barney Stinson was one of them.
His own "playboy diary" was basically a rip-off of Kelly's relationship columns, just flipped to an unapologetic player's perspective. He poached a ton of readers from her fanbase—guys and girls.
They represented totally opposite crowds, so naturally, they were always trading shots in their columns. Kelly was the pro. Barney was the amateur.
But Adam knew they'd already hashed it out in person once. Now, their "feud" was mostly just a gimmick to keep people hooked.
"Let go!"
"No way! She lets go first, or I'm not budging—even if I die!"
The second Adam tried to play peacemaker, the two locked in their standoff started yelling again.
By then, the two taxis had parked, and two groups piled out.
Adam couldn't believe his eyes—all familiar faces.
One group? Rachel, Ross, and Joey, of course!
Monica was eight months pregnant, and after Adam's strict orders, no one dared drag her into this mess. Chandler was glued to her side, so they sat this one out. Phoebe hadn't called them in.
The other group? Kelly's three gal pals: Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte!
The four of them were a tight crew, kinda like the Friends gang.
Ermmm.
Okay, their bond wasn't nearly as warm and fuzzy as the Friends crew, but it also had less soap-opera drama than some knockoff girl squads from later shows.
Kelly was a newspaper columnist, not some word-obsessed magazine editor's assistant.
Miranda was a high-flying lawyer, Harvard Law grad, though her personality wasn't quite boss enough to be the group's brain trust.
Samantha was a big-shot Manhattan PR queen—outgoing, tough, worldly. She was the brain trust, though she didn't mess with accounting or finance degrees.
Charlotte ran an art gallery, appreciating beauty but not racking up art awards herself.
"This is all your fault!"
"No, it's your fault!"
"Bitch, don't get cocky—wanna fight again?"
"Bring it! My friends don't mess around!"
The latest chapter is exclusively on 69 Book Bar!
With their squads rolling up, Phoebe and Brooke got even louder, hyping themselves up like they were ready for a full-on brawl.
Rachel, Ross, Joey, and Mike lined up behind Phoebe.
Kelly, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte backed Brooke.
Both sides squared off, tension crackling.
Adam, stuck in the middle, didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
What even was this?
Phoebe's side had baby-faced Ant-Man Mike, while Brooke's crew was all women.
Avengers vs. the Women's League?
Civil War: Avengers edition? 😂
"Okay, seriously, what happened?"
Adam threw his hands up to stop them from getting any closer and turned to a guy stepping out of one of the cars, a badge dangling around his neck.
"Store contest. I'm the ref," the guy said, looking exhausted. "Whoever holds onto the wedding dress last wins."
"Winner gets their dream wedding!"
"My wedding!" Phoebe and Brooke shouted through gritted teeth, powering through their pain.
"Dream wedding?" Adam raised an eyebrow. "So, it covers the wedding costs, right? What's the cap?"
"$100,000," the ref said, glancing at the gossip-hungry crowd as he dropped the number.
Gasp!
The med staff watching the drama unfold sucked in a collective breath.
Now it clicked why they'd fought so hard.
"Which store's running this?" Adam quipped. "Don't tell me it's Stinson's Bridal Shop or something."
He wouldn't put it past Barney Stinson. Only a rich, bored, chaos-loving guy like Barney would throw that kind of cash at a prize just to watch two brides-to-be duke it out.
"Why not just split the money? $50,000 each?"
Adam knew it couldn't really be Barney's shop—otherwise, Barney'd be here front-row, popcorn in hand.
"No way!"
"It's not about the money anymore!" Phoebe and Brooke snapped.
"I pitched that idea 14 hours ago," the ref muttered under his breath.
"14 hours ago?" a nurse blurted out. "How long have they been at this?"
"Two whole days!"
"Do you know what it's like standing in a display case for two days straight? The willpower that takes? It's the coolest thing I've ever done—I'm not giving up!"
"Oh, please, you don't even know what real grit looks like, missy!"
Phoebe and Brooke were at it again, trading barbs.
Everyone else: "…"
(End of Chapter)