“Not yet. I will. Just not yet.”
We stay on the line for another few minutes. She tells me Noah and Rowan said to tell me they love me. She tells me not to worry about the fallout because the fallout will wait; it has no choice.
When we hang up, I sit with the phone in my hands for a long moment.
Then I look up.
Griffin is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with those gray eyes. His shirt is untucked now. He looks like a man who has been running at full capacity all day and is still somehow upright, which I find both admirable and slightly irritating.
I know what I need to do.
I’ve been circling it since the shower.
“Can I use your phone again?”
He watches me.
“To call Ezra,” I say.
Something moves across his face. “You’re sure?”
“I need to get it over with.” I stand, tightening the towel. “The longer I leave it, the worse it’ll—” I stop. “I just need to do it.”
He looks at me for one more second, then straightens. “I’ll go for a walk. Give you some space.”
“Thanks, Griffin… For everything.”
He dips his chin, and then he’s gone.
I sit on the edge of the tub, inhale a steadying breath, and dial.
Ezra picks up on the second ring.
There’s a silence before either of us speaks.
“Hey,” I breathe out, feeling my heart pound in my chest.
Nothing.
“Ezra?”
“So you’re alive.” His voice is quiet. The words are not.
“I’m safe. I’m sorry I didn’t—”
“Where are you?”
“I’m—” I pause. “I’m safe,” I repeat because I’m afraid that if I tell him where I am, he’ll find me. Right now, I just need space.
Another silence. I know this silence. I’ve learned the architecture of his silences the way you learn the layout of a house you’ve lived in long enough, where the creaky floorboard is, what to step around in the dark.
“Fine.” The word lands like a closed door.
“Ezra, I need to—”
“I had three hundred guests at that church today, Piper.”
“I know.”
