Page 8 of Safe Place

Wyatt frowns, thinking. “Name doesn’t ring a bell. Why?”

Grant hits pause, turning toward us with that feral curiosity he lives for. “The one with the green crewneck from this morning, right?”

I hesitate. Doesn’t matter.

Too late.

Grant grins like it’s Christmas. “Show some respect, Wyatt. That’s the future Mrs. Vale he’s talking about.”

I chuck a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

Wyatt laughs, confusion on his face. “So what’s the deal? You’ve been off the grid all day. No texts. No updates. Grant and I sat around for hours trying to figure out if you were dead. Were you with her?”

“I gave her a ride,” I say. “That’s all.”

Wyatt raises a brow. “Did you drive her across the state or something? Why did that take so long?”

I don’t answer, because I don’t really know what happened. It wasn’t about the drive. Or the time. Or the favor.

Grant leans back like he's watching a drama unfold. “So let me get this straight. You bailed on your boys, ignored the group chat, and rolled in here looking like you just got hit by a truck, all because you gave some girl a ride?”

“Some girl?” Wyatt adds. “Show some respect, Grant. That's the future Mrs. Vale.”

I ignore them both. Not because I'm hiding anything, but because I genuinely don't have an answer. I'm still trying to figure that out myself.

Something about Sophie sticks in my head, and I can't shake it no matter how many times I tell myself it was just a favor. I lean back on the couch and stare at the ceiling until the plaster starts to blur.

What's her deal? And why the hell do I care?

THREE

Bye, Sophie

MICAH

I take a bite of cold pizza, chewing without thinking. Grant’s stretched out on the couch, half-watching a movie that’s ninety percent explosions. Wyatt’s at the kitchen island, reading something dense and dry that probably gives most people migraines.

The apartment's quiet and peaceful. It's short-lived when the phone on the wall buzzes. Probably Davis, the concierge downstairs, checking in on an earlier delivery.

I wipe my hand on a napkin and cross the room to answer it. “Hi Davis.”

“Good evening, Mr. Vale. There’s someone here asking to see you—name’s Hailey.”

I pause, jaw tightening. “Thanks, Davis. You can send her up.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hang up and sigh through my nose. Grant doesn’t look away from the screen. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Unexpected guest.”

Three minutes later, the elevator dings and Hailey comes out, standing confidently in the zip up hoodie she took from me this morning. She could be wearing shorts but it would be hidden under it. It hangs huge on her, practically swallowing her frame, but it’s still short enough to flash a dangerous amount of bare thigh. Her makeup’s fresh, lips glossed, long blonde hair loose around her back. She smirks.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “And how did you know where I live?”

She shrugs. “I Googled it. It wasn’t that hard to find. You think you’re subtle about being a Vale, but come on—and just for the record, I’m not into you because of your money.”

I glance toward the living room—Grant and Wyatt are still there, both watching her arrival with mild interest but zero recognition. I turn back to Hailey.