Chapter 31
Marcy
The phone buzzes again on the nightstand, its vibration sending it skittering half an inch across the polished wood.
I don’t look. It’s been buzzing on and off for two days—missed calls from Nova, Wes, even Becket once, which tells me they’re getting desperate.
The screen illuminates the dim room for three seconds before fading to black.
Landon only texted once, the day after I left.
The notification sits there unopened, a small blue dot that weighs on me like a stone.
Just seeing his name on the screen makes my stomach clench into a tight, painful knot.
I’ve read the preview a hundred times without opening it:
Landon : Let me know you’re safe.
Safe.
Four simple letters that somehow hold everything I can’t give him.
My finger hovers over the screen, trembling.
My chest constricts until each breath feels like drawing air through a straw.
Even here, four hours away, I jolt awake gasping, convinced I’ve heard Brett’s truck rumbling up the driveway.
Yesterday, a man in the grocery store wore the same cologne, and I bolted, abandoning a full cart in aisle seven.
The memory of Brett’s face when he said Landon’s name—that ice-cold stare—plays on repeat behind my eyelids.
The same look he wore before putting his fist through our apartment wall, before shattering my phone against the kitchen tile.
So I stay hidden. Curled up in my aunt’s spare bedroom with its faded quilt and daisy wallpaper, pretending that shutting out the world means I can control it.
The door creaks open, and Aunt Rose peeks in. Her graying hair is twisted into a messy bun with a pencil stuck through it like always. She balances two mugs of tea in one hand and a plate of toast in the other.
“Thought you could use this,” she says, slipping inside.
I sit up reluctantly, pulling the blanket tighter around me. “Thanks.”
She sets the tray on the dresser and hands me a mug.
Steam curls between us, carrying the scent of chamomile and honey.
She settles on the edge of the bed, her weight making the mattress dip slightly.
Her fingers trace the faded pattern on the quilt—back and forth, back and forth.
The clock on the nightstand ticks steadily.
A car hums past outside. She blows on her tea, takes a careful sip, then meets my eyes over the rim of her mug. One eyebrow arches just slightly.
“When are you going to talk about it?”
I stare into the amber depths of my tea. “About what?”
Her brows lift—patient but unwavering. “About why you showed up on my doorstep looking like a ghost, shaking so hard I thought you’d collapse in my arms. About why you left that boy without a word.”
The room blurs at the edges. I blink hard, heat crawling up my neck. “I just needed—”
“Marcy.” Her voice drops to barely above a whisper, but I freeze like she’s shouted my name. “Keep your secrets if you need to. But stop lying to yourself.” She taps two fingers against my knee. “Running only works until your legs give out.”
My throat constricts. I set the mug down before it can slosh over. “He was there. Brett.”
Her face barely changes, but I catch the flash of steel in her eyes. “At the shop?”
I nod. My fingers find a loose thread in the blanket, winding it tighter and tighter until my fingertip turns purple.
“Brett showed up, demanding I come home with him like I hadn’t already said no a thousand times. Like this past year meant nothing.” I shake my head. “Landon stepped in. He—he punched him.”
Aunt Rose hums softly. “Good for Landon.”
But I’m already shaking my head. “No. You don’t understand. Brett threatened him. Said his face would be the last thing Landon ever saw—” The words feel like glass in my throat. “And he meant every word.”
For a long moment, only the hallway clock fills the silence. Rose’s fingers go still on the quilt, resting on a faded flower.
“And you think,” she says finally, each word measured like she’s setting down stones, “that by leaving, you’ve kept him safe.”
My skin prickles hot then cold. I curl my fingers into fists beneath the blanket, nails digging half-moons into my palms. “I had to. If Brett thinks I don’t matter to Landon, maybe he’ll back off.”
“Is that what you want?”
I blink at her. “What?”
“To make Brett back off by erasing yourself?” Her eyes don’t waver from mine, brown and clear as creek water.
She doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t reach for me, just sits with her tea cooling between her hands.
“Honey, that’s what he’s been teaching you all along.
Make yourself smaller. Quieter. Until there’s nothing left. ”
The first tear slides down my cheek, then another follows, leaving hot trails I can’t wipe away fast enough. “It’s not the same.”
“Isn’t it?” she presses gently. “I know you’re scared. God knows you’ve got every reason to be. But ask yourself this: would Brett stop if you cut yourself out of their lives? Or would he just find another way to hurt you?”
I stare at the ripple of tea in my cup, seeing instead Brett’s face the night I tried to leave—that twitch at the corner of his mouth, the vein pulsing in his temple as he blocked the door. The sound of my favorite mug shattering against the wall, two inches from my ear.
“He won’t stop,” I whisper.
My Aunt’s hand covers mine, her gardener’s calluses rough against my knuckles. “Exactly. And you can’t outrun someone like that by cutting yourself off. All you do is hand him exactly what he wants.”
I want to argue. I want to tell her she doesn’t know Brett, doesn’t know how his cruelty cuts. But the words tangle in my throat because part of me knows she’s right.
The tears come harder now, blurring the quilt, the mug, her face. “I’m so tired of being afraid.”
“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “That’s why you need people around you who won’t let you drown in that fear. People who remind you who you are.”
I swipe at my face with the heel of my hand. “And what if I’m not strong enough?”
She cups my cheek, tilting my chin up until I have to look at her. “Then you borrow strength until you’ve got your own again. That’s what family—real family—is for. Not just blood, but the family you’ve found in that garage.”
I can’t argue with that. Even thinking about Wes’s dumb jokes, Becket’s steady watchfulness, Joon’s quiet nods—it tugs something loose in my chest. Ravi teaching me to protect myself.
Nova reminding me how much I need other women in my life.
And Landon… Landon is the only place I’ve felt steady in years.
Aunt Rose pulls back, reaching for her tea again. The porcelain clinks against her wedding ring as she adjusts her grip.
“I’ll support you no matter what you decide. If you want to stay here, I’ll clear out drawers for you. If you want to go back, I’ll drive you myself.” She takes a sip, her eyes never leaving mine over the rim. “But don’t let Brett make your choices for you anymore.”
The words land heavy but hopeful, like stones building a foundation.
I glance at my phone on the nightstand. Landon’s message glows there, patient and waiting.
Let me know you’re safe.
I don’t open it. Not yet. But my hand hovers over it longer than it has in days, and for the first time, the thought of answering doesn’t feel impossible.
That night, long after my aunt has gone to bed and the house settles into quiet, I finally open Landon’s text. My thumb hovers, trembling, then I type back two words.
I’m safe.
It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s all I can give him right now. I set the phone face down and crawl under the covers, the echo of his presence lingering even here.