Chapter 49
Forty-Nine
Griffin
I’ve been home for three hours.
Three hours of nothing. I showered, I shaved, and I stood in the kitchen long enough to drink two full glasses of water. I tried to sit on the couch. I tried to lie down. I paced the hallway until the floorboards probably regretted meeting me.
None of it helped. I can’t settle because I can’t stop hearing the echo of that front door closing behind Piper when she went inside to face him.
I don’t know how long she was in there, but it was long enough for me to replay every second of the trip.
Every morning she blinked awake like she wasn’t used to being allowed to rest. Every time she laughed with her whole body like she was surprised joy still existed.
Every quiet moment where she’d look at the horizon with a face that said she didn’t know where she belonged.
And now? I’m home. She’s home. But it doesn’t feel like anything is settled. Something sits under my ribs like a clenched fist.
I know she needed to do that alone. She needed to end things on her terms. But fuck, it’s hard not knowing.
I know she’s at her parents’. I know Noah, Madison, and Rowan are there.
I know Ezra is, categorically, not there anymore, because Noah texted me two words after the bar: He’s gone.
I exhaled for the first time in three hours, but I still need to know she’s okay.
Not the family version of okay. I need her version.
When the doorbell finally rings, it startles me more than it should. I expect Noah or Rowan, anyone calling to tell me how it went. But when I open the door, it’s Piper.
She’s still in the clothes from the trip—the linen shirt, the shorts, the earrings from Mira Cove. Her face is bare, and her eyes are the specific red of someone who has cried a lot, stopped, and then started again. She’s got Gerald tucked under her arm.
She shrugs. “He wanted to come.”
“Of course he did,” I say, stepping back to let her in.
I make tea because it’s something to do with my hands. She sits on the kitchen counter the way people sit in houses they’re comfortable in, her feet dangling, Gerald beside her. I watch her in my peripheral vision. She holds the mug with both hands, right up near her chest.
She’s quiet for a long time.
I’m afraid if I say something, it’ll be stupid and I’ll scare her.
“It’s done,” she finally whispers. “He’s gone. I told him to leave, and he left, and it’s… it’s done.”
I dip my chin. “Good.”
She nods, looking at the tea. “I wanted to come and tell you myself, and to say thank you properly.”
“Piper—”
“No, let me.” She sets the mug on the counter before her fingers twist at the hem of her sleeve, gathering her nerve. “I have feelings for you, Griffin. Real ones. Big ones. Too big. Too soon. I’ve been trying not to think about it, but I can’t because it’s a lot. It’s big feelings.”
Fuck. This is going to hurt like hell.
I stay still, hands loose at my sides, even though my whole body wants to reach for her.
“But I’m scared,” she whispers. Her eyes shine, wet and glassy.
“I don’t trust my own judgment. I was with someone for three years who was making me into someone I didn’t recognize, and I didn’t see it.
I thought I loved him. How do I trust what I feel now?
How do I know this is real and not just…
I don’t know… that you were kind to me when I was at my lowest? ”
She looks at me under dark lashes, and a tear finally escapes. “I don’t know who I am right now, Griff. I found some of myself on that road, but I need time to find the rest. You deserve someone who is whole. You deserve more of me than I have right now.”
I see what’s she’s doing. She’s trying to protect me from her own wreckage.
Pushing off the counter, I go to her and take her face in my hands, the way I have for two weeks.
“Confessional?” I ask softly.
Another tear falls on her cheek, wetting my thumb.
I could say it for what it is. I could tell her that it’s been two weeks, but I already know.
Love.
Yeah, fuck it, it’s love.
I feel it in my marrow. But I won’t do that to her now. I won’t give her one more big thing to have to manage or carry.
Instead, I lean in until our foreheads touch. “I have big, big feelings for you, too, violin girl.”
She makes a small, broken sound.
“And honestly? Thank you,” I whisper.
She blinks, confused. “What the hell are you thanking me for?”
“For showing me what it looks like to be brave.” I run my thumb along her cheekbone.
“I’ve spent years building things out of wood and stone because they don’t change.
They’re predictable. But you taught me that the things that change—the things that break and get back up—are the ones worth holding onto.
You taught me that honesty is better than being fine.
And you taught me that I’m allowed to want things, too. ”
I hold her face, steadying her. “So, okay. You go find her. The version of you that’s still in there. The one who had a notebook and a plan. Take whatever time you need.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispers.
“You’re not,” I promise. “I’m so fucking excited for you to find her—the girl you’re searching for—because she’s pretty amazing from what I’ve seen so far.”
She breaks then. A helpless sound escapes as she presses her face against my chest. I pull her into my arms, holding her off the counter, and I let her cry. I hold her like it’s the last time, aware that time and distance are dangerous things, but knowing I meant every word I said.
She pulls back eventually, picks up Gerald, and moves toward the door.
“You’re going to build something beautiful,” she says, looking back. “The bridge.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to come see it.”
“I’ll save you a spot.”
She hesitates, her hand on the frame. “Griffin? When I find her… the version I’m looking for… you’re the first person I’m going to call.”
I memorize the way she looks right now—messy, brave, and entirely herself.
“I know, baby.”
She nods once and slips out the door. I stand there long after the click of the lock, the air still warm where she stood. I trust her to find her way back. I have to.
But I still hate every second of the quiet she left behind.