CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
THE DRIVE BACKwas quiet.
Not the peaceful kind. The kind that buzzed under the skin, thick with things neither of us wanted to say out loud. Even the road felt muted, tires whispering over asphalt like it was listening. Briar pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, the sudden silence pressing in hard enough to make my ears ring.
The house sat there like it always had. Porch swing swaying slow and patient. Lace curtains pale against the dark, catching the porch light like watchful eyes.
Home. Borrowed. Temporary.
I reached for the door handle, already thinking about the safety of walls and locked doors.
My phone rang.
The sound cut clean through the quiet, sharp enough to jerk my heart into my throat. I glanced down and froze.
Unknown Number.
Not blocked. Not private. Just… unknown.
Briar noticed immediately. “Who’s that?”
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice coming out steadier than I felt. “I don’t recognize it.”
The phone kept ringing. Too long. Too insistent. Something in my chest tightened, instinct flaring hot and sudden. I answered anyway. “Hello?”
“Lark.”
Zach’s voice wrapped around my name like it still belonged to him.
My fingers curled around the phone. “How did you get this number?”
“That’s not important right now,” he said, too quickly. Like he’d practiced not answering that question. “I need to see you. It’s important.”
“No.” The word landed firm. “If you have something to say, say it.”
A pause followed. Not static. Thought. I could almost hear him weighing something, choosing.
“It’s about Sable,” he said finally. “And the kids.”
The air left my lungs.
“What about them?” I demanded. “Zach, if something’s wrong, you need to tell me.”
“I can’t,” he said. “Not over the phone. I don’t have much time.”
“That’s not good enough,” I snapped, panic threading raw through my voice. “If they’re in danger—”
“They might be,” he cut in. “That’s why I need you to come meet me.”
My stomach twisted hard, like something had reached inside and squeezed. I closed my eyes, forcing a slow breath. Zach wasn’t the same boy I’d known at seventeen. Time had carved things into him. Secrets. Bad timing. A habit of standing too close to trouble and calling it fate. But one thing had always been true.
He’d never hurt me.
Not when things ended badly. Not when he wanted more than I could give. He might want me back. Might be desperate enough to scare me into seeing him.
But he wasn’t violent.
And he wasn’t cruel.
