What hewasfor me?
I don’t even have a proper name for it.
Life-changing feels too small.
And now the last day is here, and there’s that awful childhood feeling of the carnival shutting down. The music stops, the lights go out, and you cling to the last minutes because you know when it ends, you go back to real life. To bills. To work. To grown-up problems and responsibilities waiting like a cold bucket of water.
I need to find work.
I need to find a place to live.
I need to untangle the mess I left behind.
And Griffin? He bought into a firm. He has projects waiting. People waiting. Deadlines waiting. He put everything off for this trip because he couldn’t bear to leave me.
My chest aches so much it’s hard to breathe.
He steps closer, hands sliding to my waist, eyes searching mine like he wants to memorize the whole shape of me.
Then he kisses me.
It’s a kiss with finality threaded through every second.
A last-one-before-the-end kiss.
A kiss that feels like him saying everything he can’t find the words for.
My hands curl in the front of his shirt, and I pull him closer because if I think too long about goodbye, I’ll crack open.
When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against mine. Our breaths mix. His hands stay firm on my waist like he’s anchoring himself there.
“When you go back today,” he says, “I want you to remember something, okay?”
I nod.
“Promise me, Piper.”
“I promise.” My voice cracks, but I don’t try to fix it.
He lifts one hand to my cheek, thumb brushing away the tear I tried to hide. “You are a fucking force in this world. Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you again.”
I press my lips together and nod, feeling those words move through me, displacing the places where Ezra’s voice used to live.
Not anymore, I think.
I press up on my tiptoes and kiss him one last time.
Another tear slips, but I don’t hate it because he’s the first person who’s said something like that and made me believe it.
I sob through a laugh. “Gerald is getting hot in the car.”
He laughs, holding my face for one beat longer. Then his hands drop. He steps back and speaks in that voice that has become the most familiar sound in my life. “Come on, violin girl. Let’s get you home.”
And just like that, the carnival lights go out, the road waits, and I follow him to the car, wishing the trip could last one more day.
Forty-Seven
Griffin
