Page 47

EZRA

W hen I finally work up the courage to open my text chat with Lysander, the first thing I see are his little hearts. He uses emojis a lot — I have a suspicion he just thinks they’re cute. My avoidance hits me over the head as I stare at them.

Just because I’m forbidden from seeing him doesn’t mean we can’t talk. I want the rest of the staff to be friends to him, so I could at least do the same, even if it’s from a distance.

I tap out a simple, straightforward message and hit send.

How are you holding up?

I’m about to put my phone down and distract myself by looking for jobs again when his reply comes up.

I miss you

My heart pounds. I have to sit down. Is he keeping the phone next to him? If he is, why didn’t he text?

I know why — he’s not the kind of person to tell me to leave in one breath and say he misses me in the next. He was waiting for me to reach out.

Would he have waited forever, if I didn’t pick up the damn phone? The thought hurts.

I don’t tell him I miss him, too, like the ache of a phantom limb. That goes without saying.

You should have Syril install a TV so I can make you watch Unnatural.

I don’t need it. I’m reading through Syril’s library.

A dumb grin sneaks across my face.

So what do you like to read?

The pink books.

Pink…?

A photo comes through a moment later and I choke on a laugh. It’s a clinch cover of a brunette woman gripped in the muscly, burnished embrace of a well-oiled man in a cowboy hat. It’s pink, alright, a dusty rose, the same color as the tips of Lysander’s wings.

I can’t believe I ever thought he could be a snob.

You sleeping properly?

I sleep better when I’m with you.

I groan into my hands. I love you. I miss you. Fuck!

The phone buzzes again.

Are you working at a new bar?

I consider telling him yes to stop him from worrying, but only for a second.

Still looking. Fitzie has some savings. He’s helping me out.

The speech bubble pops up, then disappears. I wait.

Good.

I know he would freely help me. It’s hard enough to take Fitzie’s money, though, and I can only do it because I know Lysander already signed a year-long lease under his name.

We text on and off for the next few days.

I tell him about the shitty interviews and how my upstairs neighbor is getting really into blasting EDM at three in the morning.

I dredge up bits from the past — the stuff about prison I didn’t hate, like the routine, the library, not really having to think about the future.

Bad stories from my past jobs that feel lighter when I tell them to him.

Lysander mostly tells me about the books he’s reading.

It makes my heart hurt. He’s safe, but The Sanctum is its own prison — just one with pretty wallpaper and nice meals.

I guess it never registered with me how much he was missing out on, selfishly.

He was never free to go out alone, to meet new people or have a life outside the hotel room.

I was just as guilty as anyone of only seeing one part of him — his fears, not his potential.

I’m curled in bed, awake and talking to him long after I should’ve put my phone down and gone to sleep, when a sudden urge to hear him in my ear sneaks into my head. I shouldn’t — it’ll only make this whole thing harder. But my fingers tap the words without my permission.

I want to hear your voice

Yes

Please

I tap the call button before I can think too hard and change my mind.

I haven’t physically phoned anyone in years. Just knowing I’m about to hear him sends a tingle down my spine.

Finally, his lilting voice makes it to my ear.

“Ezra?”

“Hi,” I rasp.

“You’re there.”

“I’m here, baby.” I grip the phone too hard as I pull the covers over my head and make a cave. The device Syril gave him is ancient and doesn’t have video, or I’d demand to see his face right now. “You sound good.”

He lets out a little hiccup, and my stomach drops.

“Lysander, don’t —”

A suspicious sniff follows, and then silence.

“I want to see you,” he says suddenly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell him, even though my gut reaction is an immediate yes . Doing what my heart told me was what got us in trouble in the first place.

“I know.” There’s another long, suspicious pause, and the ache to pull him into my arms grows. “I just want to.”

“Me too.” I close my eyes and listen to his breathing, pretending he’s right next to me. “There’s a Watcher outside my apartment building. I guess they figure we’ll try to break the rules.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he huffs. “I’m a prince. I don’t break rules, I just make new ones.”

I have to smile. “Not in this case, baby.”

“I know. I wish it was that easy.” He sighs.

His words stick in my head long after we hang up.

I’ve never been good at following the rules — I’m all about what feels right in the moment, and I’ve paid for it.

I’m trying to do better. But a part of me still harbors annoying little doubts, like do the rules make sense?

It doesn’t seem fair Lysander has to suffer because I might be in danger.

He’s in a lot more danger. The azeroths literally want to suck his life force out.

Then there’s the other big question: what’s the worst that could happen?

Going to court was hard, and prison sucked, and life was rough when I got out.

But over and over again, the toughest thing — the thing that sent me spiraling while I lay awake in the cab of the truck, staring at the moon over the river — wasn’t doing the time, struggling to pay back my debt, or failing to hold down a job.

It was remembering the moment I realized I was alone. Holding that phone to my ear and hearing it ring out. Knowing the person who was supposed to care about me had discarded me.

With Lysander, I’m safe.