“What a weekend,” she answered, not completely sure how she’d just managed to hold it together.

“What a week,” he answered back. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, rising up to kiss his cheek, not focusing on the fact that he left, just focusing on the fact that he was back, that he came when she called, that he was here, now, when she needed him.

He turned and she was kissing his lips, and then his arms were lifting her off the ground and gently laying her on the couch. He knelt down next to her. “How are you feeling?” he asked, compassion in his voice as he stroked her hair.

“I stopped bleeding,” she said. “But I’m not—”

“I know,” he said. “Not yet.”

He climbed onto the couch next to her, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her forehead. And then a phone on the living room table vibrated. Ezra turned and reached for it. “It’s yours,” he said, handing Emily her phone.

She looked at it, wondering if it was Tessa or her mom or Ari or one of her boys. But it wasn’t. It was Rob, his message visible once her phone unlocked at her touch. Just wanted to make sure you’re okay, it said. I’m sorry if I fucked stuff up last night.

Ezra looked at Emily and, his voice even, measured, said, “What’s that about?”

Emily knew she had to tell him the truth but was worried about what his response would be. “You promise you won’t run again?” she asked.

He winced. “I promise.”

“Short story: Rob is Austin Roberts, who wrote the song about me. He was in New York and invited me to an open mic night. So Priya and I went, and I played. And then he tried to convince me that I should go on tour with him. And . . .” She bit her lip. “He hinted at wanting more than that. From me.”

“But you said no?” Ezra looked ashen. “No to touring and no to . . . more?”

“I said no,” Emily affirmed. “And I left. And called you.”

“And you left me that message, asking me to come home.”

“Right.”

His body was still pressed against hers, but he’d pulled his head back so he could see her whole face, her whole expression. “So . . . why did it sound like you’d been crying?”

Emily’s first instinct was to avoid, but she knew she couldn’t do that now, not with Ezra, not after everything. She had to tell him the truth. “Because a piece of me wanted to say yes, and . . . and we kissed. Afterward I was afraid and ashamed and started to cry . . . all my emotions have felt so close to the surface ever since—”

“You wanted to say yes?” Ezra asked. “And you kissed him.”