“What about Guy?” she asks.
“We met in high school. I had applied for a scholarship to a prep school and started there my junior year. There was student housing, so I no longer needed to live in foster care.”
“And so you escaped.” She scoots up my chest and kisses my mouth with soft lips, resting her nose against mine. “Thank you for trusting me with your story. You’re amazing, Oliver. Strong and resilient. You did what you had to do to survive.”
I bask in her gaze, her words, her body pressed against me, her accepting nature. She understands. Of course she does. Our scars are not the same, yet they mirror each other all the same.
I lift my head the barest inch to bring our mouths together again. Our lips graze, seeking affection and comfort, our hands moving over each other in soothing strokes. This isn’t an embrace of desire but one of reassurance and relief. It goes on and on. I could touch Piper forever.
“You are a survivor as well,” I tell her, brushing her hair back when we eventually break apart.
“Yes.” Then her eyes widen. “I forgot to tell you—I got another package from Ben.”