“I are not f*****g Carter.”
The words come out raw and sharp, and my throat still feels scraped from everything, but I do not soften them because Ezra does not deserve soft.
“We’re friends,” I continue, forcing myself to sit up a little straighter despite the way my skull throbs in protest, “he works with my mother, he saved my life, and I know for a fact he’s the one who got me out of that alley and brought me here.”
Ezra’s jaw flexes, but he does not interrupt.
“If you actually give a s**t about me,” I add, and my voice cracks slightly at the edges even though I try to keep it steady, “then you should be grateful he was there. Because otherwise I’d probably be dead right now.”
Silence hangs between us, thick and loaded, and I can feel the bond humming low under my skin, not gentle,
