A Deleted Scene from The Signal Between Us (subscriber exclusive)

From the private notebooks of protagonist Jeff Griffin

Today we’re sharing a deleted scene from The Signal Between Us, a moment cut from early drafts but preserved in Jeff Griffin’s notebook. This is published jointly with Griffin Signal, the in-universe substack where Griffin Wells regularly cuts through the static in Jeff Griffin’s loft.

This deleted scene gives us to glimpse of the fragile, often uncomfortable beginnings of Jeff’s attempts to bridge the silence with his baby mama, Carly MacKenzie. The Signal Between Us: A Father/Daughter Discovery Story is the story of Jeff and his daughter Zoe. The forthcoming sequel, The Signal That Tethers Us, will be the Jeff/Carly second chance romance.

Subscribers to HEAVY CROWN PRESS can enjoy this deleted scene from Book One.

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The Signal Between Us: A Deleted Scene Exclusive for Heavy Crown Press Subscribers

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She left a note. On the fridge. Went for coffee.

The Second Signal. Her favorite café. I’ve passed it on my runs but I never went inside. My standard place is closer to the loft—a hole-in-the-wall where the barista, Freddy, knows my order. Black coffee, the strongest beans he’s got. Sometimes a croissant if I feel civilized. I sit, read the paper, and leave.

The Second Signal looks different. Livelier. They do poetry readings, college-kid things. Things that don’t live in shadows or thrive in silence. Zoe doesn’t want to live in my silence. And that terrifies me.

Last week I smiled for the cameras at the Pulitzer ceremony at Columbia, and all I could think was: what if Zoe sees this? How do I talk to her about the prize I didn’t win? I don’t care about the award. I care how she sees me. I don’t want her reading my books because the worst of me is in them.

I’m writing fragments a memoir, ostensibly for her, but I’m terrified to show her any of them. What if she finds in them the opposite of the father she dreamed of having someday?

Yesterday, before the party—my sister rented a Hamptons beach house for the occasion, absurd—Zoe gave me something better than any award. She played me a song out of my father’s music book. A song I hadn’t heard since he played it himself, decades ago. It gutted me. I didn’t even want to go to the party after that. I wanted to stay in the loft with her. Just us.

So when Cole and Theo started chanting speech, speech, Theo signing it of course, all I wanted was to grab Zoe, put her on the back of the Ducati, and ride back home. How do you stand in front of people and say the truest thing in your life? How do you point to the person who means more than anyone and say it without breaking? I didn’t know how. So I didn’t. I left her out.

I saw the hurt in her eyes, and I wanted to die right there.

Now the loft is empty. The silence is unbearable. She’s out in the world somewhere, probably with people I’ve never met. And I’m here with my coffee, wondering if she’ll ever forgive me.

I’m terrified she’ll slip away. Terrified she’ll have another panic attack. Even though she’s steadier now—after Dr. Patel adjusted her meds, after she started with that psychiatrist—I can’t unsee what happened. Holding her through it, watching her shake. It scared the hell out of me. I finally understood what Carly meant when she said she used to check Zoe’s breathing at night, afraid she wouldn’t wake up.

I feel that now. God, I feel that.

Carly. Maybe that’s who I need to call. The last person I want to, but the only one who knows. My hand shakes as I press her name in my contacts.

She answers on the third ring. Her tone is guarded, uncertain. “Jeff.”

“Carly. Is this a bad time?”

“Not really. I have a few minutes. Is Zoe ok?”

“Well, that depends how you define ok.”

“Alive. Breathing.”

“Then, yeah, she’s ok.”

Carly exhales. “That’s good to know. I generally shoot for better than ok, but—”

“I don’t know if you know, but, and I’m not saying this to get a happy birthday or anything, but my birthday was yesterday.”

“I know. Happy forty-one.”

“Thanks. Well, Nancy, my sister, she had this party for me. Ridiculous, actually. I won’t bore you with the details. Anyway, my brother-in-law and my friend Theo—stupid—they pressured me to make a speech, and I thanked everybody. I should’ve talked about Zoe because, I mean, no one is more important to me, but I didn’t. I just… didn’t mention her, in the speech, and… it devastated her. I’m so afraid …I don’t know.”

There’s a pause on the line; I can almost hear her weighing whether to stay.

“You’re new at this,” she says finally. “I had years to figure it out and I still get it wrong.”

“I saw the look in her eyes last night,” I say. “It gutted me. I didn’t know how to say her name without making it weird in front of everyone. But not saying it—” My voice cracks. “I think I lost her right there.”

“You didn’t lose her,” Carly says, sharper now. “You just hurt her.”

“I don’t want to keep hurting her.”

“That’s good,” she replies, softer but still cautious. “Then stop.”

“I don’t know how. She’s at that café, she has friends I’ve never met. She barely talks to me.”

“She’s testing you,” Carly says after a pause. “She wants to know if you’re going to show up. She’s trying to see what you’re made of.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.

“Then tell her that,” Carly says. “Don’t tell me.”

Her voice is steadier now, but there’s an edge to it, like she’s angry at herself for softening.

“I called you because you know her,” I say quietly. “You’re the only one who does.”

“That’s not true anymore,” she says after a moment, but there’s something under the words—regret, maybe. “But I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

We’re both silent for a moment. She doesn’t hang up.

“And, Jeff?”

“Yeah?”

“You know her birthday is August third, and well, the Coopers and I want to do something special. Last year, we held her birthday in New Orleans, but we thought we might plan something up there.”

“We could do it here at the loft. There’s a rooftop. Great views.”

“Sounds nice. I’ll let Bridget know.”

A pause. Carly speaks again. “Another thing. I have a bunch of things, all Zoe — pictures, videos, just her growing up. It’s all stored on my Google Drive, USB drives. Baby book. Birth video, if you want to see that.”

I blurt out: “Of course I want to see it. I want to see everything. Her birth certificate. I’m sure I’m not even listed as the father. I want to change that.”

“Right. Of course.”

“Carly?”

“What?”

“I just want to say…” God, I don’t know how to say it. Thank you for our daughter? For raising her? Even though I’m still pissed that you kept her from me, that you never told me, that you practically pushed me out of bed, told me to leave, don’t tell Bridget, and just basically stay out of your life? “Just thanks. For… Zoe… and listening.”

There is a really long pause. I can almost feel the thoughts turning in her head, somehow making themselves perceivable across the phone line.

“I’ll find out what needs to happen about the birth certificate,” she says finally. “And I’ll start work on that USB drive, give it to you in August, at the party. I’ll try to go in order so… you know, her life, in order.”

She didn’t hang up. That counts for something, I guess.

But don’t mistake it for forgiveness. Carly doesn’t forgive. She calculates, bargains, doles out pieces like USB drives and birth certificates. Like I’m a stranger she owes receipts to.

And maybe I am.

Still—she stayed on the line. She’s including me in planning for Zoe’s birthday. She offered me a way in. Call it thaw, call it guilt, call it whatever you want.

I’m still pissed at her for the years she kept Zoe from me. I’ll probably never stop being pissed.

But when I hung up, the loft didn’t feel quite as empty.