Page 296 of Ruin Me Gently

Liar.

“He was like this when I found him.”

Liar.

I didn’t wait for the follow-up questions. Didn’t give them time to scrutinise me, just turned on my heel and walked out without looking back.

I slid into the car, shutting the door with a quiet click. Lilith was already watching me, searching—for relief, for answers, for something I couldn’t give her.

All I could do was grip the wheel, clench my teeth, and hit the gas.

I knew exactly where I was going.

CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN

Silas jabbedthe callbutton. Then again. “Come on…”

Rain streaked down the windshield in frantic little rivers, turning the gravel and rows of trees into a blurry, waterlogged mess. His hand hovered over the button like he was seconds away from punching it into oblivion when the gates finally groaned open.

The house at the end of the driveway was beautiful—deep charcoal paint, crisp white trim, neat little window boxes. The kind of place that was aggressively put together, like someone had spent weeks picking the perfect shade of black paint and probably bragged about it at brunch.

But the porch swing gave it away. It swayed gently in the breeze under the canopy, ropes worn soft with age. Not neglected. Just… lived in. Like someone had spent quiet mornings there with coffee and a book, or sat there on restless nights waiting for their brain to chill out.

I was still clocking the lineup of cars on the driveway when I spotted him.

Finn.

Leaning in the doorway like he’d just woken up there, one arm propped against the frame, sandy hair a sleep-mussed mess, grey PJ pants hung low on his hips. A half-empty beer bottle dangled from his fingers like it was either his nightcap or his morning routine.

Silas killed the engine, and we climbed out of the car.

Finn blinked at us blearily, eyes narrowing like he was still deciding if we were real or just a weird dream. “What the fuck’s going on? It’s not even six-thirty.”

Before I could answer, Silas barrelled past him, muttering low under his breath, “Need your system. Now.”

Finn twisted after him, baffled. “Yeah, sure, just head on in, asshole!”

His gaze flicked back to me, eyes dragging over me from head to toe. My hair was plastered to my face, clothes still clung damp to my skin. And then there was the blood—wet and dark, smeared across my hoodie, streaked down the sleeves, still tacky where it clung to my fingers.

“Lils,” he said, serious in a way that made my chest tighten. “What happened?”

I swallowed hard. “Clark.”

His whole body stiffened, eyes going wide like I’d just detonated a grenade right there on his porch. “No fucking way.”

His arm was around my shoulder before I knew what was happening. “Come on,” he muttered. “Come on in.”

I didn’t argue. Didn’t even think about it. Just let him steer me up the steps, one foot dragging in front of the other, my legs heavy and uncooperative, like they weren’t entirely convinced I wasn’t still fighting.

The door thudded shut behind us, locking out the cold morning air, and with it, the sharp taste of saltwater still clinging to my lips.

I stood there for a second, swaying slightly, blinking hard, eyes dragging over the room.

A huge dark grey couch sprawled across the living room, practically drowning in a mess of tangled blankets. A massive flat-screen sat on the wall, dark and still. Below it, the coffee table was a warzone—half-empty glasses, scattered tech magazines, and a handful of papers, their scribbled notes curling at the edges like they’d been left there a little too long.

I let out a shaky breath and turned, but Finn was already gone.

For a second, I stood there and considered just giving up. Dropping onto that couch, dragging one of those blankets over my head, and pretending none of this had ever happened. Pretending Clark wasn’t still tangled up in my thoughts. Pretending my knuckles weren’t aching, and he wasn’t in a hospital bed because of me.

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