Page 63 of Creeping Lily
He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing mine, and I pull back so fast the chair squeals against the floor. My skin burns where he touched me. It feels like a betrayal to our past, sure, but mostly it feels like a betrayal to myself.
“It’s been too long,” he says softly. Nostalgia drips off his voice like it’s supposed to mean something to me.
“How’s your family?” I ask, my tone deliberately flat.
His lips twitch. “I’m surprised you’d want to know. After what we did to you.”
The rage spikes hot and fast, catching me off guard. “We?You meanyou. Don’t spread the blame to make it easier to swallow, Bentley.”
His jaw flexes. “Can we not talk about that?”
“Oh, we’re talking about it,” I snap, leaning forward. “Because you don’t get to rewrite history to make yourself sleep better at night.”
He looks away. For a moment, he almost seems smaller. “That night… it destroyed more than just you.”
I laugh—sharp, bitter. “You think I give a damn about your collateral damage?”
Silence. I don’t fill it.
Finally, he says, “My father started drinking again. My mother… her guilt over that night ate her alive. She couldn’t come back from it.”
I lean in, voice low and venomous. “Good.”
His eyes flick up, startled. I don’t let him speak. “You all exiled me like I was the disease. I mourned a year of my life for people who left me to bleed alone. I tried to end my life because of what you did to me. You don’t get to tell me about your parents’ guilt like it’s some kind of shared tragedy.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Linc leaving was the final blow for her. She?—”
“Don’t say his name.” My voice is ice.
We sit there, the pizza between us untouched. He tries to steer us to safer ground, but I’m not done.
“You know what the worst part is, Bentley?” I ask, my hands curling into fists under the table. “That you get to walk around in your tailored suit, sipping overpriced coffee, acting like a respectable man. And the only reason you’re not rotting in a cell is because I stayed quiet. I kept your secrets. You’re welcome.”
His gaze darkens, but he doesn’t deny it.
I push my chair back. The legs scrape loud against the floor, and a few heads turn our way. “Your twenty minutes are over.”
“Lily—”
“No.” I stand, every inch of me vibrating with fury. “You wanted your twenty minutes. You got it. Now get the hell out of my life.”
And before he can answer, I walk out, my heart pounding so hard it drowns out the noise of the street.
32
LILY
The cold air slaps me as I step out of the pizzeria, but it’s not enough to cool the heat still thrumming under my skin. My hands are shaking—whether from fury or adrenaline, I can’t tell—and all I want is distance.
“Lily, wait!”
His voice cuts through the noise of traffic like a whip crack.
I keep walking.
“Don’t turn your back on me!”
I stop dead, my spine locking. Slowly, I pivot, my eyes locking on him as he pushes through the door and stalks toward me. The suit, the smug set of his jaw—it all makes me want to put my fist through his face.
