Page 142 of Ghosts Don't Cry
“Yes, I can see that.” She looks at Cassidy. “I think we should leave them alone. They’ve got a lot of years to catch up on.” She leans down to kiss her daughter’s cheek. “Just be careful witheach other this time. You’re not kids anymore. Whatever you decide to do from here, do it right.”
Cassidy stands, but pauses at the door. “I meant what I said, Ronan.” Her eyes lock on mine. “Fix this.Reallyfix it. Because if you hurt her again, prison will look like a vacation compared to what I’ll do to you.” The threat is delivered calmly, matter-of-factly, and is all the more effective for it.
“Understood.”
When we’re alone again, Lily lets out a breath. “Well, that was …”
“Yeah.”
She stands up, and walks over to me. “They’re both going to hover for a while. Be overprotective. Probably drive both of us crazy.”
“I can handle that.” I meet her eyes. “If you can.”
“I can handle anything.” Her smile turns soft. “As long as you’re honest with me, and not trying to protect me from the ghosts that haunt you.”
“They’re still there, Lily.” I don’t want to lie to her. “The ghosts. The damage. All of it. It’s part of who I am.”
“I know.” She moves closer. “But this time we face them together. No more pushing me away because you think I can’t handle it. You don’t get to make all the decisions for both of us.”
The words are an opening, an offering of a future I never thought I’d get to have.
She reaches out and takes the mug out of my hand, sets it down, then crawls onto my lap. One hand curves over my jaw, and she presses her lips to mine.
“So, where were we?”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
LILY - TWO WEEKS LATER
Four weeks ago,I stood in this same classroom, staring at the morning light slanting through the windows, pretending everything wasn’t shifting beneath my feet. Back then, Ronan’s return had knocked my world off its axis, leaving me reeling in shock and confusion, almost overwhelmed by a grief I thought I’d buried.
Now? Now, I’m breathing so much easier.
My students chatter their way through our morning routine, a familiar symphony of small voices that I appreciate more than ever. Emma shows me her drawing of a turkey. Marcus argues with Sophie about whose turn it is to be line leader. The scent of crayons and paint and glue fills the air, mingling with the faint aroma of coffee from the cup on my desk.
Everything is back to normal. At least it should be. And in some ways it is.
But in others …
A smile pulls my lips up for the hundredth time today.
For the past two weeks, I’ve spent almost all my free time with Ronan.
It isn’t something we sat and planned. It isn’t even something we discussed at all. It just happened, gravity pulling us back together, because quite simply, neither of us can stay away from each other.
His house is still a mess of dust and unfinished repairs, but it’s starting to feel like he sees it as more than just an obligation now.
Some nights, I go over straight from work and curl up in an old armchair while he paints baseboards or patches holes in the walls. I watch his hands as he transforms whatever space he’s working in, and keep him supplied in coffee, while we talk.
And we talk a lot. Abouteverything. The books we read. The dreams we used to have. He even tells me about his time inside now. The words coming easier with each conversation. We’re going to visit Riley in a couple of weeks, a man I’m looking forward to meeting after hearing all about how he helped Ronan adjust to being in prison … and is responsible for a lot of the tattoos covering his body.
Our conversations take me back to those stolen moments we shared during high school. When it was just the two of us, discovering there was another person in the world who shared the same thoughts, the same feelings, the same love for books and words.
Other nights, he shows up at my apartment after I get home from work, pulling off his hoodie and settling onto my couch like he belongs there. He’ll pull me into his arms and we’ll lose ourselves in each other, cocooned in our own world where miracles can happen.
Friday night, I fell asleep on his couch while he was working upstairs. I woke up covered with a blanket, his jacket tucked under my head as a pillow, and found him sitting in the armchair across from me, just watching me sleep with an expression I couldn't read.
"How long have you been sitting there?" I'd asked.
