Page 48 of Ghosts Don't Cry
The house sits back from the street, gutters sagging at the edges and pulling away from the roofline. The railings on the front steps are rusted where paint has chipped away, revealing decades of color beneath, visible even from where I’m sitting—white over green over something that might have been yellow once.
The windows are clean, which surprises me. Someone has wiped away years of grime. But the trim around them is weathered and splintered. The porch sags slightly on one side, and weeds push through cracks in the walkway leading to it.
It isn’t completely falling apart, but itistired and worn down. The only house on the street that looks like it’s been waiting a long time for someone to care.
That’s how I know it’s his.
I shouldn’t be here. I should turn around and forget about this. Being here is a bad idea. But logic has never stood a chance against this pull, thisgravitythat’s always drawn me toward him.
A shadow moves behind the curtain, and my breath catches. He moves differently now. He’s no longer trying to take up as little space as possible, he fills it unapologetically.
My heart pounds against my ribs, pressure building behind my eyes. My hands are shaking on the steering wheel.
I should drive away. Mom would tell me to leave. Cassidy would say I’ve worked too hard to move on, that showing up here undoes all of it.
And they’re right.
But seeing him on Main two days ago did something to me. I didn’t plan for it, and I sure as hell didn’twantit. The moment I saw his face, the past rushed in like a flood, rising fast, and filling every space I thought I’d sealed shut. It brought all those questions back to the surface.
Why wouldn’t he look at me in the courtroom?
Why did he pull away before the arrest?
I can’t stop thinking about the way his hands used to shake when he thought no one was looking. The boy I knew needed someone to see him. Maybe the man he became still does.
My fingers are stiff when I pry them from the steering wheel. The cold seeps into my body. My breathing is too loud inside the car. It feels too shallow to fill my lungs properly.
I open the car door. The wind immediately cuts through my sweater, making me shiver, but at least the rain has stopped. My footsteps echo through the quiet street as I cross the road.
This is a mistake.Go home. Leave this where it belongs … in the past.
The thoughts drum against my skull with every step forward, in time with my pulse, and against every rational part of me that knows better.
But I never was rational where Ronan was concerned.
I keep moving forward, my eyes locked on the front door. The porch light flickers when I reach the steps, casting sharp-edged shadows across the path. The wood creaks beneath my feet when I step onto the porch.
My heart is in my throat. My hands are cold, fingers numb, and my thoughts are spiraling so fast they’re mixing together.
I don’t have to do this.
I can turn around.
I can leave.
He doesn’t know I’m here.
But I can’t do that. I lift my hand, curling my fingers into a fist.
If I knock, there’s no going back.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pull in a breath that does absolutely nothing to steady me. My heart is hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
I press my knuckles against the door, hesitate, then knock. The sound is loud in the quiet, echoing back at me.
Silence greets it.
Maybe he isn’t here.
