Page 123 of Ghosts Don't Cry
She won’t find him. He doesn’t exist anymore.
The gavel strikes, and the sentence is given.
Five years.
And all I feel is relief. At least now I’ll have a roof over my head and won’t have to worry where the next meal will come from. I won’t have to forge documents or wonder if tonight will be the night hypothermia finally wins.
Five years of not having to survive on my own.
The judge cites a combination of breaking and entering, possession of a controlled substance, evidence of that controlled substance in my system, along with statements from the community expressing concern about my influence on others. An example needs to be set as a warning to others.
As if locking me away for five years will change anyone’s behavior.
It’s a fucking joke really.
Behind me, someone sobs. Every muscle in my body locks up, fighting the urge to turn and look at her one last time,and tell her I’m sorry. But I don’t. Because sorry won’t change anything.
The guards move before I do, cuffs clinking, hands holding my arms and guiding me upright and toward the door. I go without a fight, needing them to support my weight because I’m still too weak to walk unaided.
When I pass the gallery, the air shifts. I should keep walking until I’m out of the room, and let this town swallow the last piece of me without a fight. And because there’s still a part of me that’s tethered to her, my head tilts slightly, just enough to see her without her knowing I’m looking.
She’s standing, her body angled toward me. Her lips are parted, my name forming there. Her face is pale, eyes wide and red-rimmed, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her chest is rising and falling too fast. One hand reaches toward me before falling back to her side.
She’s beautiful. Even now, looking at me like I’m breaking her heart all over again.
My name on her lips is the last thing I hear before the doors close.
I keep walking. The guards don’t speak to me. The metal detector beeps as I pass through it. They pat me down again, hands impersonal. I wonder if they’re still expecting me to fight.
I don’t.
Then we’re through another set of doors. There’s a transport van waiting outside. The sky is too bright when we step through, the sunlight stabbing into my skull like a punishment. As if the world itself is making sure I don’t forget what I’ve lost. I don’t need the reminder. Her face is already burned into my memory.
The air is clean and cold, and I take a deep breath. My ribs protest with each inhale, but I do it anyway.
Five years.
The van door slams shut behind me.
Chapter Fifty
LILY
What is he waiting for?Understanding? Acceptance?Forgiveness?
The pressure inside me winds tighter, begging for an outlet. I turn away, but it doesn’t help. My breathing is ragged, my hands are shaking, my eyes burn. There’s nowhere for this feeling to go.
And Ronan stands there, watching me.
He was dying. He pushed me away to protect me. He chose how he’d be found so I wouldn’t come back and find his body. The information cycles through my head, each pass shredding me more.
He was right. Knowing doesn’t make anything better. It makes it worse. But he still had no right to keep it from me.
“You really thought I shouldn’t know all that?” My voice comes out uneven, breaking on the last word.
He doesn’t answer. I spin back to face him. That silence, thatfuckingsilence, sends me straight over the edge. A laugh rips out of me, ugly and bitter.
“I hate you.”
