Page 134 of Ghosts Don't Cry
“Are you looking for an excuse to leave?”
“No.” My hand covers hers, where it's lying against my chest. I take a deep breath, and decide to risk it. “This is me asking you to come with me.”
For a long moment, she’s still, and then her lips press against my shoulder. Her hand curves over my jaw, turning my head toward her. I meet her eyes, and let her see whatever she needs in my expression.
Her lips curve up. “Okay.”
The simple acceptance in that one word breaks me. I twist, pulling her toward me, and kiss her before either of us can change our minds. She melts against me, and for a while, the house and everything in it can wait.
Later,muchlater, we finally leave her apartment. The drive to Cedar Street passes in a comfortable silence. Her hand findsmine over the console, fingers linking together like they belong there, as though no time has passed at all.
The house appears ahead, its wrap-around porch catching the morning light. Windows that need replacing gleam from where I cleaned them. The front door still needs work, but the porch steps are solid now, and no longer threatening to give way.
“You’ve been busy.”
I shrug, but warmth spreads through me at her tone. She studies the house as we walk toward it.
“It still needs a lot of work.” I lead her up the steps, unlocking the door. “I don’t think Edwards did much to it, so almost everything needs fixing or replacing.”
The door swings open, and I step aside to let her enter first. She moves into the hallway slowly, turning in a circle to take everything in.
“All the wiring is done.” I move past her toward the kitchen, needing to do something with my hands. “I’m working on the plumbing now. The main bathroom is functional, and I’ve got the kitchen mostly sorted. Then there’s the roof, and?—”
I stop and turn, realizing she’s no longer following me. I find her standing in the doorway to the living room, one hand pressed against her mouth. Her eyes move over every detail of the room, tracking something I can’t see.
The living room is the one space I’ve been avoiding, focusing on everything else first. It’s large, larger than any room I’ve ever lived in, with built-in bookshelves running floor to ceiling on two walls. There’s a fireplace on the far wall, its mantle waiting to be restored. Windows on either side let in natural light, and though the room is bare, there’s something about it that squeezes my heart every time I enter.
“Lily? Are you okay?”
“This house …” Her voice comes out soft. Her face turns toward me. “Don’t you recognize it?”
I frown. “Until I got the keys, I'd never seen it before.”
“Ronan … it’s exactly what you described to me … that night in the factory. Don’t you remember?”
I frown at her, and then a memory rises. One of the first times she asked me to tell her something, I shared my dream of having a house with bookshelves, and a sheltered porch where we could read in the rain.
“I told him about it.” She’s not looking at me now, her gaze fixed on one of the bookshelves. “After your sentencing … he found me in the library. I was … I wasn’t handling it well. He asked if I wanted to talk, and everything just spilled out.” Her voice wavers. “I told him about the house you described, the dream of having a place where you could finally belong. I think I was trying to make someone …anyone… understand that you weren’t what they were saying. That you saw beauty in things and you dreamed of futures they couldn’t even imagine.”
She turns to face me, eyes bright with tears. “He knew, Ronan. He knew exactly what this place would mean to you.”
My instinct is to deny it. To say it’s just a coincidence. But then I remember Edwards showing up at the prison that first time. I’d refused to speak to him, but he kept coming back every month. Bringing books with him that I wouldn’t acknowledge while he was there, but devoured once he’d left.
The mind needs feeding as much as the body, Ronan. Especially in here.
At the time, I hadn’t understood why he bothered. Now, standing in this house, with its empty shelves and promises of futures I’ve never let myself imagine, I’m beginning to see what he was doing.
He was building something, creating a place for me to land when I had nowhere else to go. One based on the dream I’d whispered in the dark to the only person who’d ever made me feel like I mattered.
Lily crosses the hall and stops in front of me. “I tried so hard to make him understand who you really were.”
I reach out and pull her against me, burying my face into her hair.
“He listened.” I pull back just enough to cup her cheek, careful of the bruising there. “When no one else did, he actually listened.”
But he did more than that. Heactedon it. He waited for me to get out, because he wanted to give me something no one else ever had.
A home.
