Page 26 of Ghosts Don't Cry
The words are out before I can stop them. I should shut up and take whatever punishment she’s planning to give and leave.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” I stand up. “Are we done?”
“Sit down.” It’s not a request.
I stay standing, every muscle in my body coiled tight, ready to bolt.
“This attitude is exactly why we’re having this conversation. You need to understand that while Daniel may have initiated the confrontation, your response … your unwillingness to walk away … starts a pattern of behavior we cannot tolerate.”
Pattern. One instance doesn’t make a pattern. What she means is that the Hartman’s donate a lot of money to the school, and she can’t risk losing it.
“Got it.” I shoulder my bag and head for the door.
“We’re not finished?—”
But I’m already gone.
As I walk past my locker, a flash of white catches my eye. There’s another note tucked in the gap. My hands shake slightly as I unfold it.
She saw everything. Everyone saw. The note is probably telling me to stop leaving notes for her.
Some lighthouses are built from broken things. It doesn’t make them any less bright, or any less important.
Below the words, she’s drawn another lighthouse. This one is different. It’s built from sharp lines and jagged edges.
My throat closes. I have to read it twice before the words make sense, before they penetrate the static of humiliation and anger still buzzing in my head.
She’s not pulling away.
I swallowhard. I don’t know what to do with this thing she’s trying to give me. But she’s giving it anyway. This girl with golden hair and warm brown eyes.
I fold the note carefully, and add it to the others in my pocket. Four now. Each one a small rebellion against the world.
Chapter Ten
RONAN
I can’t stop shaking.
My knuckles are white where I grip the edge of the kitchen counter. The tremors run deeper than muscle. They’re in my bones and my blood. I shouldn’t have gone out. I know better than to walk through a town this small, where every street holds a ghost and every corner might hide the one person I’ve spent seven years trying to forget. But the house was closing in on me, the walls pressing closer with each breath until the air turned thin.
I had to do something besides stand in rooms that smell like dust, and suffocate in the silence. The restlessness crawled under my skin until I had no choice but to get out.
So I walked. And between one breath and the next, she was there.
My grip tightens until the counter’s edge bites into my palms. The pain helps. It’s something to focus on beside the way my chest is trying to cave in on itself because I can’t wipe out the memory of her face from my mind.
Lily.
Standing on Main Street like she’d stepped out of the dreams that used to wake me at 3 A.M. in my cell. The ones where I could still feel her hands on my skin, still taste her name in my mouth. Where I’d jerk awake with my heart trying to break through my ribs, throat tight, and chest aching with a loss that never got easier to carry.
The moment she stepped into view, my entire world narrowed to just her face. Her hair is shorter, falling just past her shoulders in waves that caught the streetlight. My fingers twitch with muscle memory, remembering how that hair used to feel wrapped around them, silk and gold andminefor a few stolen hours.
But those eyes. Christ. Those fucking eyes haven’t changed at all. She still looks at me like she can see past skin and bone to every scar I’ve tried to hide under tattoos.
“You’re back.”
