Page 90 of Ghosts Don't Cry
I shove off the car, my entire body shaking, vision swimming, and grab at Ronan’s arm as he raises it again. My nails dig into his skin, desperate to get his attention.
“Ronan!”
His head snaps toward me. His chest is heaving, his face a mask of violence I’ve never seen him wear before. Blood is smeared across his hands and forearms, splattered on his shirt. His eyes lock onto mine, wild and dark, and empty of recognition.
For a second, he just stares at me blankly.
Dan groans beneath him, barely conscious, his face a mess of blood and swelling. Ronan doesn’t even glance down. His eyes roam over my face, from my bleeding nose to my split lip. His nostrils flare. The muscle in his jaw ticks.
“Get off him.” Someone shouts from the side.
Hands grab Ronan, dragging him backward. He doesn’t resist, but he doesn’t help either. His body moves with theirs, his eyes locked on me. A few guys haul Dan up, supporting his weight when he stumbles. More voices speak, someone demanding the police be called.
And still Roman stares at me. His fingers are curled into fists, the blood on them dripping to the ground. Rain washes pink trails down his arms. He blinks once, twice, then wrenches himself free from the hands holding him. Without a word, he shoves through the crowd, throws open his car door, and slams it shut behind him. The engine growls to life a second later. The tires screech against the asphalt as he peels out of the lot and disappears down the road.
I press a hand to my mouth, wincing at the pain. My hands are shaking. My entire body is trembling so hard my teeth chatter. The throbbing in my cheek, nose, and lip make it hard to think, to focus on anything but the searing pain radiating through my skull. The pulse in my throat feels too fast, trying to claw its way out of my skin.
Blood drips steadily from my nose, running over my fingers, and soaking into my sleeve where I press it against my face.
Movement to my side makes me turn my head. Pain spikes through my skull, white-hot and blinding. A whimper escapes before I can stop it.
“Shit, Lily. You okay?”
I blink at the speaker, trying to focus through the pain. Mark Calloway. He was on the football team with Dan, back in high school. He steps forward, face creased with concern.
“I saw the whole thing. Dan swung first.”
Dan’s head jerks up. “Bullshit.”
Mark doesn’t back down. “You went for Ronan, and she stepped in. He was defending her.”
Dan spits blood onto the ground. “That fucking lunatic jumped me.”
Someone laughs from the side. “That isn’t what happened.”
More voices rise in agreement. A woman near the edge of the crowd shakes her head. “You hit her. We all saw it.”
Sirens grow closer, cutting through the rain and voices. Someone must have called the police.
Dan glares at me, one eye already swelling shut. “Are you going to back him up as well?”
I let out a slow breath, tasting blood. My lips feel swollen, stretched too tight. I’m scared to look and see how bad it is.
“I don’t need to.” The words come out thick. Speaking hurts my lip, and fills my mouth with fresh blood.
Dan curses under his breath, then straightens as best he can, jaw bruised and swelling. Flashing lights precede a police car, red and blue strobing across the wet ground.
One of the officers steps out, hand on his belt, scanning the scene. His gaze lands on me first, taking in the blood covering my face, shirt, and hands. “Are you alright, Lily?” It’s Officer Gardner. He’s come into the school more than once for various events with the kids.
I exhale slowly. “I think so.”
“What happened? Someone reported a fight.”
Dan starts to speak, but Mark steps in front of him. “Dan threw a punch at Ronan Oliver. She got in the way.”
The woman from earlier nods. “I saw it too. Dan was the aggressor.”
Gardner’s lips purse as he looks between them, then at me. “Where is Oliver now?”
