Page 140 of Ghosts Don't Cry

"Then unless Beverly would like to share the letters she’s received …” Michael Burke speaks for the first time, and pauses to look at Beverly. When she says nothing, clutching the envelope to her chest, he continues. “I move that we close this matter, and reinstate Ms. Gladwin immediately."

"Seconded." Dr. Stewart doesn't hesitate.

Beverly's lips press into a thin line, but she nods. "All in favor?"

The vote is unanimous.

When I walk out into the sunshine on shaky legs, Ronan is leaning against the side of the car. He straightens when he sees me, tension visible in every line of his body.

"Well?"

I practically run down the steps and throw myself into his arms.

"I still have my job." The words tumble out against his chest. "And I'm taking the rest of the week off."

Chapter Fifty-Eight

RONAN

Lily doesn’t let goafter throwing herself into my arms. Her arms stay locked around my neck, her face pressed against my chest. She’s trembling, her entire body vibrating with leftover adrenaline and emotion from whatever happened in that meeting.

My hand moves slowly up and down her spine, feeling each shaky breath she takes.

“I can’t believe it worked.” Her words are muffled against my shirt. “Whatever Tom put in that envelope … the look on Beverly’s face.” She laughs, it sounds choked.Is she crying?“When I walked in there, she was so sure she’d get what she wanted. That she’d take everything I’ve worked for.”

I dip my head and press my lips to her hair. “But she didn’t?”

She gives another one of those choked laughs. “No, but she tried.” Her arms tighten. “God, do you know how many times I’ve thought about telling you something good? When I graduated college. When I got my teaching license. My first class. All these moments I wanted to share with you, and you weren’t …” Her voice breaks. She sniffs. “You weren’t there.”

The admission hits me hard, and guilt twists in my chest. I understand exactly what she means. Every certification I earned while I was inside, every new skill I mastered, every small victory … they all felt hollow with no one to tell.

“I got into the habit of writing letters.” She doesn’t lift her head, and her voice comes out thick. “The ones you saw. Things I wanted to tell you. About my students, the books I’d read, everything really. I never sent them but …” She pauses to take another shaky breath. “But you’re actually here. And I don’t know how to …”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to, because I get it. Seven years of carrying all our words inside, and now we’re standing here, and neither of us is quite sure how to let it out.

Having her in my arms is both familiar and foreign. Part of me wants to run, to get in the car and drive until I hit a state line. But the bigger part, the part that’s been starving for this, wants to hold on to her and never let go.

“We should probably move.” It’s all I can think of to say. “Half the school board is probably watching us from the window.”

She laughs a little, the sound watery, and her arms tighten instead of letting go. “I can’t. Not yet.” Her voice drops, turns vulnerable. “Is that okay?”

The question carries more meaning than just standing here. She’s asking permission to hold on. To need this. To needme.

“Yeah.” I wrap my arms around her more securely, pulling her closer. “It’s okay.”

We stand there while cars pass by and clouds build overhead. When she finally eases back, her eyes are red-rimmed, but her smile is real. She swipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Can we go back to my place?” The words come out quiet, hesitant.

“Yeah.”

I don’t move until she lets me go. First, she unwinds her arms from around my neck, then she takes a small step back, letting her hands fall to my chest and smooth down my shirt. I cover her hands with mine, and squeeze. She gives one final sniff, then steps away.

Unlocking the car, I open the passenger door for her. By the time I get to the driver’s side, she’s already buckled in. The drive to her apartment passes in silence. There’s nothing awkward about it. In fact, it’s oddly comfortable. Every time I glance over at her, she’s watching me, eyes tracking over my face. Whenever our eyes meet, she smiles, and the desire to run fades more.

Inside her apartment, she moves to the kitchen, shrugging out of her coat and tossing it over the back of the couch as she walks.

“Coffee?”