Page 58 of Ghosts Don't Cry

“I’m rarely what anyone expects.”

He laughs. “No.” Something that sounds like approval leaks into his voice. “You’re definitely not.”

He heads for the stairs, then pauses halfway up. “That offer for Friday drinks still stands.”

I don’t answer, and after a second, he leaves me alone to continue with my work.

The sun climbs higher. My coffee goes cold. The pile of old wires grows. And now that Tom has gone, Lily’s voice has returned.

Someday, you’re going to have to stop punishing yourself for surviving.

Those words remind me of Tom’s.

Maybe it’s time you saw that too.

They’re both wrong. Edwards decisions were made out of guilt for not stepping up.

And Lily …

Like I told her, she saw what she wanted to see. A project. A charity case she could fix.

Except …

Except the way she kissed me back didn’t feel like pity. The way her hands fisted in my hair, the sound she made against my mouth, the way she looked at me when I pulled away.

You’re lying. To me. To yourself.

“Fuck.” The word echoes off the walls.

I slide down to sit on the cold floor, back against the wall, surrounded by the guts of a house I’m supposed to be fixing. My phone sits on the toolbox, screen dark. There is only one contact saved, and that belongs to the man who left me this house. But I bet I could find her number if I tried.

I could call her. Tell her I’m sorry for being a bastard, for kissing her like that, and making her cry. I could tell her the truth.

I’m terrified that seven years hasn’t changed how I feel about her. The second I saw her on Main street, every wall I’ve built came crashing down. I don’t know if I could ever be what she deserves.

My hand moves toward the phone, then stops, and falls back onto my lap.

No. Not today. Today I’m just going to keep working, keep breathing, and keep trying to forget the way she looked at me.

Chapter Twenty-Two

LILY

I shouldn’t have cometo the grocery store across town. The thought hits as soon as I turn down the cereal aisle and see him. He’s moving along the rows with that same economy of motion I remember.

My hands tighten on the cart’s handle, and I back up before he can see me. I think I’ve made it without being caught when voices cut through the late Tuesday afternoon quiet.

“Isthatwho I think it is?” Amy Wilson’s stage whisper carries down the aisle. She nudges Kate beside her, and they both stare at Ronan.

My stomach drops. Iknowthat look. I’ve seen Amy use it on every new boy who caught her attention since ninth grade. But this isn’t some college freshmen who worked summers at her dad’s place.

This is Ronan.

“God, look at those arms.” Kate’s whisper holds the same predatory edge. “Dibs.”

“You can’t call dibs.” Amy smooths her hair, and adjusts her designer top. “I saw him first.”

Heat floods my face, and my fingers tighten on the cart.