Page 99 of Ghosts Don't Cry

I take the tissue and dab at my face.

“Lily, you’re scaring me.”

I blink at her. My head feels sluggish and slow. I know I should say something to make her feel better, but I can’t think of anything. She sighs.

“Let’s get you home.”

She starts the car. I let my eyes close, and stay that way for the rest of the ride.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.”

It takes me too long to realize we’re on my street. I press my fingers to my forehead. “I don’t know what’s supposed to happen now.”

Cassidy unbuckles her seatbelt, unclips mine, then opens her door. “One step at a time, okay?”

She circles the car and pulls my door open before I can move. Her hand closes around my wrist, firm but gentle.

“One step at a time,” she repeats.

I step out. Cassidy keeps one hand on my arm, and walks me inside the building, into the elevator, and up to my floor. Once we’re in my apartment, she guides me to the couch.

“Sit. I need to call your mom and let her know what’s happened.”

“No.”

“Lily, she needs to know before the town gossip reaches her.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’renotfine. You have a concussion and five stitches in your lip.” She sighs. “And your mom deserves to know her daughter was hurt.”

“Tomorrow. I don’t want her fussing today.”

She glares at me for a second, then nods. “Okay. Now, sit there and don’t move. I’m getting you some ice and your painkillers.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

RONAN

The bandageson my hands make working on the house impossible. I try anyway, hauling boxes down to the basement. After the third box slips from my grip, I give up. I can’t focus anyway. My mind keeps replaying this morning on an endless loop, each replay more vivid than the last.

I brace my hands on the kitchen counter, staring at nothing. The bandages are already stained with dirt from the boxes and dried blood that seeped through. My fingers throb. But it’s nothing compared to the tight knot in my stomach, and the way my throat closes up every time I think about her face, the blood, and how I lost control.

A car engine cuts through my thoughts, followed by a door slamming. My body goes still, every muscle tensing. Footsteps approach the porch, and the sound echoes through me like a countdown. I know this sound. I’ve heard it before.

When the knock comes, it’s sharp and official sounding.

Movement catches my eye through the window as I walk toward the front door. Tom steps out of his house, and stops on his porch. His words from earlier rattle around my head.

Whatever comes next, we’ll deal with it.

Did he mean that?

My mouth is dry when I open the door, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. Two police officers stand there, expressions giving nothing away as they identify themselves. My body already knows what comes next. Cuffs, rights being read, the ride downtown. I’ve done this before. My shoulders square automatically, my stance widening slightly. Arms moving so my wrists are behind my back. Prison reflexes that never go away.

“Mr. Oliver. We’re here about the incident outside Wilson’s Hardware this morning. Mind if we come in?”

I step back, letting them walk past me into the hallway. Tom appears behind them before the door closes, and follows them in. I lead them through the house and into the kitchen. One takes out a notebook and flips it open. I keep my distance, body angled toward the nearest exit.