Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
LILY
I move through my morning routine on autopilot.
Nothing feels right. The reading corner is wrong, and I adjust the placement of the beanbags, then shift them back again.
The art station seems too empty, so I overfill it with supplies the kids won’t even use.
I move the date marker from Friday to Monday, then back to Friday.
By the time the kids arrive, the usual morning chaos takes over. Zack barrels through the door already talking about sharks, while Melody needs three hugs before she lets go of her mom’s hand. The room fills with voices, movement, and the smell of fruit snacks.
It should ground me. It usually does when I feel out of sorts, but today, it’s like I’m watching my own life from the outside.
“Ms. Gladwin, are we time traveling today?” A voice pipes up from behind me.
I blink, and turn. Melody is pointing at the date board. “It’s Monday today, not Friday.”
Right. I clear my throat, forcing a smile. “I guess I forgot to change it.”
She nods, and goes to put her backpack on a hook.
My phone buzzes on the desk. It’s probably Cassidy. She knows I won’t reply during class, but it reminds me that I haven’t turned it off. I press the power button until the screen goes blank, and then put the phone in my desk drawer.
Michael tugs on my sleeve. “Ms. Gladwin, why do whales jump?”
“To see what’s above the surface. Or maybe to look for something they can’t find underwater. Or …” I grin at him. “Maybe they’re looking for other whales to play with.”
“But don’t they find it scary? Being that high up?”
“Maybe. But sometimes you have to do scary things to find what you’re looking for.”
Sarah raises her hand. “My daddy says whales jump because they’re free.”
“Maybe your daddy is right.”
Usually Monday’s go quickly, but this one drags. I mess up the weather chart, I forget to pass out art paper until Lucas reminds me. I don’t realize Michael has been holding his stomach until he throws up in the reading corner.
By the time I’ve cleaned him up and sent him home, my nerves are frayed. The scent of disinfectant clings to my hands, and the classroom is too loud to my overwhelmed senses.
At lunch time, I decide not to go and join the others in the staffroom, and stay at my desk, instead. When I turn my phone on, it buzzes with three texts from Cassidy.
Cassidy: I know you won’t get this until lunch time. Let me know how you’re doing.
Cassidy: Holy shit. I saw him coming out of Wilsons. Are we sure it’s the same person?
Cassidy: Call me.
I send her a quick text.
Me: I’ll call you after work.
After lunch, it starts to rain. The drops patter against the windows in a rhythm that’s usually soothing. Today, it just sounds lonely.
“You look like a sad octopus.” I look up to find Emma watching me from across the room.
“A … what?”
She points at the paper plate octopus in front of her. “This one is sad, too. See?” She lifts it, the googly eyes drooping, and the streamers hanging limp.
“Why do you think it’s sad?”
“Because it’s all floppy.”
“Maybe it’s just tired. How about we give it a makeover? Maybe some glitter will help.”
“Glitter helps everything!” She gives me a big smile, and starts dumping different colors onto a plate.
If only that were true.
After the last parent picks up at the end of the day, I tidy the room, preparing it for tomorrow. My phone buzzes again. It’s Mom this time, checking in to make sure I’m okay. I fire off a text telling her I am, and that I’ll call her in the middle of the week.
The rain is heavy when I dash across the parking lot to my car.
Inside, I clip on the seatbelt and turn on the engine.
I don’t even remember making the decision not to go straight home.
One second I’m pulling out of the school parking lot, the next I’m turning left instead of right.
Away from my apartment, and toward Cedar Street.
The scenery changes as I drive. The older part of town where the school is gives way to newer construction, then changes again to large houses set back from the roads.
A clear indication that this is where the money lives.
Trees line the sidewalks, their branches forming canopies over streets that look like they should be on a painting or a postcard.
Cedar Street is the nicest of them all. The kind of street where nothing bad ever happens. Manicured lawns and wraparound porches create the illusion that life here is untouched by any kind of struggle. Everything is perfect, as though time doesn’t dare leave fingerprints on this part of town.
But he’s here … somewhere behind one of those large bay windows. Living and breathing in a place I never thought I’d see him.
Which one is his?
I drive slowly along the road, looking at the houses. They’re all beautiful with painted walls, cute little picket fences, porch lights on and glowing.
All but one. I pull up in front of it and cut the engine.
The house sits back from the street, gutters sagging at the edges and pulling away from the roofline.
The railings on the front steps are rusted where paint has chipped away, revealing decades of color beneath, visible even from where I’m sitting—white over green over something that might have been yellow once.
The windows are clean, which surprises me. Someone has wiped away years of grime. But the trim around them is weathered and splintered. The porch sags slightly on one side, and weeds push through cracks in the walkway leading to it.
It isn’t completely falling apart, but it is tired and worn down. The only house on the street that looks like it’s been waiting a long time for someone to care.
That’s how I know it’s his.
I shouldn’t be here. I should turn around and forget about this. Being here is a bad idea. But logic has never stood a chance against this pull, this gravity that’s always drawn me toward him.
A shadow moves behind the curtain, and my breath catches. He moves differently now. He’s no longer trying to take up as little space as possible, he fills it unapologetically.
My heart pounds against my ribs, pressure building behind my eyes. My hands are shaking on the steering wheel.
I should drive away. Mom would tell me to leave. Cassidy would say I’ve worked too hard to move on, that showing up here undoes all of it.
And they’re right.
But seeing him on Main two days ago did something to me. I didn’t plan for it, and I sure as hell didn’t want it. The moment I saw his face, the past rushed in like a flood, rising fast, and filling every space I thought I’d sealed shut. It brought all those questions back to the surface.
Why wouldn’t he look at me in the courtroom?
Why did he pull away before the arrest?
I can’t stop thinking about the way his hands used to shake when he thought no one was looking. The boy I knew needed someone to see him. Maybe the man he became still does.
My fingers are stiff when I pry them from the steering wheel. The cold seeps into my body. My breathing is too loud inside the car. It feels too shallow to fill my lungs properly.
I open the car door. The wind immediately cuts through my sweater, making me shiver, but at least the rain has stopped. My footsteps echo through the quiet street as I cross the road.
This is a mistake. Go home. Leave this where it belongs … in the past.
The thoughts drum against my skull with every step forward, in time with my pulse, and against every rational part of me that knows better.
But I never was rational where Ronan was concerned.
I keep moving forward, my eyes locked on the front door. The porch light flickers when I reach the steps, casting sharp-edged shadows across the path. The wood creaks beneath my feet when I step onto the porch.
My heart is in my throat. My hands are cold, fingers numb, and my thoughts are spiraling so fast they’re mixing together.
I don’t have to do this.
I can turn around.
I can leave.
He doesn’t know I’m here.
But I can’t do that. I lift my hand, curling my fingers into a fist.
If I knock, there’s no going back.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pull in a breath that does absolutely nothing to steady me. My heart is hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
I press my knuckles against the door, hesitate, then knock. The sound is loud in the quiet, echoing back at me.
Silence greets it.
Maybe he isn’t here.
Of course he’s here. I just saw him walk past the window.
Footsteps sound, moving closer. There’s a faint click. The door swings open.
And there he is.
Ronan.