Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
RONAN
Amy has shown up alone at the house three times since the grocery store.
Kate twice. And once they both arrived together in a coordinated assault that left me checking the locks twice after they left.
Each time, they used vague excuses about ‘welcoming’ me to the neighborhood, and wanting to help me get settled.
Each time they stood a little closer, touched a little more, and looked at me like I’m something they want to claim as a prize …
or a trophy to show off to the rest of the town.
Prison taught me not to flinch when people get too close.
Getting noticed got you hurt, and showing discomfort was an invitation for more.
But their casual touches make my skin crawl, and I have to fight against the need to recoil every time their nails dig into my arm or the perfume crowds my lungs.
The hyper-vigilance stays with me for hours after they leave, that old instinct that says being cornered is dangerous, and being wanted is worse.
I should have stopped answering the door after their first visit, but I learned long ago that some battles aren’t worth fighting. Let them think they’re winning, and have all the power. It’s better than the alternative.
The bar’s new sign casts a harsh light across the parking lot. Sullivan’s has been gutted, and transformed into something sleek and polished that doesn’t belong in this town. It reminds me of me, living in the house on Cedar Street and pretending I’m not what everyone knows I am.
I should be at the house, tackling the plumbing issues I found after finishing the electrical work. But Amy’s last visit sparked something inside of me. Something that wants this town to see exactly what I turned into.
The door opens under my hand, and music spills out filled with too much bass and not enough soul.
The place is packed, bodies pressed close together and drinks flowing freely.
A few people notice me, and whispers spread outward like ripples in still water.
I can feel their eyes tracking my movement.
I shouldn’t be here.
The thought hits clear and certain. I could turn around right now and go back to the house. I should let Amy and Kate sit here waiting for me, and continue to keep the town at a distance.
Before I can turn, Amy spots me and waves me over. Then I see who’s sitting across from her.
Lily.
She’s sitting next to Cassidy, and both of them look like they’d rather be anywhere else.
But it’s Lily I can’t look away from. She’s wearing red, a color I always loved seeing her in.
What I can see of the dress would have made teenage me forget how to breathe.
It makes adult me forget why keeping distance matters.
Her hair falls past her shoulders in waves I remember winding around my fingers.
Our eyes lock across the room, and everything around me fades—the music, the crowd, Amy’s voice calling my name.
Lily’s lips part. Before she can say a word, Amy is there, her hand finding mine with the same possessive touch she used in the grocery store. Every muscle in my body turns to stone, but I force myself to stay still. Kate appears on my other side, and I make my choice.
I let them guide me across the floor, even though every instinct screams to shake them off. Their hands on my arms feel like manacles, and reminds me of being processed and moved through checkpoints where you have no choice but to comply. I force myself to relax, and keep my breathing even.
This is voluntary. This is my choice.
The difference matters, even if it doesn’t feel like it.
They press me into the booth beside Amy, while Lily sits directly opposite, close enough that our knees would touch if either of us moved. I can smell her perfume, soft and floral cutting through Amy’s cloying sweetness.
“You made it.” Amy’s fingers trail down my arm, pointed red nails catching on my skin. “We were starting to think you wouldn’t show again.”
“I had things to finish at the house.” I don’t pull away from Amy’s touch, or let myself react when Kate shifts closer on my other side. I can feel the heat from their bodies, the same way I can feel Lily looking at me.
My stomach twists, but I keep my expression neutral. A roaming server appears, and Amy orders something complicated and expensive. Kate matches her. Cassidy picks wine, and Lily just stares at her glass like it holds the secrets to the universe. I order a double whiskey, neat.
“The house.” Amy practically purrs the words. “Everyone is talking about what you might be doing up there.”
“Just work.”
“Such demanding work.” Kate leans in. “It must take a lot out of you.”
“It has its moments.”
Our drinks arrive, and I take a slow sip of whiskey, then force myself to look at Lily. She’s got her eyes lowered to her drink, but she knows I’m watching her. I can tell by the way her fingers tighten on the stem of her glass.
“Don’t you get bored and want to jump to doing something else?”
I shake my head. “I always finish what I start.”
Amy hums, tapping a nail against her glass. “I just bet you do.”
Lily makes a low sound, barely audible above the noise of the bar, but I hear it. The same way I see how her jaw tenses, and how her knuckles whiten as she lifts her glass.
Kate’s fingers trace over the tattoos on the inside of my wrist. “It must get lonely. All that work and no one to admire it or keep you company.”
“That would depend on the company.” I will Lily to look at me. “Some distractions aren’t worth the time.”
Lily’s eyes flick up, meeting mine for a split second before she looks away. But not before I see the flash of anger.
Amy leans close, her lips curving. “Oh …” Her lips brush my jaw. “I think we could be worth your time.”
“You think so?” I stretch out an arm across the back of the booth, and let my fingers skim over the curve of her shoulder.
Kate leans into my other side. “You must need … relief sometimes.”
“There are better ways to relieve tension than demolition.” Amy’s hand finds my thigh, sliding upward. “More interesting ways to work up a sweat.”
The muscle in Lily’s jaw ticks. A slight movement but I catch it. The same way I can see how she won’t quite meet my eyes.
I take another sip of whiskey, allowing Amy to press closer, while her hand moves further up my thigh. I school my expression into one that might pass for interest, and keep the fact that her touch makes my skin crawl to myself.
Let them all think I want this.
“Beverly’s beside herself,” Kate says. “She’s trying to figure out where you came from and what brought you back.”
“People always want stories. Doesn’t mean they deserve them.”
“Good thing we’re not looking for old stories.” Amy’s fingers trace patterns on my thigh. “We’re more interested in making new ones.”
Lily’s glass hits the table, and liquid spills over the rim.
“How’s the house coming along?” She breaks her silence, her tone cool.
“Getting there.”
“Must be so satisfying.” Kate leans closer. “Taking something broken and making it yours.”
Amy’s nails dig into my thigh. “Especially with those hands. They look so strong.”
“The wiring is finished.” I meet Lily’s gaze. “Moving onto other things that need fixing now.”
“There’s always something that needs work, isn’t there?”
“Some things can’t be fixed.” My lip curls. “Sometimes it’s just better to throw things out and start afresh with something new.”
Lily’s shoulders tense, and her breathing changes.
I’m doing this on purpose, hurting her and using Amy and Kate as weapons, because apparently I’m too much of a masochist to walk away. The satisfaction of seeing her react wars with self-loathing so sharp, it makes my chest ache.
“You don’t believe that. Not really.”
Amy huffs out a small laugh at Lily’s words. “Sounds like someone thinks she still knows you.”
“She doesn’t.” I don’t look away from Lily, daring her to say otherwise.
Kate laughs, the sound fake and high. “Well, here’s to new beginnings.” She lifts her glass.
“And old endings,” Amy adds, tapping her glass against her friend’s.
I lean back, toying with Amy’s hair, and watch Lily’s face while I do it. Each touch is deliberate. Each gesture aimed to hurt. I’m good at this. At using whatever tools I have to create distance, and push people away.
Her lips press into a thin line, but her eyes give her away. A flicker of anger, jealousy, and hurt. Gone as quickly as they came, shuttered behind her lowered lashes.
“Tom says you’re doing amazing work up there.” Kate lifts my hand, and places it on the table, palm up, so she can stroke over my fingers. “Says you know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Everyone is talking about it.” Amy touches my arm. “The ex-con with the golden touch.”
“Is that what they’re calling me?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Among other things.” Amy is practically purring. “Such a mystery. Where did you learn to be so … capable with your hands.”
“I guess prison is good for something.” I drop my voice lower, turning it rougher.
“God, that’s hot.” Kate’s fingers curl around my wrist. “All that time to work on yourself.”
“Build muscle.” Amy squeezes my bicep. “And learn new skills.”
“It was prison, not a vacation.” Lily’s voice cuts through the air, cold as ice.
Silence settles over the table. Amy and Kate glance between us, eyes sparkling with malice. Cassidy’s hand moves, I guess she’s touching Lily’s hand hidden beneath the table, but Lily doesn’t look away from me.
I smirk. “I guess that depends on your perspective.”
Lily sucks in a breath, but there’s fire in her eyes now. I wanted a reaction, and now I’ve got one. It doesn’t give me the satisfaction I was hoping for.
“It must have been hard though.” Kate’s voice drips false sympathy. “All alone in there. Just like when you were seventeen, and living in that abandoned fact—”
I’m out of the booth before she finishes speaking. Everything inside me focuses on a single point of need.
Get out. Get away. Get somewhere I can breathe.
The bar is suddenly too small, too hot, and full of eyes waiting for me to unravel.
My vision tunnels. My heart picks up speed.
Sweat drips down my spine. The music pounds in my ears, merging with the sound of my pulse, turning into the memory of cell doors slamming, and echoing with Kate’s voice saying words that were never supposed to be spoken out loud.
I push through the crowd, shouldering past people who don’t move fast enough. Someone calls my name. I don’t stop. The door is right there, five steps ahead of me. I focus on that, and it keeps me moving forward.
Then I’m through it, gulping down cold night air that doesn’t quite fill my lungs.