Chapter 59
Chapter Fifty-Nine
LILY - TWO WEEKS LATER
Four weeks ago, I stood in this same classroom, staring at the morning light slanting through the windows, pretending everything wasn’t shifting beneath my feet.
Back then, Ronan’s return had knocked my world off its axis, leaving me reeling in shock and confusion, almost overwhelmed by a grief I thought I’d buried.
Now? Now, I’m breathing so much easier.
My students chatter their way through our morning routine, a familiar symphony of small voices that I appreciate more than ever.
Emma shows me her drawing of a turkey. Marcus argues with Sophie about whose turn it is to be line leader.
The scent of crayons and paint and glue fills the air, mingling with the faint aroma of coffee from the cup on my desk.
Everything is back to normal. At least it should be. And in some ways it is.
But in others …
A smile pulls my lips up for the hundredth time today.
For the past two weeks, I’ve spent almost all my free time with Ronan.
It isn’t something we sat and planned. It isn’t even something we discussed at all. It just happened, gravity pulling us back together, because quite simply, neither of us can stay away from each other.
His house is still a mess of dust and unfinished repairs, but it’s starting to feel like he sees it as more than just an obligation now.
Some nights, I go over straight from work and curl up in an old armchair while he paints baseboards or patches holes in the walls. I watch his hands as he transforms whatever space he’s working in, and keep him supplied in coffee, while we talk.
And we talk a lot. About everything. The books we read.
The dreams we used to have. He even tells me about his time inside now.
The words coming easier with each conversation.
We’re going to visit Riley in a couple of weeks, a man I’m looking forward to meeting after hearing all about how he helped Ronan adjust to being in prison …
and is responsible for a lot of the tattoos covering his body.
Our conversations take me back to those stolen moments we shared during high school. When it was just the two of us, discovering there was another person in the world who shared the same thoughts, the same feelings, the same love for books and words.
Other nights, he shows up at my apartment after I get home from work, pulling off his hoodie and settling onto my couch like he belongs there. He’ll pull me into his arms and we’ll lose ourselves in each other, cocooned in our own world where miracles can happen.
Friday night, I fell asleep on his couch while he was working upstairs. I woke up covered with a blanket, his jacket tucked under my head as a pillow, and found him sitting in the armchair across from me, just watching me sleep with an expression I couldn't read.
"How long have you been sitting there?" I'd asked.
"Not long." But something in his voice told me it had been longer than he wanted to admit.
We don’t talk about what we are in any definitive terms. We haven’t drawn lines around it. But it’s something.
It's in the way he reaches for my hand when he's distracted, like touching me steadies him. It's in the way I linger when it's getting late and I have school the next morning, waiting for him to ask me to stay or offer to come home with me.
In a lot of ways it’s different from before. We’re older, hopefully wiser. There’s no urgency or desperation born from knowing we’re running out of time. There’s just a slow rediscovery of everything we lost, and learning all the new things we’ve become.
I catch myself thinking about him in the quiet moments during class.
The way his jaw tightens when he’s lost in thought, how he rubs the back of his neck when he’s avoiding something.
How he carries himself like he expects the world to fight him—shoulders squared, chin lifted—but in the quiet moments, I can see the exhaustion he’s trying to hide, the fear that this has an end date.
There’s something else too. Something that’s been bothering me more with each passing day.
I haven’t seen him pick up a book or a notebook once in the two weeks we’ve spent together.
He always used to have something—an old paperback stuffed in a pocket, scribbled notes on scraps of paper. Words were his escape, his way of making sense of the world. But now? Now he seems to avoid them.
I think I noticed it the first time I went to his house, but it didn’t quite register. Those empty bookshelves, which should have been filled. When I asked if he’d started thinking about what books he wanted to fill them with, he’d changed the subject.
Maybe it doesn’t matter. I could be reading too much into it. But those things were a defining part of him, woven into who he was, and without them, I feel like I’m seeing only fragments.
I don’t know if it’s because he’s changed, or if it’s because he still doesn’t trust that this won’t end.
I wonder what he does with his time when I’m not there, and he’s not working on the house. Does he ever sit still, or does he force himself to keep moving? I wonder if he reaches for me when he wakes up alone, the same way I reach for him.
At lunch, I sit in the break room, picking at my sandwich, half-listening to my coworkers talk about their Thanksgiving plans.
“Are you going to your mom’s?” Claire asks.
I nod, though I haven’t actually decided yet. She’ll expect me there.
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you taking a plus one … if you wanted to.”
I glance up. “What?”
“Come on, Lily. The whole school saw him pick you up yesterday.” She grins. “Very tall, very tattooed, very much looking at you like you hung the moon.”
Heat floods my face. “It’s … complicated.”
“Is it?” She tilts her head. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks pretty simple.”
I want to tell her she’s right. That it is simple. I love him, he cares about me, we should spend Thanksgiving together. But the words stick in my throat.
Because what if I ask and he says no? What if bringing him into my family is too much too soon? We haven’t talked about holidays or futures or what happens when his six months are up. In fact, we’ve carefully avoided anything that requires looking past a couple of days.
And maybe that’s my fault too. Maybe I’m just as scared as he is.
I glance at my phone, tempted to text him and ask, but uncertainty stops me. I don’t want to hear him say no. Or perhaps I’m scared of what it might mean if he says yes.
By the time nap time rolls around, my head is aching from the constant stream of noise, and questions and ‘Miss Gladwin, can you help me?’ but I still smile as I tuck blankets around drowsy bodies and dim the lights.
Settling at my desk, I lean back, closing my eyes, and let the quiet wash over me. And then my phone buzzes.
Ronan: Need to go see the lawyer later to hear about the final part of the will. Come with me?
I stare at the words, reading them twice, then three times. Slowly, a smile spreads across my face.
I know Edwards left him the house, a monthly income, and a trust fund he can access after the six months. Beyond that, Ronan says he has no idea what else is involved. But this invitation to find out with him feels big. It feels important.
I already know my answer before I type it.
Me: What time?
His response is immediate.
Ronan: After school finishes. Want me to pick you up, or do you want to go home first?
It’s been two weeks since the board meeting, and he still checks to make sure I’m okay about being seen with him.
Me: Pick me up. We could go out for dinner after?
Three dots appear, then disappear, then appear again.
Ronan: Yeah. I’d like that.
I press the phone to my chest for a second, warmth filling me, before setting it down on my desk. A quick glance at the clock tells me there are still three hours until the end of the day. But it feels different now. Lighter.
Of course, I could be overthinking things. He might just be asking for someone to sit beside him while he gets the news about his inheritance. But I don’t think that’s the case. I think this is him taking another step forward, and trusting me with something that matters to him.
I should be nervous about what the lawyer is going to tell him. And I am, a little. But not as much as I’m hopeful that this is the beginning of something neither of us wants to lose.