Lily’s mouth drops open. “Go to hell.”
“All right. That’s it,” Paul says. “I’m taking you into the station.”
My chest tightens, and a heat spreads through me—it’s worse than anger, it’s something more. Protectiveness.
I recognize it.
It’s the same instinct that screamed at me when my mother and I sat across from the oncologist when he told her the lung cancer would kill her—I wanted to tear into the cancer and demolish it. It’s the same instinct that pulses through me when Max is working, doing his job, and he gets too far ahead of me. When I can’t see him, but I hear him. The drive to get to him, to shield him, hounds me until I’ve put eyes on him. It’s the same instinct I had with Tommy and his father—the need to be around because I knew his father wouldn’t hit him if I was.
While Lily attempts to convey defiance, I pick up on the way her fingers twitch, the way her eyes widen and dart down the sidewalk like she’s ready to bolt. I fully step in front of her, intent on stopping the flicker of fear I sense is bubbling up inside her. I don’t care who or what it is—I don’t want her upset. Anyone wanting to try is going to have to go through me.
My fists clench at my sides, the dull bite of my nails against my palms grounding me. Paul won’t assume this, but I’d stand here all day, as long as it’s between him and her.
Quickly, I recognize I should defuse the situation instead of shoving the sheriff of Pinebrook across the sidewalk, so I relax my shoulders and do my best to keep the grit out of my mouth. “Come on, Paul. I’m sure you’ve dozed off a time or two. The store was open. She’s not attempting to sleep there or anything, and you know it. She’s staying with my mom, so she isn’t sleeping in the gym parking lot anymore. Not homeless.”
Paul’s eyes widen when I mention Lily staying with my mom, but I continue. “It’s all a misunderstanding. Let me take her home. We were getting ready to go that way anyway.”
Paul regards me and sighs. “Okay, okay. Take her home and see that she doesn’t get into any more trouble.”
“Trouble?” Lily shrieks, her glare locked straight ahead. She shifts her weight forward, and the toe of her boot edges past my shadow.
I grab her elbow, halting her next inch into the sheriff.
Faint barks from the back seat of the truck fill the silence stretching between the three of us, and they shuffle between sharp alerting barks and growls. He’s thoroughly distressed.
Paul fixates on Lily’s neck again. It’s only when I follow to where he’s focused do I notice Lily’s gold raven necklace offering small winks and glimmers from the sunrays hitting it.
“Interesting necklace,” he says, and my brow furrows.
Lily’s hand comes up to zip the charm across the chain, then she tucks it behind the collar of her shirt, studying him.
“You two have a good day. Noah, I’ll give you a text.” Paul nods at me, but instead of returning the gesture, I turn toward Lily and shuffle her to my truck.
I open the door and Max whines, tail thumping against the back seat. Once she’s inside, I jog around the back of the truck, taking one last look at Paul, who’s since pulled out his phone and is having a heated conversation while briskly walking to his cruiser.
Having slid into my seat, I start the truck. The silence in the car is heavy, the kind that makes my chest ache. She’s shut down. I grip the steering wheel, pulling the truck away from the sidewalk and the shop. I still have no idea what she was doing in there. My knuckles grow whiter, tighter, as I fight the urge to sling my vehicle back into park and ask her what all that was about.
From the back seat, Max whimpers, and when I glance in the rearview, his big eyes are fixed on Lily, head tilted in concern. He shifts forward, paws resting on the edge of the seat. I look at Lily,who doesn’t turn to acknowledge him, and Max lets out another quiet whine. Then, with a deliberate push, his nose presses against her neck, huffing through her slight waves. It’s enough. Enough to loosen the storm in Lily’s expression.
“Max,” Lily whispers, her voice cracking as she reaches to stroke the top of his head.
My jaw clenches so hard it hurts, the frustration that she’s upset, that someone I know and respect accused her of loitering based on how she was dressed. For innocently falling asleep in the store. The irritation rolls through me in waves, compounding.
Max licks her fingers and then nuzzles her palm, eliciting a tear from the corner of her eye. She’s so quiet, tilting her head far enough away from me, but not so much that she loses contact with Max’s soft fur.
Crying. She’s crying.
Her shoulders shake as she scrunches her face, trying to cut off her wet tears. Something akin to panic roils in my stomach. What do I do? How can I make it better?
“Hey,” I say softly. Doing my best, I keep my eyes on the road while every other few paces turning to her.
Lily doesn’t look up at me, and part of me wishes I knew her better, so that pulling her into my arms to tell her it was going to be okay wasn’t weird. I don’t want to say the wrong thing. Frankly, knowing Lily, I figured she’d get in the truck angry.
She continues to massage Max’s ears as more tears spill down her cheeks. The hair tumbled messily over her face is damp, clinging to her flushed cheeks.
I’ve never seen her so raw, so broken. Not in the hospital. Not at the gas station the other night. Swallowing hard, I force the lump rising in my throat back down. I wish I knew what to say, but I’m grateful Max is able to comfort her when I can’t.
“Do you want to talk about it?” The way it comes out is pathetic. My fingers twitch, wrapped around the wheel, itching to reach out and smooth those tracks from her face.
