“I don’t understand,” Livvy says.
He looks over at Livvy, regret in his eyes before he steps toward her and takes her hand. “He was the DA that put her away. Instead of helping her, he tried her as an adult.” Well. Shit.
Everyone is silent for a couple minutes before Evan pushes his shoulders back and says, “You make sure you call me every hour to let me know how she’s doing.”
“I will, Son,” Cal answers, placing his hand on his shoulder. “I won’t be going anywhere.”
Evan watches him a beat, driving his point home, before tilting his head and walking out of the waiting room, me hot on his heels.
LILY
I collect all of the bibles sitting on the pews, placing them on the shelves next to the main doors, ready for the next service. Rain bats on the windows providing nature’s very own soundtrack. It’s been a whole twenty-four hours since Luke dropped me off outside his mom’s house, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what he said since.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should have told him. But it’s too late now.
Shaking my head, I berate myself for leaving the cell with him because I can’t contact him at all now, no matter how bad it gets or how much I may want his help.
The skin on the back of my legs stings as I finish putting the bibles away.
Aiden hadn’t been gone for more than twelve hours and apparently that was a sufficient amount of time for Dad to go back to how he always is.
I shiver when the memories of his cane on my legs flashes through my mind, wincing as I move toward the front of the church.
My eyes widen when I see someone sitting in the second pew on the left, only the back of their head visible. His hair is dry, and it tells me he’s been sitting here for a while.
I stand watching him, wondering whether I should say something, but then his head whips around, his hazel eyes piercing mine before they narrow.
“Hi,” I say lamely, not knowing what else to say.
The guy watches me for several seconds before inclining his head in a nod and standing up. He looks familiar and it’s not until he’s moving toward me that I realize it’s the same guy I ran into at church a few Sundays ago. I was sure he was new to town, but I haven’t seen him since. At least, not until now.
“You don’t have to leave,” I blurt out, cursing myself for how my voice echoes in the empty space. “The church is always open.”
He stops a couple of feet in front of me, his eyes showing nothing as his gaze trails over me, stopping when he’s back at my face.
“You’re the preacher’s daughter.” It’s a statement, not a question, but I nod in answer anyway. “I was leaving anyway…” He trails off before looking back at the front of the church, his gaze skimming over the podium and the cross on the wall behind it.
There’s something about the way he stands, his shoulders hunched. He almost looks sad, and I can’t help myself asking, “Are you okay?”
He doesn’t acknowledge me right away, but when he eventually turns around and stares, I wish I hadn’t have asked. “I think it should be me asking you that, Lily.”
I swallow, my back straightening.
“Just helping my dad get the church ready.” Even I can hear the false bravado in my voice, so I’m almost sure he can.
I nod several times, for what reason I don’t know, but finally my body and brain work in sync and I start to turn around, heading for the doors.
“Reid,” he says, his deep voice batting against the walls. “My name is Reid.”
Turning at the last second, I watch him, wondering why he’s really here and what he wants. Is this a test from my dad?
“Lily,” I reply, placing my hand on the door handle. “But you already know that.”
He smiles, and it completely changes his face. The gloomy look disappears, replaced with an easygoing one. My head starts to thump, feeling like I have whiplash. How can he change that quickly?
We stare at each other for another beat before I pull the door open and step out onto the stoop, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. There’s nothing like the smell of rain as it hits the asphalt and trees.
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I sway to the side, closing my eyes and listening to the peacefulness.