The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 226

Malcom stood at the door, the brim of his black cap pulled so low it shaded half his face. Because he was so much taller than Petty, he only needed to lower his eyes to catch her gaze. Her eyes, usually bright and beautiful, were now rimmed with red.

He pulled his phone out and typed a quick message. "Saw the lights were on when I walked by. Thought I’d check in."

That was it, then.

The TV in the living room was playing the New Year's Gala. After dinner, Hans had asked someone to tidy up the dining room and even wanted to decorate for the holiday with red lanterns, Chinese knots, window cutouts, and banners. He just wanted the place to feel more festive, to bring in a bit of that new year warmth.

But Petty had said no.

The TV’s laughter made the place feel even quieter, so empty it echoed.

A shy, embarrassed look flickered across Petty’s face. She tried to smile, her eyes still wet, as she reached up to touch the back of her neck. "I’m rich, aren’t I? Does it really matter where I spend New Year’s? It’s all the same..."

Her eyes glistened, and under the fuzzy pocket of her pajamas, he could see her hand, balled into a fist and trembling just a little.

"Want to go out?" Malcom held his phone in front of her.

Petty stared at his message for a second. Then she looked up into his deep brown eyes and nodded.

Malcom didn’t have any family. He always spent New Year’s by himself, which was even lonelier than her situation.

When she came back out after changing, Malcom was still waiting outside. She’d invited him in for a bit, but he wouldn’t come inside.

He was stubborn, too.

Seeing the sparklers brought her right back to when she was fifteen. Owen had made her mad that New Year’s Eve. Out of nowhere, he’d bought a ridiculous number of sparklers to try and apologize.

Those sparklers dug up the little kid in her heart all over again.

But back then, she couldn’t find a lighter and had no way to light them.

Just as she was about to run off and look for Jackson, she turned and spotted Franco leaning against a porch post, a cigarette between his lips, his cold dark eyes glancing her way as if by accident.

The red lanterns above swayed gently together, making a soft, rhythmic tapping sound, almost in time with her racing heart.

"Franco, do you have a lighter?" she called as she jogged over. No one could tell if her cheeks were flushed from embarrassment or just bathed in the lantern’s warm red glow.