The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 284

“The Greens aren’t pressing charges against Laura, and you’ll stay away from Petty.”

Petty was almost at the minivan when those words made her stop cold. She turned, glancing back at the two men standing in the middle of the road, locked in their quiet standoff.

Right then, as soon as Parrish finished, Franco looked over at her. His features were impossibly sharp, and now that he wasn’t hiding behind glasses, his eyes were almost animalistic, cold and piercing, quietly watching from the darkness. The streetlights above filtered through bare branches and drew strange shadows across him. It seemed like nothing could get through that stare.

Maybe his gaze lingered on her. Maybe it was just a passing glance. Either way, her heart jumped at the look.

Aaron was by the van’s door, waiting. “Petty, it’s chilly out. Come on, let’s get you inside. Hans is already there.”

That snapped her out of it. She climbed in without another word, and Aaron shut the door behind her.

It was warm inside. Petty immediately spotted Hans lying there, wrapped up in a blanket, his lips and face painfully pale. He smiled as soon as he saw her, but it was a smile in name only—more like a twitch, like even that simple gesture cost him.

“What’s with that look?” His voice was weak, but wry. “Come here.”

She sat down by his side, tugging the blanket higher over his chest, half-annoyed, half-gentle, the way you might scold a reckless little kid. “Did the doctors really let you out, or did you sneak off?”

“I took leave,” Hans said proudly, a spark of mischief flickering, even if he looked ready to collapse.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure you did. A regular medical miracle.”

As she fussed with the blanket, Hans suddenly grabbed her right hand. His face changed in an instant—the teasing gone, his eyes suddenly dark and serious. “What happened to your hand?”

The bandage, neatly wrapped around the skin between her thumb and forefinger, didn’t look like amateur work. If she told him the truth, that Franco had fired off her gun and the recoil had split her hand open, Hans would drag himself half-dead just to fight Franco, stitches and all. She could practically picture it—one more ER visit, and Hans would be a goner.

She kept her tone breezy, as if nothing was wrong. “It’s just a little scrape. They made it look more dramatic than it really is.”

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