The Last Piece of His Heart (Lost Boys 3)

“That’s fucked up.”

“Those kinds of parties aren’t my scene, anyway.”

But he looked for me…

I gave my head a shake, and focused on the work, not those words or how his low voice sounded when he said them.

“Same. I was there for Miller.”

I’d finished cleaning the cut and took up the antibiotic ointment. Ronan watched me smear the greasy stuff on his wound, though he was capable of doing it himself. And we both knew it.

“I’m beginning to think I should’ve been there for Violet.”

“Yeah?”

“We’ve been BFFs since we were kids. But I don’t know. She seems to be doing okay with Evelyn.”

“She and Miller—”

“Are complicated.” I opened the gauze and moved Ronan’s arm closer to me on the table. “But we shouldn’t talk about it behind their backs. They need to figure it out themselves.”

“He’s in love with her,” Ronan said.

My head snapped up at the softness in his rough voice. His gray eyes met mine and he shrugged. “He is.”

I quickly averted my gaze to concentrate on my work. “I know. And she loves him too. But she has her reasons for keeping things as they are. To keep herself safe. I can appreciate that.”

“Why?”

I raised a brow. “Are you always this direct?”

He shrugged. “Not a fan of bullshit.”

“Neither am I, actually.”

“So?”

“So, I can appreciate Violet’s caution because I don’t want to get involved with anything or anyone that distracts me from my goals either,” I said. A declaration of independence that needed to be said in Ronan’s presence.

“Your goal is the jewelry,” he said.

I nodded. “I’m going to open my own business. Which isn’t easy for a woman and even less so for a woman of color. So I work really hard, not just to make it happen for myself, but to prove to everyone I can do it.”

Mama’s face rose up in a curl of smoke, but I waved it away.

“Anyway,” I said, laying strips of tape on the gauze to hold it in place. “I feel for Miller, but I get where Violet is coming from.” I glanced up at Ronan to find him staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “You don’t agree?”

He shrugged.

“So you’re a romantic?”

“No,” he stated flatly. “I don’t like to see him suffer.”

“Ah, a big softy, then.”

“I’m not that either.”

I set the tape down and looked him in the eye. “What are you?”