The Last Piece of His Heart (Lost Boys 3)

“No. I’ve had a few offers, but…” I shrugged. “I love dancing but not dances. They’re kind of silly.”

I’d had that stance for years and never gave it a second thought. Now I was questioning everything.

Why? What’s different?

Ronan tried to crowd my thoughts, but I pushed him out. It was senior year. There weren’t going to be anymore dances. It was nostalgia, that’s all.

Miller sighed. “Holden and Ronan are ditching me too.”

“Oh? They’re not going?” My voice was three octaves higher than usual.

He shook his head. “I mean, with Ronan it makes sense. Can you picture him at a dance?”

Not dancing, no chance. But holding a girl, enveloping her in his arms, keeping her close…

Jesus, I need an intervention.

“But Holden, that fucker, could’ve backed me up,” Miller said.

We’d reached the parking lot and I patted his arm. “Sorry, my friend. Do you need a ride? So you have time to get ready?”

“No, thanks, Shi. I need to walk. Clear my head.”

I gave him a short hug and we parted ways without me saying anything else that would help him or give him a boost. I had nothing.

When I arrived home, Bibi was making her mint-basil lemonade in the kitchen.

“Hello, baby girl. How was the game?”

“We won,” I said, pecking her cheek and eyeing the lemonade suspiciously. “This is for…?”

“Ronan. Our boy’s feeling much better now.”

I went to the kitchen window. Our boy was in the backyard looking every inch the man as he stacked plywood from the shipment of supplies that had come the other day. He wore his usual uniform—jeans, boots, plain T-shirt. Even from the kitchen, I could see the bruises darkening the skin beneath his owl tattoo and another around his right eye.

Anger flared hot in me, taking me by surprise.

“I’ll bring this to him.” I grabbed the Mason jar and headed out.

On the patio, I plunked the glass on the table and strode to stand right in front of Ronan.

Up close, the bruising around his eye was turning green which meant it was a few days old.

Which meant it had been so much worse.

“Who did that to you?” I demanded.

Ronan frowned down at me, taken back by the fire in my tone. “No one.”

“It was Dowd, wasn’t it? For Frankie?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Of course, it does,” I said, incredulous. “It matters to me.”

We both froze. Ronan’s gaze on me softened. We were standing so close. Close, like we were about to dance or…

I stepped back, my cheeks flaming. “I mean…it’s not right. First your arm and now this.”