The Last Piece of His Heart (Lost Boys 3)

My stomach was full, but the hunger had returned, gnawing with sharp teeth. This wasn’t my house. Wasn’t my life.

Bibi had returned to the dining table with a package in her hands. “Well! I hope this is worth scaring us out of our wits…” She cocked her head, sensing tension. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” I said, taking the sharp edge out of my tone for her sake. “I’ll be back Monday to work on the shed.”

I shot a glance at Shiloh. And that’s all.

Shiloh’s soft expression hardened, and she tilted her chin up. “Great,” she snapped. Fine by me.

I mumbled more thanks to Bibi and headed out, into the night that was cold and dark.

Chapter Nine

For the next week, instead of going home where Ronan was working every day in my backyard, I holed up in the school library with my History paper that was due that Friday. I pored over Romanov facts, thoughts of Ronan breaking my concentration every other minute. I wondered—worried—how he was doin

g on his paper and then reminded myself for the millionth time he didn’t want my help.

I made progress, but I felt like a coward. I never hid. I faced things head on and dealt with them quickly. Always.

Like you do with Mama? a voice whispered.

That was a whole other galaxy of pain. It was unbearable enough that she hated me. Knowing why might wreck me altogether. Ronan Wentz, I told myself, was merely a distraction. The best way to deal with him was to…not.

Ronan must’ve had the same idea. I didn’t see him except for History class, and he wasn’t talking either. Hell, he barely made eye contact.

Good, I thought, ignoring the twinge in my chest…and the memory of us standing on the sidewalk outside the old laundromat. How his gray eyes weren’t hard like stone but soft like smoke as he looked down at me, his gaze lingering on my mouth. Close enough I could smell the campfire scent of him. For a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me. Not just kiss but devour…

Wrong. Sit in your wrongness and be wrong, I told myself, still feeling Ronan’s presence all those rows behind me. No complications. No drama.

But that damn twinge wouldn’t go away all week. It burrowed deeper until it resembled an ache.

On Thursday afternoon, I finished the paper. Not my best work, admittedly. Hopefully a solid B. I drove home around five and parked the Buick in the garage. The much emptier garage. My worktable and all of my tools and supplies were gone.

“Bibi?” I called, hurrying in through the kitchen. “I’m home.”

“Out here, honeypie,” she called from the patio table in the backyard. Behind her, was the finished work shed.

I froze, my eyes glued to the simple little shed. Green with white trim, it had double doors and even the window Ronan had shown me in his sketches.

Bibi clapped her hands. “It’s incredible, isn’t it? Go and see what he did.”

Moving slowly, I pulled open the doors. Inside, it smelled of cut wood and fresh paint, clean and new. Ronan had moved my table from the garage and had stacked my plastic supply bins neatly on one side. Shelves lined two walls and on them, sat all my tools. Ronan had spared me countless trips back and forth from the garage.

I ran my hand along one perfect shelf and inhaled deep. I could almost smell the campfire scent of him under the fresh wood and paint. Faint and fading fast.

“Our boy did a marvelous job, didn’t he?” Bibi asked when I came back out.

Our boy.

Tears sprang to my eyes.

“Shiloh?”

“It’s silly,” I said, blinking hard. I did not cry. “I’m getting emotional for no reason.”

“Not for no reason,” Bibi said gently.

I sank into the chair beside her. “It’s really perfect and will help me so much. I guess that’s why…”