The Last Piece of His Heart (Lost Boys 3)

“She’s never been here. This place isn’t for just anyone.”

The implications smacked me in the face. Ronan had asked me to come here months ago. After Homecoming.

Miller was watching. I cleared my throat. “What about Violet? Is this place for her?”

He stiffened and looked about to protest. Then he nodded, his voice thick. “Yeah, it is.”

I’d hung out at the Shack a few more times that week, telling myself it was to pave the way for Violet more than it was to be with Ronan as much as humanly possible. But mostly, it was just nice being there. I’d lived in Santa Cruz for fourteen years and hadn’t appreciated the ocean in this way before. Just sitting with it, listening to the waves crash while a bonfire warmed my face. I understood implicitly why the guys loved this place.

Holden regaled us with crazy, hilarious stories from when he’d spent a year in a Swiss sanitarium. He wouldn’t say for what, and I wasn’t about to pry. Sometimes Miller played his guitar and sang for us. I’d catch him watching Ronan and me, a wistful look on his face.

Finally, Violet agreed to come with me. Miller was still technically with Amber, but all three were miserable and something had to change. The friendship between Miller and Violet was worth salvaging, if nothing else.

That night, after a rocky start, they took a walk and came back looking more at ease, and I felt hopeful that they’d each found their way back to the other.

The guys ragged on each other, Miller played for us, and the hour grew late, the fire burning low. From the other side of it, Violet and Miller were a bundle on the sand under blankets, sleeping.

Holden, alone and drunk, staggered to his feet. With a finger to his lips, he warned us not to wake them, then stumbled away.

“Will he be okay?” I whispered.

Ronan shrugged, his mouth grim. “I don’t know. He’s drunk a lot. I don’t know what to do for him.”

“You’re here,” I said. “He knows that. You have his back.”

“Always,” Ronan said, then nodded at Miller. “Him too.” He looked down at me. You too.

He didn’t need to say the words for me to hear them, and I immediately felt like crap for working so hard to prove that Ronan and I weren’t an item.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I said. “When I was short with you.”

“Which time?” Ronan asked and smiled into his beer. “I started to lose count.”

I nudged his arm. “Every time. When you offered to open my soda. Violet was watching us, and I hate that feeling.”

“What feeling?” Ronan asked with a dry smirk. “Being helped?”

“Yes, smartass. It’s like you said, I hate people being in my business. Even if that person is my best friend.”

“It’s better if she doesn’t know about us,” Ronan said. “She’s friends with Evelyn Gonzalez, right?” He drained his last beer of the night. “If Evelyn finds out, the whole damn town will know.”

“True.” I studied Ronan’s profile. In the firelight, his eyes looked silvery, his jaw cut to sharper angles by the shadows that danced over his face. “You’re really serious about that, aren’t you? Keeping me safe from Dowd or—?”

“Yes.” Ronan turned to look at me then, his voice low and intense. “Yes. I’m really fucking serious about that.”

I sat back, a flare of heat sweeping through me at the dangerous glint in his eyes. Not for me, for whoever he thought might want to hurt me. Heat pooled between my legs, wanting him, while my heart was craving something else entirely. Something it shouldn’t.

We’ve already come so far beyond casual, it’s not even funny.

I jumped to my feet and brushed sand off my pants. “I have to get back. Bibi’s starting to wonder if I still live there.”

Ronan nodded and packed up his stuff.

“What about them? Think they’ll be okay?” I whispered with a nod at Miller and Violet, sleeping tangled up in each other. She was tucked under his chin. His arms held her close.

“Yes,” Ronan said. “They’re finally okay. Thanks to you.”

“I just gave them a push.”