The Last Piece of His Heart (Lost Boys 3)

“Seems kind of rough.”

“Rough? That’s the rules.”

“Do you ever let it slide?”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

I shrugged. “Shit happens. Circumstances.”

“Not my problem. I got my own circumstances. Don’t need to deal with someone else’s.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

I shrugged again, not looking at him.

Nelson snorted and hauled himself out of his recliner to hobble to the kitchen. He didn’t look well. His skin had a yellowish tinge to it, his hair thin and brittle. The strength under his bulk that had reminded me of my father was just bulk now.

“You’re doing a good job,” he said, poking his head inside the fridge so I barely heard him. “Better than I expected.”

“Thanks.”

“Keep it up. Don’t get soft just because you know the tenants now. And their circumstances.”

Too late.

“What about you?” I asked.

“Huh?”

I raised my voice. “How are you?”

His head popped out of the fridge. “What’s it to you?”

Nelson emerged from the kitchen with two beers. “Here.” He thrust one at me and clinked his to mine. “Happy Birthday.”

We both drank and then Nelson sank down heavily in his chair. I sat in the other, toying with the bottle. The TV blared a commercial for a local used car dealership.

Maybe it was last night’s fuck up with Shiloh—another good

thing in my life that had slipped through my fingers. Or maybe it was that I knew, even with a decent bed and a real mattress, the nightmares would still find me because they were in my blood. My blood that was his blood, while hers had been splattered all over the kitchen floor so I was alone for ten fucking years…

I couldn’t let it go.

“Alicia called you?” My voice sounded tight.

“That’s what I said.”

“And she found you last summer? When I was at the farm in Manitowoc?”

He grunted what might’ve been a yes, not looking at me.

“Nelson.”

“What? Christ, I’m trying to watch my show…”

I concentrated on peeling the label off my beer bottle. “Alicia’s job ended when I turned eighteen. But she worked her ass off for ten years before that. Looking for you.”

“Yeah? So?”

“She found you, didn’t she?” I said, peeling. “But you waited until I was eighteen to come forward.”