The Last Piece of His Heart (Lost Boys 3)

Her eyes narrowed and I busied myself hefting the mattress onto my shoulders. “I could go back and ask him to reconsider, if you want…”

She waved her hands. “Ha, no. Thanks. Thank you, Ronan. It won’t happen again.”

“Yep.”

She said something else, but I pretended not to hear it. Her gratitude made me sick. Where the fuck were the people who were supposed to take care of her? They left her so alone…so adrift…that she needed my help? Was that the point of life? A lucky few would make it unscarred while everyone else was on their fucking own?

Bullshit.

The new coffee table was just as old and plain as the first one—chipped wood and stains on the surface. But my living room looked more like a living room. The bed was a real bed. The futon went straight to the dumpster and I lay down that night on an actual mattress.

The nightmares came anyway.

Chapter Nineteen

Did you hear? Violet’s in the hospital.

I froze and the phone nearly fell out of my hand. It was a little after ten p.m. Bibi and I had been watching a movie when my phone chimed a text from Annika Shaw, a girl on the soccer team who I’d been closer to in middle school.

My fingers trembled as I jammed out a reply.

What happened???

Head injury at practice. She’s at UC Med. Blacked out.

“Holy shit.”

Bibi’s head turned to me. “Shiloh?”

“It’s Violet. She’s in the hospital.”

“Oh, dear. Is she all right?”

“Don’t know.”

My fingers flew. How bad is it?

I waited for a reply while tears burned the corners of my eyes at the sudden rush of fear I felt for my best friend. I blinked them away angrily. It shouldn’t have to take losing someone to realize how much you loved them.

Oh God, Miller…

There was still no reply from Annika, and I remembered why we weren’t close friends anymore.

Flake.

Panicked, I called the hospital. Dispatch put me through to the nurses’ station on Violet’s floor—only to be told they couldn’t tell me anything.

“I’m going up there,” I said to Bibi as I ran to the kitchen for my car keys and sweater that hung on the hook on the door. I threw on my cardigan, then typed a text to Miller.

I just heard. Violet’s at UCSC Medical. Head injury. They won’t tell me more.

His reply was almost instant. On my way.

“Send Violet my love,” Bibi called. “But drive carefully, Shiloh.”

“I will. Promise. I’ll call you when I know something.”

On the way to the hospital, it took everything I had not to push the Buick as hard as it could go and reminded myself of my promise to Bibi.