The Last Piece of His Heart (Lost Boys 3)

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, I’ll be right there.” He set the phone on the table and stared at it. “Nelson is dead.”

“Oh no…” I breathed, my hand flying to my chest. “Oh God, Ronan, I’m so sorry. What happened?”

“Not sure.” Ronan’s voice sounded hollowed out by shock. “That was a tenant in the building he manages. Said he found him this morning. I have to go over there.”

He stood and I stood with him.

“I’m going with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Ronan.” I took his arm, gazed up at him. “You are done facing these things alone. Okay?”

He nodded and then let out a breath. “Okay.”

We arrived at the complex called the Bluffs just as the coroner was preparing to leave. The apartment building was in terrible shape—looking to me like it was on the verge of being condemned. On the ground floor, corner apartment, yellow tape had been strung across the open front door.

Ronan stared blankly as a gurney with a body shrouded in white was loaded into a van. My hand slipped into his and he held on tight as we approached the coroner.

“Hey,” Ronan said. “I’m here for Nelson Wentz.”

“Are you next of kin?”

“I’m his nephew.”

“I’ll have some paperwork for you,” the guy said, peering at a clipboard through thick glasses.

“What happened?”

“Looks like cardiac arrest. Won’t know until the autopsy.”

I squeezed Ronan’s hand at the coroner’s cool, business-like tone. He had Ronan fill out his information, clearly eager to go. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Can I go in?”

“Suit yourself.”

Ronan turned to me. “You don’t have to…”

I held on tighter. “If you want some privacy, I’ll stay here. Otherwise, I told you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiled thinly, gratefully, and we went inside.

The place was a mess, with garbage and stacks of papers everywhere. Ronan had given me a pair of flannel sleep pants to wear before we left. I’d tied the drawstring tight and rolled up the legs, but they were in danger of falling down and dragging in the trash and refuse that littered the floor. The TV was on, the chair facing it draped with a sheet.

“The tenant said he was in that chair,” Ronan said dully. “He wasn’t well. I tried to ask him about it, but he brushed me off. I talked to him on the phone, but I haven’t seen him face to face in weeks. I should have. I should have checked in more. Made sure he was okay.”

“Don’t think like that,” I said softly. “I’m sure there was nothing you could have done.”

“Maybe not. But what if there was?”

I had nothing to say to that.

Ronan took a last look at the apartment, then shut the TV off and went out. He strode into the parking lot alone and stood with his back to me, hands on his hips. I gave him a minute and then slowly approached.

“Ronan?”

“He was an asshole,” he said, his voice tight. “My dad’s brother. Looked like him too. He was terrible to his tenants and tried to teach me to be just as bad. A real prick.” He shook his head, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Yeah, he was a real prick. But he was my uncle.” Tears stood out in Ronan’s eyes now, turning them molten silver. “He was all I had.”