The Last Piece of His Heart (Lost Boys 3)

“Ronan,” Eleanor said, handing him one of the boxes. “If you will take your bride’s ring.”

My heart pounded as he opened it, and inside lay the silver-gold ring with our birthstones, glinting up at me in the brilliant sun.

I stared. “You…? You made that order?”

He nodded, taking the band from the box. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “This one helped.”

Grinning proudly, Holden twiddled his fingers at me, and then I knew why the Parisian order had felt familiar.

I shook my head, marveling, as Ronan leaned in. “Is it tacky that you made your own ring?” he whispered. “I just couldn’t imagine giving the job to anyone else. But…I designed it. If that counts for anything.”

“You designed it,” I whispered back. “That counts for everything.”

We locked eyes, and I nearly kissed him before it was time. Eleanor cleared her throat; we were holding up our own wedding.

We straightened, and Ronan took my hand and repeated the words, With this ring, I thee wed, then slipped the ring over my finger. It fit so perfectly; I couldn’t imagine how I’d lived twenty-two years without it.

Then it was my turn to reveal the ring I’d made for Ronan—a wide band of hammered black gold with a vein of

twenty-four karat-gold gleaming down the middle. To me, it represented the heart of gold that beat inside the chest of the man standing across from me, whose love and goodness shone brightly, even through the darkest of nights.

I opened the box, and Ronan’s jaw tightened again. He shook his head at me. “It’s perfect,” he whispered. “It’s…”

His thought trailed, and I was glad when Eleanor had me recite the words to Ronan so that he could recover.

“By the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Eleanor turned to Ronan. “You may kiss your bride.”

Ronan took my face in both hands, his eyes meeting mine for a split second—speaking volumes—before he leaned in to kiss me, the crowd erupting in sniffles and cheers.

“I love you,” he whispered against my lips. “God, Shiloh…”

“I love you,” I whispered back. “I love us.”

I felt a tug at my dress. August was there, reaching for us. Ronan scooped him up, and the three of us walked down the aisle together. My husband carrying our son—pieces of my heart existing outside of my body, and yet I’d never felt more whole.

III

One year later…

Behind closed eyes, I heard the shuffle of footsteps, heavy ones, against the noise of the street traffic. The damn headache pills had put me to sleep again, and the hard concrete made my ass numb. Someone was close. Without opening my eyes, I shook the plastic Big Gulp cup. The rattle of coins sounded lighter than they had earlier that morning. Someone had probably ripped me off. I almost cared.

“Spare change?” I muttered, giving the cup another shake. Fuck, something stunk. Then I realized it was me.

“Hey,” said a deep voice. One I recognized. A sliver of fear slid down my back and I came wide awake.

Ronan Wentz was crouched on his heels in front of me, the busy downtown streets behind him. He looked good. His jeans were paint splattered, but they looked new. Like his work boots. His T-shirt read Wentz & Morales, Contractors. The shirt was tight around his huge fucking arms—arms strong enough to punch through glass and haul a guy out of his car window.

“What do you want, Wentz?” I muttered, sitting up. My stomach growled loudly. I was used to it, hunger was a part of life now, like my limp or the way my eyelid drooped. But Ronan frowned and stood up.

“Come with me,” he said.

I snorted. “I got nowhere to go. No place to be.”

Nothing to eat. Nowhere to live. Nothing. I have nothing…

Ronan rubbed his hand over his jaw. Behind him, I could see the sign for Rare Earth Jewelry. Of all the places in downtown Santa Cruz to sit and panhandle, near Shiloh’s shop was my favorite. Not so close that she could see me but close enough that I could watch the steady stream of customers come in and out, most leaving with little white bags with gold writing on the front. Knowing her store had survived was the only thing I had going for me.

And it wasn’t fucking much.