The Last Piece of His Heart (Lost Boys 3)

He inhaled a breath and sighed it out. “I love you.”

The words were spoken so softly, I thought I misheard. But my heart heard them plain as day—seized them and drew them in where they sank in deep. It felt fuller than it’d ever felt. As if my chest couldn’t contain it.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Ronan said, eyes still closed, voice drifting. “I don’t expect…anything. I just wanted you to know that.”

I swallowed hard. Disbelieving. Within moments, he was asleep, his breathing even. And I still couldn’t move.

He’s delirious and exhausted. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

Except Ronan never said anything he didn’t mean. Never wasted a word. But before I could process it or what those words were doing to my insides, to my heart, the nightmares were already coming for him.

His shoulders twitched and his brow furrowed. “No…” he breathed. “No, don’t…”

I held him tighter and put my mouth to his ear. I had no idea what to say but let the words come.

“Ronan, listen to me. I’m here. I’m right here. Listen to my voice. Come with me. Come away with me…”

His body relaxed, and his face smoothed of tension. I eased a breath, relief so great that he might have a peaceful sleep after so long without.

But it took all night.

Again and again, he jerked and writhed, calling out for someone to stop. For someone else to stay. Each time, I talked him down, soothed him, ran my fingers through is hair. Once, I had to wake him before the screams came. He jerked awake, his breath coming hard, not knowing where he was.

I reassured him, held him, and he slept again. And sometime late in the night, he went under deep, and the nightmares stayed away. I stayed awake, never ceasing my vigil until dawn’s light began to creep in my window. I knew then, he was okay. He’d made it.

I curled into him and slept too.

My alarm went off for school. I silenced it and heard Bibi bustling around in the kitchen. Ronan hardly stirred. I slipped out of bed quietly so as not to wake him and went to find her.

“Bibi…”

She turned in her house dress, the pot of coffee burbling beside her, her face soft but drawn with concern. “Oh, honey…”

I rushed into her arms and let her hold me, the fear and horror of last night shuddering through me.

“I thought I heard something last night. Tell me.”

“Ronan,” I said, pulling away before I fell apart completely. “Someone hurt him. Badly. He’s in my room. I tried to help him, but his ribs are cracked, and he doesn’t want to go to the hospital. He’ll hate that I’m telling you. He doesn’t want anyone worrying about him.”

“That’s too bad for him. He’s part of this house now, whether he likes it or not.” She patted my cheek, squinting at me. “You’re tired, honey. Go back to him. I’ll let the school know you’re not coming. Him too. When he’s ready, we’ll get some food in him and hear the story.” She chuckled softly. “I dated a rabble-rouser once too. Always getting himself into all kinds of fixes…”

I hugged her again, feeling as if the reinforcements had arrived, and then climbed back into bed with Ronan.

An hour or so later, I woke to him stirring. He blinked open his eyes—his left eye already much less swollen—and glanced over at me. If he remembered what he’d said last night, he didn’t show it.

Because it wasn’t real. He was half-asleep.

“Hey,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” He frowned. “But the nightmares… Did I…?”

“No. You got some sleep. Which you desperately needed.”

His brows furrowed. “You stayed up all night?”

“I told you I would.”