Chapter 5 Shiloh #2
He didn’t seem to know what to do with that. He set the rake aside and sat down reluctantly, stiffly. I sat beside him and gently peeled off the dinky Band-Aids.
“So what happened?”
“Some shit went down at the party.”
“To put it mildly.” I scooted my chair closer to his and upended the bottle of rubbing alcohol, soaking a cotton ball. “Violet said you got in a knife fight.”
“No knife. Frankie Dowd took a swipe at me with a broken bottle.”
“How did it start?” I shot him a smirk. “Did you insult his ride?”
He almost smiled. Almost. “He was being a dick to Miller. Again.”
I laid one hand on Ronan’s forearm and gently dabbed his wound, trying not to notice the striations of muscle moving under his skin.
“I hope you didn’t kill him,” I said, and he winced. From the sting of the alcohol, I guessed.
“No,” he said in a low voice. “Holden caused a diversion.”
“Holden the billionaire?”
“Holden the crazy motherfucker,” he said, but the affection in his voice was obvious.
“The Lost Boys,” I said, wiping away dried blood. “That’s what Evelyn Gonzalez is calling the three of you.”
Ronan didn’t comment, but I thought he didn’t mind the name so much. He was quiet for a minute, then said, “I looked for you.”
My hands on his skin jumped, and my cheeks heated in an actual blush.
He looked for me?
“I…I didn’t go. I can’t drink, and that’s pretty much the main point of a rager.”
“Why can’t you drink?”
“I have some weird allergy to alcohol,” I said. “Even a sip of beer can make me drunk as hell and instantly hungover.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“Those kinds of parties aren’t my scene anyway.”
But he looked for me.
I gave my head a shake and focused on the work, not those words or how his low voice sounded when he said them.
“Same. I was there for Miller.”
I’d finished cleaning the cut and took up the antibiotic ointment. Ronan watched me smear the greasy stuff on his wound, though he was capable of doing it himself. And we both knew it.
“I’m beginning to think I should’ve been there for Violet.”
“Yeah?”
“We’ve been BFFs since we were kids. But I don’t know. She seems to be doing okay with Evelyn.”
“She and Miller—”
“Are complicated.” I opened the gauze and moved Ronan’s arm closer to me on the table. “But we shouldn’t talk about it behind their backs. They need to figure it out themselves.”
“He’s in love with her,” Ronan said.
My head snapped up at the softness in his rough voice.
His gray eyes met mine, and he shrugged. “He is.”
I quickly averted my gaze to concentrate on my work. “I know. And she loves him too. But she has her reasons for keeping things as they are. To keep herself safe. I can appreciate that.”
“Why?”
I raised a brow. “Are you always this direct?”
He shrugged. “Not a fan of bullshit.”
“Neither am I, actually.”
“So?”
“So I can appreciate Violet’s caution, because I don’t want to get involved with anything or anyone that distracts me from my goals either,” I said. A declaration of independence that needed to be said in Ronan’s presence.
“Your goal is the jewelry,” he said.
I nodded. “I’m going to open my own business. Which isn’t easy for a woman and even less so for a woman of color. So I work really hard, not just to make it happen for myself but to prove to everyone I can do it.”
Mama’s face rose up in a curl of smoke, but I waved it away.
“Anyway,” I said, laying strips of tape on the gauze to hold it in place. “I feel for Miller, but I get where Violet is coming from.” I glanced up at Ronan to find him staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “You don’t agree?”
He shrugged.
“So you’re a romantic?”
“No,” he stated flatly. “I don’t like to see him suffer.”
“Ah, a big softy then.”
“I’m not that either.”
I set the tape down and looked him in the eye. “What are you?”
I needed to know. The pragmatic side of me needed to know what in the hell it was about Ronan Wentz that was messing with my head.
Sex appeal was the easy answer, but there was more to him than that.
He was radioactive, his presence rearranging my atoms, turning me into someone I didn’t recognize.
Someone who got flustered, unsettled, who blushed, for God’s sake.
“I’m nothing,” he said.
“No one is nothing.”
“I was eight when my parents died. I was shuffled around foster homes for ten years before my uncle showed up. Been trying to figure out a lot of shit ever since.”
“Ten years in foster care?”
He nodded.
“God, I can’t imagine it,” I said. He stiffened, and I could see he didn’t want to imagine it either. “But I know what you mean. A little. My mother…” I waved a hand. “Never mind.”
He didn’t say a word but watched me, the message clear in his eyes. You can tell me.
“I was just going to say that Violet’s parents were best friends, and now their marriage is falling apart. She’s never seen a healthy relationship. And neither has Miller. And neither have I.”
“Same,” Ronan said.
“So you’re not nothing,” I said. “We’re all just…I don’t know, refugees of broken marriages.”
“Broken,” he said, a slight curl to his lips. “Yeah, you could say that.”
I raised my eyes to his. Talking to Ronan felt like tugging a thread—pull too hard and it would snap. Against my better judgment, I wanted more of him. I wanted to know he’d had something good at least once.
“Did you ever see your parents happy?” I asked gently. “Before they died?”
His arm under my hand stiffened, and his gray eyes went hard and flat again.
“No. Never.”
“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.” I glanced at his arm, freshly bandaged. “And my work here is done.”
But he didn’t move, and neither did I. Both of us watched my hands that were still touching him. Without thinking, I turned his arm over, revealing the tattoo of one hand stabbing another with a dagger.
“Hands remember,” I said. “What does it mean?”
“It’s part of a quote,” he said. “Hands remember what the mind forgets. It means shit happens, and we want to forget it. Move on. But we can’t. It burrows into our damn cells. Our blood.”
I was still holding his arm. “What kind of shit?”
What happened to your parents, Ronan?
Our eyes met, and I lost a few seconds in the depths of his gaze that weren’t flat and hard now but miles deep and cloudy with memories. The kind that stabbed like a dagger.
Ronan’s large body seemed to sink deeper into my touch without moving. His eyes cleared and became intent on me, roaming over my face, my chin, my mouth…
Then he blinked like a man coming out of a trance. The thread snapped. He snatched his arm from me and stood up. “Never mind.”
I sat, slightly shell-shocked, as he picked up the rake and scraped it over the ground that was already clear.
“I shouldn’t have come,” he said after a minute, his back to me.
“Why?” I said, striving for casual as I gathered the first aid supplies.
“I can’t do anything else until the building materials get here.”
“How long will it take once you have them?”
“A few days.”
A few days and he’s done.
“They’re due to arrive tomorrow morning.”
“Then I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Sure,” I said just as stiffly. “Whatever.”
A crash sounded from inside. Ronan whirled around, and we glanced at each other, wide-eyed. He tossed the rake to the ground, and the supplies fell out of my hand as we both rushed into the house.
“Bibi?” I cried, my heart in my throat.
“Here, dear. Darn my butterfingers.”
Bibi was holding hard to the kitchen counter. At her feet, the ceramic teapot lay in shards.
I rushed to her. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“I’m fine,” she said, smiling weakly. “It’s silly. Just got a little dizzy.”
“Come sit down.” I gently put my arms around her, shooting Ronan a panicked look. His mouth was a grim line of worry.
“It’s nothing, I promise,” Bibi said as I led her to the couch. “When you’re my age, things break down, dear. My eyes aren’t what they used to be. I misjudged the distance to the counter, and the teapot fell.” She shook her head. “A shame. I loved that teapot.”
“You said you were dizzy.”
“I’m eighty years old! It happens.”
I exchanged another glance with Ronan.
“Where’s the broom?” he asked, the solidity of his presence helping to calm me.
“Back of the kitchen door.”
Bibi frowned. “Ronan is here? Oh my, I’m afraid I’m even more embarrassed. I didn’t see you there, darling.”
“It’s fine,” Ronan said and went to fetch the broom.
Bibi leaned into me. “He’s a good boy, isn’t he?”
He’s stubborn and frustrating.
“Yes,” I said. “He’s a good guy.”
He returned a few minutes later. “You’re set. Do you need anything else?”
“Not a thing.”
“Then I’ll go. I was telling Shiloh there’s no work for me to do until the supplies get here.”
“Understandable,” Bibi said. “But I made a fresh batch of cookies, and this time, I insist that you take a few.”
“Ms. Barrera—”
“I insist.”
I arched a brow at Ronan. “She insists.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, and I grinned. The tension between us loosened.
“There are paper bags by the toaster,” Bibi called as he went back to the kitchen. “Fill one up. Or two. You’re a big man. You need your energy.”
“Bibi,” I hissed, my cheeks enflamed.
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
Ronan returned holding a bag that couldn’t have had more than a few cookies in it. “Thanks for these. You going to be okay?”
“Are you addressing me?” Bibi said. “My goodness, what an angel. I’m fine.”
Ronan shifted his gaze to me, same question.
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Goodbye, darling.”
Ronan made a sound that might’ve been goodbye, then turned and went out.
“He didn’t take many cookies, did he?” Bibi sighed when the front door shut. She shook her head. “I’ve seen his type before.”
“His type?”
Please tell me his type. Tell me what to think about Ronan Wentz.
“He’s the type who gives but hates to take.”
“Sounds about right.” I took Bibi’s hand in mine. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, baby girl.” She patted my cheek. “In fact, I’m famished. How about we order pizza?”
“Sounds good. And maybe a movie?”
“What about your work in the garage?”
“I’m taking the night off.”
I had Etsy orders to catch up on, but there was no way I was leaving Bibi alone for the rest of the night. Not for one damn second.
“My, my,” Bibi said. “I should have a little dizzy spell more often.”
“No, you should not,” I said, shivering. “You’re not allowed, ever again.”
“I’m getting up there, Shiloh. I don’t ever want to be a burden to you but—”
“You’re not,” I said fiercely. “You never will be. You took me in, Bibi. If anyone’s the burden, it’s me.”
“Never think that, Shiloh. Not ever. I’d do it a hundred times over.” Her tone softened. “But we don’t get to say how long we have, my dear. We can only make the most of the time we’re given. And I cherish every minute with you.”
Hot tears sprang to my eyes, but I blinked them back. “Me too, Bibi. Every minute.”
Bibi patted my cheek, then smiled brightly. “Now, how about some Madea?”
“Again?” I sniffed a laugh. “Which one?”
“The first one, of course.”
“You’ve seen it a hundred times.”
“Then it must be really good.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
As if I’d say no to her anyway.
I ordered pizza and curled up next to Bibi on the couch, my eyes straying from the movie to the door where Ronan had gone, taking his quiet strength with him.
As Bibi cackled at Tyler Perry’s antics, I tried not to think about the time when that laugh would be forever silent.
The pain would break me into a thousand pieces.
And I’d have no one to put me back together but me.