Chapter 16 Shiloh
Sixteen
Shiloh
Monday morning, I’d just made it to the parking lot at Central when my phone chimed a text from Amber Blake.
Did you see this???
A photo popped up of a white Jeep with the word RAPIST spray-painted in red along the entire length of the passenger side.
I climbed out of the Buick and hit Call. “Is that Mikey Grimaldi’s Jeep?”
“The brand-spanking-new Rubicon he got for his birthday last summer? It sure is,” Amber said, sounding breathless. “He was at the Burger Barn on Saturday night with Frankie Dowd and some people. They say he drove all over town like a dumbass before noticing. Must’ve happened while he was eating.”
“Holy shit.” I bit my lip. “For Kimberly.”
“Yep. Whoever did it is a hero in my book.”
Amber was waiting for me at the parking lot’s chain-link fence entrance to the school. She looked pretty in a long, flowered skirt, similar to the flowing white one I wore that day.
“Crazy, right?” she said as I joined her.
“Maybe something good will come out of it,” I said. “He might not go to jail or have his future tainted forever like hers is, but he didn’t get away with it either. That’s something.”
“Agreed,” Amber said. “I wonder who did it. Kimberly’s brother, maybe? No, he’s at NYU.”
The quad was bustling before first bell.
All three Lost Boys were headed to their usual spot along the short wall.
My gaze was stuck on Ronan, his long legs striding purposefully, inked arms striated with muscle.
He was dangerously beautiful in my eyes, and suddenly I knew Ronan had spray-painted Mikey’s car. I’d have bet my future shop on it.
I reached into my oversize embroidered bag for the necklace in the side pocket that I’d started all those weeks ago.
I’d finally finished it and had been carrying it around wherever I went, waiting for…
I didn’t know what. Ronan and I had agreed that it was best to go our separate ways, but something in me couldn’t let go.
Amber tucked a lock of her long blond hair behind her ear with a sigh, and I realized she was staring at a different Lost Boy.
“How are things with Miller?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“Terrible. As usual. Don’t know why I stay. Don’t know why he does.”
Because he’s trying to do the right thing.
I had a hand in that when I told Miller not to treat Amber as if she were disposable, and I stood by it. But I hadn’t expected the dummy to stick with her for months.
Amber led me behind the flagpole in the center of the quad. “Watch this.” She tapped out a text.
Are we hanging out today or not??
Miller slowed his steps, peered at his phone, and visibly sighed. He did not reply.
“See?”
I didn’t know how to comfort her without the truth—and my loyalty to Violet—bursting out. I needed a change of subject. Clusters of kids were huddled together, all of them watching the Lost Boys and whispering.
“God, this place is a gossip mill today,” I said.
Amber made a sour face. “Evelyn Gonzalez put Miller on her vlog, and it’s going viral.”
“No shit?”
She nodded. “I keep waiting for him to sing to me, but he never does. He’s a jerk.”
This has gone on long enough. And not just the mess with Miller and Amber.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Ronan and didn’t want to.
These last months had been like suffering through a forced diet.
I was starving for him. To be touched, kissed, to have those gray eyes darken with want for me.
But why? I was strong. I could protect myself.
Back in Louisiana, Jalen and I’d had no problems keeping it casual. Why couldn’t Ronan and I do the same?
I caught up to Miller at the start of the lunch hour. He was sitting on a large rock near the lunch tables, giving himself an insulin shot in the upper arm. With his beanie and plaid flannel tied around his waist, he was the perfect image of a rock star in the making.
If Shawn Mendes and Dave Grohl had a love child.
“Hey, Mr. Famous.”
“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, but I didn’t miss the glint of hope flashing in his eyes. “What’s up?”
“Ronan mentioned his birthday was this month.”
“It was on the twentieth.”
“Shit.” I’d missed it by a week.
“Why?” Miller put his kit away and reached for a brown paper sack lunch.
“Nothing. I have something for him. It’s no big deal. At all.”
He smiled, a rare sight. “Yeah? I didn’t realize you two even knew each other.”
“Your friend isn’t exactly the super-chatty type. We have history together.”
Miller nodded, his smile not going anywhere. “Well, if you want to find him, he spends most lunchtimes in woodshop.”
“What for?”
“Beats me. Why don’t you go and see?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get cute, Stratton.”
He laughed, and I started to go.
“Shiloh?”
I turned. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for thinking of him.”
Oh, the irony. I couldn’t stop.
***
The industrial arts building—or woodshop—was a huge shed on the east side of the campus next to the gym. It was crammed with tools along the walls and workstations, some with table saws embedded in them. The gardeners stored the riding mowers there too; the place smelled green and woodsy.
I found Ronan alone in the far left corner, bent over a worktable. The whack of a hammer reverberated in my chest, my heart pounding to keep time. He was working on a small cabinet of shelves made from stacks of spare wood leaning against the walls.
It was a little bit scary how happy I was to see him.
When there was a lull in the hammering, I cleared my throat. Ronan turned, his eyes widening to see me by the light of the industrial fluorescent bars running along the ceiling. He glanced around quickly.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you too,” I said, my confidence slipping. I trailed a finger along the side of the cabinet. “Is this a woodshop assignment? Impressive.”
Ronan’s craftsmanship was amazing. Smooth lines, even shelves. Simple but sturdy.
“Not an assignment,” he said. “It’s for a tenant in the building I—in my building. My uncle’s the manager. I help him out sometimes.”
“You use your free time to make stuff for your neighbors?”
“They need it,” he said with a shrug. “Nelson…my uncle, doesn’t always want to spring for repairs.”
My eyebrows rose. “Doesn’t surprise me, actually. You, doing good things—kind things—for others. Like Kimberly Mason.” I cocked my head. “It was you, wasn’t it? Grimaldi’s Jeep?”
He was a split second too late denying it. “No.”
“It was you. I know it was you.”
“Doesn’t change what happened to her.” His mouth was a grim line. “I was too late.”
I shook my head. “It helps to know that he didn’t get away with it. Maybe he’ll think before he tries shit like that again.”
“He’d fucking better.”
“Thank you for doing that. For Kimberly. For womankind too, but especially for her.”
The space between us warmed, grew smaller.
I didn’t know if he moved closer to me or me to him, but I was standing in front of him now, close enough to smell his clean scent, mixed faintly with sweat and wood.
The bottom of his owl tattoo showed from under the short sleeve of his black T-shirt.
A part of me wondered if Ronan had more tattoos on his body I couldn’t see. And if I’d ever find out.
Somehow, my hand was on his forearm. I ran my fingertips along the sleeve of ink, over the face of the clock. “What does this mean?”
“It’s for my mom. They’re all for her.”
I nodded, tracing the flowers surrounding the clock.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice gruff, watching me.
“I don’t know. I just…miss you.” I gave my head a shake. “I’ve said that before. I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now. Missing you.”
He nodded. So close to me, I could feel the warmth of his skin.
“So I’ve been thinking,” I began, marveling at how steady my voice sounded. “About what we said that night Bibi went into the hospital. You said it’s safer to walk away.”
“That’s right. It’s better for you, Shiloh. Trust me.”
“I’ve thought a lot of things were better for me, and they weren’t.” I tilted my head up to him; he was so tall, I barely brushed his chin. “There’s something happening here, right? An attraction?”
“Yeah,” he said roughly.
“But neither of us do relationships, right? So let’s…not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s just keep it casual.”
“Casual.”
I glanced down at my hand that looked small and delicate on the muscles of his forearm, dark with ink.
“I don’t trust myself to be in charge of someone else’s heart.
I’m not doing a bang-up job with my own, to be honest. So let’s skip the part where we get tangled up in feelings and just… see what happens.”
He swallowed, and I could see him thinking over my indecent proposal. His gray eyes were lidded, his body looming over me, ready to give in.
Then he shook his head. “I don’t want you to get pulled into my shit, Shiloh. Not now. Not ever.”
My stomach dropped. I’d gotten it all wrong. He’d meant what he said about walking away, and here I was, bartering for a little piece of him. Any scrap he’d toss me. Heat rushed through me—the burn of humiliation.
I snatched my hand away.
“Never mind. Forget I said anything. I gotta go.”
Ronan’s hand closed on my arm, gently but firmly.
“Shiloh.” The intensity and gravity of his voice pulled me back to him almost as much as his grip.
“I want what you want.” His hand came up, brushing fingertips over my face, tracing my lips.
Then he shook his head like a man coming out of a trance.
“But it’s not safe. If Grimaldi knows it was me who tagged his car, shit could get ugly. ”
“For who? Me?”
“Maybe.”
“Did he see you?”
“Not sure. But I’m not taking any chances.”
The protective undertone to his words was unmistakable, sending shivers over my skin. I smiled weakly. “You’re like a superhero, worried that his enemies will hurt him by getting to those he cares about.”
“Something like that.”