“Sweet ride,” Ronan deadpanned. “What is it? An ’82?”
“It’s an ’84, if you must know, and still going.”
“Pretty sure I was walking faster.”
A shocked laugh burst out of me. It didn’t seem possible that Ronan Wentz had a sense of humor, but there we were.
“Did you just diss my vehicle?”
“Yes.”
I shot him a stern look, trying not to laugh. “You’ll have to take up your complaints with Bibi. This sweet ride is hers, technically, though she’s not allowed to drive it anymore.”
“Because it belongs in a museum?”
“Hilarious. You didn’t have to accept a ride if my boat is so offensive to your automotive sensibilities.”
“Yeah, I did. So Bibi doesn’t think you’re an asshole.”
“So you did it out of pity.”
“There’s nothing pitiful about you.”
Ronan stiffened as if the words had escaped him without thinking. A sudden tenseness filled the car, killing the light mood, even as a warm glow bloomed in my chest against my will.
I quickly put my eyes back on the road, but a maroon slash of dried blood on the top of Ronan’s left forearm caught my eye. The cut was nearly six inches long and curved like a hook. Two Band-Aids were laid clumsily over it, like bridges over a thin red river.
He’s hurt…
I gave myself a mental shake for being so soft. It was probably just the Type A personality in me demanding I take care of him.
It. Take care of it. Not him.
“I heard the party got a little crazy on Saturday,” I said.
“You could say that.”
I nodded at the cut. “Is that a souvenir?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing. And it’s getting red around—”
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Forget it.”
I expected my hackles to rise, but the aura of loneliness I’d noticed the first time we met lurked beneath his rough tone. Like he wasn’t used to people giving a shit.
I let it go and pulled into my drive. We entered the kitchen from the garage, Ronan behind me.
“Bibi, we’re home. I mean…I’m home. With Ronan.”
God, girl…
No answer. I crept down the hall and saw Bibi’s bedroom door was closed, which meant she was taking a nap. By the time I came back to the living room, Ronan was already in the backyard raking a smooth space where he’d torn up all the weeds.
I needed to get my ass to work too and focus on what mattered—my eventual business. But Ronan’s raking was kicking up dust and dirt, and my eyes couldn’t stay off that cut on his arm with its smears of dried blood and its sad little Band-Aids.
“The big dummy didn’t even clean it properly,” I murmured.
Without letting my old guards and protections talk me out of it, I grabbed rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, gauze, medical tape, and antibiotic ointment from my bathroom. In the yard, I dumped the supplies on the patio table.
Ronan stopped and narrowed his eyes at me. “What’s all that for?”
“Your cut’s getting infected.”
“You don’t have to, Shiloh,” he said in a low voice.
“I don’t have to, but why wouldn’t I?”
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?”