“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 sprung 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.
Chapter Six
Saturday afternoon, Miller and I lugged a tall wingback chair from the parking lot nearest the path to the beach, all the way to the Shack, hauling it over boulders and sweating under a relentless sun.
His Lordship directed and guided us along, not breaking a sweat. Once there, Holden wedged the chair inside the little cabin and flounced into it, grinning at us.
“Perfect, right?”
Not remotely. It was too fucking big, for one thing, but since we’d brought Holden to the Shack last week, he’d wasted no time filling it with upgrades. Like a mini fridge and a generator to run it. The fridge stored my beer and Holden’s vodka, but I knew he’d bought it for Miller’s snacks and juices to keep his blood sugars even.
Holden had also brought a trunk big enough to store Miller’s guitar so he wouldn’t have to haul it around wherever he went.
What was a chair to that?
Miller smiled gratefully at Holden, likely the same thoughts running through his mind. “The chair’s not so bad.” He shouldered his backpack for his job at the arcade down at the Boardwalk. “I’m off at ten.”
“We’ll meet you,” Holden said, and I nodded.
Most nights, the three of us walked the Boardwalk, getting stares and whispers from Central High students. None of us gave a shit. Since the night of Chance’s party, Holden had become one of us, and now our weird circle felt complete.
That night, around the bonfire, he’d told us a little about his past. About some “wilderness camp” his parents had sent him to in Alaska when he was fifteen. Whatever the camp was, it had fucked him up. Hard. He’d spent a year in some fancy Swiss sanitarium to recover, but the effects stuck with him. Holden wore coats, scarves, and sweaters no matter the weather. As if whatever happened had been imbedded into him like a permanent frost.
I made sure to keep the bonfire high for him from then on.
That afternoon, he sat in one of the three beach chairs around the pit while I gathered wood.
“What about you?” he asked after Miller had gone. “Do you work?”
“I do odd jobs.”
“You’re a freelancer.”
“Sure.”
“And you live with your uncle?”
I didn’t look at him but concentrated on the fire.
“The reason I ask,” Holden continued, “is because I also used to live with my parents and now live with my aunt and uncle. We’re twinsies.”
I could’ve laughed. Holden was a billionaire, had an IQ pushing 150, and clothes that cost more than anything I’d ever owned in my entire life. We could not be more different…until I remembered him baring his chest to Frankie and daring him to stab him in the heart.
“Shit happened in Wisconsin,” I said. “I had to get out of there.”
Holden nodded, thinking, and raised the ever-present vodka flask to his mouth. The knuckles of his left hand were wrapped in white bandages. Automatically, my fingers went to the cut on my arm that Shiloh had cleaned up. She’d done a good job; it was healing fast. I hoped it’d leave a scar to remind me. Not where Frankie had cut me open but where Shiloh had put me back together.
“What’s that all about?” I asked, taking a seat and nodding at Holden’s hand.
“Oh, this?” He waggled his injured fingers. “Or are you wondering why today is a vodka day?”
“Seems like every day is a vodka day.” Along with the cold that wracked Holden in seventy-five-degree heat, he also seemed to have a pretty solid drinking problem.
“Today’s been extra special.” He glanced at me, unsure. “You want to hear this?”
“If you want to tell it.”
He looked to the ocean that crashed on shore a good twenty yards from us. “Alcohol keeps me warm because Alaska stole something from me. It stole something and left me with nightmares—memories—to remind me I’ll never get it back.”
“The camp?”
He nodded. “It fucked me up, and I wasn’t entirely solid to begin with. There were seven of us. It broke us down until we were nearly dead. Or wanted to die.”
I listened, my jaw tight.
“Anyway, that’s why most days are vodka days. And why I sometimes put my fist through bathroom mirrors.” He coughed. “Or why I dare people to stab me in the chest at parties.”
He glanced at me again, doubt in his eyes. The same doubt I’d had when I told Miller my story. As if Holden were afraid I’d kick him out of our group. I didn’t have the words to tell him that would never happen.
But I could give him something back.
“I don’t live with my parents because they’re dead.”
Holden had started to sip from his flask. His hand dropped into his lap. “What happened?”
I told him. He listened, hardly moving, though I kept the details to a minimum.
“I was pretty messed up,” I said, watching the fire. “I had to repeat fourth grade and did ten years in foster care. Eventually, social services tracked down my dad’s brother. That’s how I ended up here.”
Holden was quiet for a minute then said, “I’m so sorry about your mother, Ronan.”