I waited to see if Miller would buy it.
Holden had confessed to me that he’d been responsible for River Whitmore ditching Violet at Homecoming. “I ran interference,” he’d said. I could only guess what that meant, but it was clear that River was the guy Holden had told me about earlier. Neither one of us kept shit from Miller, but the situation with Violet was messed up enough already. No need to add Holden into the mix.
Miller was nodding heavily, his thoughts full of Violet. As usual. He didn’t believe it, but they’d make their way to each other, eventually. I’d heard him sing to her at the party and I’d seen her reaction. He poured himself into that song and she’d felt every word.
Because he has something to offer.
Jealousy stabbed me in the gut; the same old hunger. I pushed it down, buried it deep where it couldn’t hurt Shiloh.
It wasn’t much but it was all I had.
That afternoon, I did a job for a guy who needed some shelves built for his garage. Turned out, I was getting pretty good at putting things together, doing something with my hands that was building instead of breaking.
At home, I fired up a frozen dinner, watched some TV, then took a shower. I was drying off when my phone rang. My phone never rang unless it was for a job or Nelson calling to bitch orders at me. The number was local but no one I recognized.
“Yeah?”
“Ronan, it’s Shiloh.” Her voice sounded breathy and tight. “I’m sorry… I got your number from Bibi’s papers, from when she hired you. I don’t know why but…you’re the first person I thought to call.”
I’d never heard her so undone. So scared.
Frankie fucked with her. Or Mitch. He got Mitch to harass her…
“Shiloh, what is it?”
“Bibi,” she said, swallowing down her panic. “God, Ronan, it’s Bibi.”
Chapter Fourteen
I paced the waiting room, hugging myself in my cardigan. Hospitals were always so cold. I remembered when I had my appendix out. Twelve years old and scared to death and shivering under a thin blanket before surgery. But Bibi was with me the whole time, holding my hand, stroking my hair, and telling me they were going to “fix me up, good as new.”
A sob rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down.
She’s going to be okay. She has to be.
I paced and gnawed my lip. A string was unraveling at the cuff of my sweater. I felt like I was unraveling too, waiting for the doctors to finish their tests. Helpless. No plan, no checklist to tick off that would get me through this.
Then Ronan strode through the door.
He didn’t stop at the front desk but came straight to me. I didn’t have to say anything; he enveloped me in the safety of his arms, and I closed my eyes and clung to him, letting him hold me up. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d shared a burden with anyone. Ronan took it wordlessly, and for a few precious moments, I stayed in the shelter of him; he smelled fresh from a shower and clean. Warm. His heartbeat in my ear was steady.
When I stepped back, the fear and anxiety swooped in, but I felt more like myself and ready to face whatever lay ahead. As if Ronan had leant me some of his strength.
“What happened?” he asked as we took a seat in the waiting area.
“We were watching a movie,” I said. “She seemed fine. But when she got up to go to the kitchen, she stumbled a little. I jumped up and tried to hold her steady, but she kept falling, slowly, slipping out of my grasp.” Tears gathered in the back of my throat. “She fainted or…collapsed. I don’t know. Her eyes were fluttering, and she was mumbling a lot. I called an ambulance and now I’m just waiting. God, the waiting…” I dragged my hands over my hair, my elbows on my knees. “If something happens to her…”
I closed my eyes, unwilling to think of a future without Bibi.
Not yet. Please. I’m not ready yet…
Ronan said nothing but when I looked up, his face was drawn with worry, his lips a thin line.
“I know why I called you first,” I said. “Because you care about her too. And because I was kind of falling apart and I knew you’d hold me together.”
“Shiloh…”
“I never do that. Let anyone help. Thank you for being here.”
He started to speak and then a tall doctor with dark hair and a kind face stepped in from the double doors. “Barrera?”
I shot to my feet…and so did Ronan.
The doctor strode forward in blue emergency room scrubs and a white coat. “I’m Dr. Fenton. I understand Bibi is your grandmother?”
“Great-grandmother. How is she?”
“She’s doing fine. Resting now.”
A sigh of relief miles deep gusted out of me and I tipped sideways into Ronan. His arm went around me, reassuring and strong.
“What happened?”
“She’s had an episode of hypotension or low blood pressure,” Dr. Fenton said. “We’ve run some tests and have ruled out any adrenal or heart valve issues. We’re going to recommend a change in diet and fludrocortisone to boost blood volume. Overall, she’s in good health, and I’m optimistic she won’t need further treatment. But we’ll want her to see someone in a few weeks and regularly after that just to be sure.”
I nodded, taking in every word, clutching tightly to optimistic and good health. “Whatever she needs. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.”
The doctor smiled. “Bibi speaks highly of you, Shiloh. She said you take excellent care of her.”
Not good enough. Tears threatened again but I willed them back. “Can I see her?”
“She’s stable now and sleeping. Better to let her rest and come back in the morning.”
“But she’s alone…”
“And sleeping,” Dr. Fenton said gently. “Which is what she needs.”
I nodded reluctantly. “Okay. Thank you. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
“How are you getting home?” Ronan asked.
“I drove. I followed the ambulance. They wouldn’t let me ride with her. God, that was the worst drive of my life. Not knowing…”
I shivered and his arm around me tightened and then let go.
We walked to the visitor parking. I fumbled my keys out of my bag with shaking fingers, and they dropped to the concrete. When I bent to get them, Ronan was there. His large hand closed over mine.
“I got it.”
I managed a smirk. “You think you can handle her?”
He didn’t tease or poke fun. “I got it,” he said again.
Everything about him was steady and solid. He walked me to the passenger side and opened my door, then went around and got behind the wheel. I sank into my seat, his competence and quiet capability putting me at ease. There’s something inherently masculine about a man behind the wheel that even in my exhausted, wrung-out state I appreciated. Ronan handled the Buick as if he’d driven it a hundred times, expertly maneuvering the huge car out of the parking lot.
At my house, he pulled into the garage and was at my side before I could even step out of the car. I wondered if I were about to throw every feminist sensibility out the window and let him carry me inside, caveman-style.