Now that I’d cried, it seemed the tears didn’t want to stop. “I love you. I love you so much.”
We fell into each other then, kissing with increasingly heated need. Last night receding with every touch of his skin on mine, with every kiss. I sank deep into his intense gaze—my reflection a shred of evidence that I wasn’t merely an ugly remnant of a terrible night. I was beautiful in Ronan’s eyes and his eyes never lied.
My self-worth didn’t live or die with Ronan, but that night as he held me, kissed and touched me; as he entered me with the heavy solidity of him, I took the first step to reclaiming myself. With his love, he gave me something I could believe in.
Quietly, Ronan brought me to release, a swell of pleasure against a tsunami of pain. I held him tight to me as he grunted against my neck, spilling his own release deep inside me, warming me from the inside out. Filling the emptiness in me with him and the essence of him.
After, he held me for a long time, lying on his back with his arm around me and my head on his shoulder. But his expression grew more and more grim, clouding his eyes.
“What are you thinking?” I asked, running my fingertip in the worry lines between his brows.
“I’m thinking about what you said earlier. Half of me is him.”
I nodded.
“I said something like that to you. About my dad. And you told me that I was nothing like him.”
I smiled sadly. “And you didn’t believe me.”
“No,” he said. “And I know you won’t believe me if I say the same about you.”
“It’s hard. Impossible, even.”
He nodded against my hair. “Yeah. But maybe…” He paused, and I felt him struggling to sort his thoughts, to say exactly what he meant. “We’re supposed to trust each other, right?”
“Yes.”
“So…maybe we need to do that now. Trust me when I tell you, Shiloh, that the last fucking thing you are is ugly. Or empty. Or…whatever you’re feeling about what your mom said. You’re still you. You’re fucking perfect.”
My eyes filled. “I’m not. I’m so far from perfect, Ronan…”
“You don’t get to decide that.” He glanced down at me gravely. “You have to trust me. And I’ll try to trust you too. That’s all we can do right? Trust and keep going.”
I nodded against his chest, and my eyes grew heavy. They burned from the tears that I’d finally let go, but it was purifying. The hollow feeling inside me was refilling, slowly, with determination to do what Ronan had said—trust and keep going.
I slept and when I woke it was to the rustle of Ronan putting on his clothes. I glanced at the clock that said it was a little after eleven.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.” He drew on his boots.
“Now? It’s late.”
“I have something to do.”
I sat up, drawing the sheet around me. “What? Where…?”
“I told you I’d fix things.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means what it means.”
The room was dark, and it was hard to see more than his eyes, glittering silver in the dim light.
“Ronan…”
He bent and kissed me hard. Then he left.
I stayed up for a long time, watching the minutes become hours. Only because I was still somehow exhausted, did I fall asleep. When I woke up at eight the next morning, Ronan wasn’t there.
He went to his place to rest or shower. That’s all.
Feeling like I’d been turned inside out and back again, I slowly got dressed in sweatpants and an old T-shirt—clothes I didn’t mind getting dirty. My mother’s revelation slammed into me several times as I went about my morning routine. Each time, my stomach churned, and I wanted to be sick all over again. I realized this was my life now. I’d carry this knowledge with me forever—the dirtiest of secrets no one could ever know. Not Amber, not Violet… God, Violet.
What could I say to her? How?
I understood now why Bibi, Bertie, and the rest of the family wanted to keep this from me. You can’t un-know something once it’s known. The shame would haunt me forever, and I’d spend the rest of my life looking in the faces of men on the street and wonder, Is that him?
I gave myself a shake and went to the kitchen, ready to do what I always did—focus on work to keep me sane.
Bibi was stirring a pot of grits. Eggs and bacon were on the stove, fresh coffee in the pot.
Thank God for Bibi.
I put my arms around her from behind. “I love you.”
“Oh, baby girl, I love you to pieces. And my old heart is bursting with joy to see you up.”
“I’m going to the shop.”
“Thatta girl. Eat first, please. You need to get your strength back.”
We filled our plates but despite my hunger, I picked at my food. “Have you seen Ronan this morning?”
“Not this morning.” She sipped her coffee. “Are you worried?”
“No, but something he said last night…” I waved a hand. “Nothing. I’ll call him after breakfast.”
We ate and I did the dishes. The last few nights had to have taken their toll on Bibi. She went to her room to take a nap, and I called Ronan’s number as I headed to the garage.
No answer.
I texted. Where are you?
I drove the Buick to Rare Earth. Still no reply. The message was marked unread.
I went to the back entrance and stopped. It was an entirely new door—heavy and industrial—with a new deadbolt lock.
“Ronan…” I murmured with a small smile, then realized I couldn’t unlock it. On a hunch, I checked my key ring, and there it was: a brand-new key I didn’t recognize. I tried it in the door, and the deadbolt clicked.
That man…
I went through the back room, mentally bracing myself for the damage up front. I still had some paint left over from the reno; I could spend the day cleaning up the glass, then repaint tomorrow. One step at a time…
My thoughts fell apart as I stepped into the main room. The glass was gone, as were all the smashed displays. A tarp was laid on the floor with a ladder and several buckets of paint. The room smelled of acrylic, and all the black streaks were gone. Ronan had repainted every wall, except one that was still in progress. The horrific damage from opening night was muting into a bad memory.
My hand went to my heart, and tears flooded my eyes and spilled over. I couldn’t stop them anymore and wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“Oh, baby…” I breathed. “Thank you.”
I retrieved my phone and called him again. It went to Ronan’s curt voicemail: Leave a message.
I hung up and texted, the good feeling in my stomach fading and turning into worry.
“He’s fine,” I muttered to the empty shop.
Because he has to be.
I set up the ladder and finished the wall Ronan had started. I was nearly done when a rapping came at the front door. I peered through glass and metal mesh gates to see a tall man in a suit. He waved what looked like a badge at me.
I climbed down on shaking limbs and unlocked the door for him.
“Yes?”
“Shiloh Barrera? I’m Detective Harris. I’m a friend of your grandmother’s.”