“The bruises on his fists…” I said, almost to myself.
Frankie nodded. “That crazy fucker…” He cleared his throat at my sharp glance. “Sorry. But he actually pulled me out of the car through the broken window.”
“Holy shit,” I murmured, envisioning it all perfectly: Ronan—deadly calm and quiet—taking care of business. To protect me and my shop.
I’ll handle it, he’d said.
A shiver ran down my spine, and I had to refocus on Frankie, who was looking at me through remorseful eyes.
“Ronan knew it was me who trashed your place. I’m sorry for that, Shiloh. My dad…he told me to do it. And I admit, I was happy to, at first. Things were so bad at home, I needed to break shit. But after it was done, I was sorry.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why would he tell you to do that?”
“Dad wanted revenge on Ronan for getting kicked off the force. When he got an idea that you were an enemy, that was it. He wouldn’t let it go.” He shifted in his seat and glanced down, his voice low. “I was the one who told him you two were together. How hurting you was the best way to get to him. The plan was to keep hitting your store. Throw a rock or tag it. Constantly. Just wear you down until it closed.”
My stomach clenched. “Go on. Or go back. What happened when Ronan got you out of the car?”
“He slammed me against it and told me to leave you alone,” he said. “He told me that his life meant nothing, that he wasn’t afraid of me or my dad. He said he’d do whatever it took to keep you safe.”
Oh, baby…
“Then what?”
Frankie looked away. “I pissed my pants.”
“You what?”
“Ronan wasn’t fucking around. I could see it in his eyes.” He smiled a little. “And did I mention he’d just yanked me out of a car window he’d smashed with his fists? I got the message loud and clear, and I didn’t want to go along with Dad’s plan anyway. Ronan made me swear to him I’d leave you alone, and I did.”
“And then?” I asked, breath held.
“He let me go.”
“He just…let you go?”
Frankie nodded. “He walked away, and I went home.”
The implications of what Frankie was telling me were starting to seep in.
Ronan’s innocent…
In my deepest heart, I knew that, but not having a reason for his bruised knuckles or Frankie’s injuries always lingered at the edge of my thoughts, whispering doubt. Hearing the truth out loud brought hot tears to my eyes. Ronan had fought so hard to not be the monster his father was. But he ended up in prison anyway, suffering the same fate, the same public perception—that he was a criminal.
He was never a criminal. Never.
“I tried to sneak past my dad on the couch, but he caught me,” Frankie was saying. “He saw I’d pissed myself and…” He hunched his shoulders. “Dad hated cowards more than anything. Said it was the worst thing a person could be and something his son could never be. He called me names and asked me what happened. I told him that I was done messing with your shop. I remember that first punch, and that’s about it. I woke up in the hospital.”
“Jesus.”
“When I came to, Dad was there. He looked a little bit scared about what he’d done to me. Then Mikey visited me in the hospital. They came up with a story to pin it on Ronan.”
“Mikey Grimaldi?”
Frankie nodded. “Because Ronan spray-painted that word on his car. Mikey wanted revenge too, even though he really did…do what he did to Kimberly. So he lied for my dad.”
The ramifications were filling me up, lighting me up from the inside, erasing my bone-weary exhaustion and filling me with hope. And anger. Years’ worth of anger, pain, longing. Missing Ronan with every breath…
“Frankie, Ronan has served three years in prison for the lies you told. Three years. He won’t speak to me. He’s cut me off because he thinks we’re better off without him.” My voice was shaking. “You ruined us.”
Frankie nodded. “I know, I’m sorry. I really am. But after I got out of the hospital, I was messed up. I can’t think so good and I get these headaches. I can’t hold a job so I had to live at home. Once Ronan was put away, Dad’s temper got worse. Like he had nothing to fight against anymore except me.” He picked at the tablecloth. “I wanted to come clean so many times. But I was too scared of him to say anything. But he’s gone now and I’m ready to talk. To get Ronan out. I know that’s a chickenshit way to do it and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Shiloh. For everything.”
I stared, the full weight of his story sinking in. I wanted to grab Frankie by the collar and drag him to the police station, but he was fiddling with his spoon as if waiting for my permission to eat.
“Finish your food and then we go to the authorities, okay?”
He smiled gratefully and dug in. I couldn’t stand the thought of Ronan being in prison for one more minute, but Frankie wolfed down his sandwich and drained his soup bowl, and we went outside to call an Uber—I wouldn’t have him in my car alone.
We waited in the bright April sun for our ride to arrive. Any minute, I expected Frankie’s cackling laugh that said I’d fallen for his sick joke. Then I took a closer look at his drooping eyelid and shuffling gait and knew he was telling the truth.
At the station, I was directed to the Investigations Division where I asked to speak to Detective Harris.
The detective’s eyes widened as he walked up. “Hello, Shiloh…and Frankie Dowd.”
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” I asked.
Harris stared at Frankie as if he’d seen a ghost. “Sure.”
He led us to a small room—white walls, a table with a chair on either side, and a two-sided mirror. I wondered if Ronan had been questioned in this room before he was arrested for the crime he didn’t commit.
Frankie sank into one of the chairs; Harris took the other. I remained standing like a guard in case he decided to bolt. “Tell him what you told me.”
Frankie took a breath and told Harris everything. The detective’s face remained impassive as he listened, but his eyes widened more than once.
“You’re willing to put this in writing, Frankie? Because making false allegations—especially allegations that lead to a wrongful conviction—is a serious crime. You could do real time.”
Frankie shrugged his skinny shoulders. “I’ll have a roof over my head, anyway.”
Harris studied him a moment, and I held my breath, but Frankie didn’t back down.
“Okay. I’ll make some calls. Frankie, stay put for a bit—I’ll have a few more questions for you. Shiloh?” Harris motioned for me to step outside with him.
“When?” I blurted when he shut the door. “When will Ronan get out? Because this changes everything, right? He’s innocent. He’s always been innocent.”
Harris held up a hand. “It’s a process. There will be a hearing before a judge. Frankie has to make an affidavit and I’ll have to haul Mikey Grimaldi in for making a false police report. He might put up a fight. But Frankie’s willing to risk jailtime by coming forward. If he recants and says Ronan didn’t do it, that holds a lot of weight—more, now that we have the full history between Mitch and Ronan.”