“She?”
“Or he. Or them. I can’t go back and be there for all of August’s firsts…”
“No, but you’ll be there for his everything else’s,” Shiloh said.
I nodded. “Like the day he becomes a big brother.”
Her eyes flooded and she leaned over to kiss me; I tasted the salt of her tears and her happiness.
“Okay,” she breathed. “I want that too. I want everything with you, Ronan. Everything this life has to give.” Her smile fell, and I knew her thoughts went to Bibi. “And what it will someday take away.”
“Someday,” I said, brushing the curls off her face. “But not yet.”
She smiled, so goddamn beautiful. “Not yet.”
I pulled her into my lap and held her close until the time came for us to go. Miller and Violet would be heading back to San Francisco where Violet was set to complete her residency and Miller was finishing his next album. Holden had his book tour and was taking River with him. No way to know when we’d all be together again, or at the Shack. It felt like one chapter was closing and another opening for all of us.
We said our goodbyes, hugging and kissing cheeks, the women smiling through tears and reminding each other that San Francisco was only a few hours from Santa Cruz.
“You coming, Wentz?” Miller asked as the last of the coolers and chairs were packed up.
“You guys go ahead. I’ll put out the fire.”
The group filed out and I remained, staring into the flames that were the same as the first time I’d been here. The beach was the same, the same ocean crashing against the shore, the place giving the same sense of belonging like it had all those years ago. Only I was different now. Made better by this place and these friends…
I looked up to see Miller approach, a small, crooked smile on his lips. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said. My voice was gruff. “Stupid. I can’t fucking put it out.”
He nodded. “I know.”
More footsteps. Holden stepped into the ring of light beside Miller.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his voice thick too.
Miller put one hand on Holden’s shoulder, the other on mine. Miller Stratton, our anchor. The homeless kid who’d once pawned his guitar so his mom could eat. The center of us. Our North Star, keeping us from going adrift.
Holden moved to clasp my shoulder and I gripped his, making the circle complete.
“Guys…” Holden whispered.
“Yep,” Miller said, and I nodded, unable to speak.
No one said another word. No one had to explain or finish the thought. We each felt it. Bone-deep gratitude and love that ran deeper than words.
They’d called us the outcast, the vampire, and the criminal. The Lost Boys. But we were bonded by something stronger than blood or friendship or circumstance. We were soul mates.
And not lost anymore.
The End
Author’s Note
This book deals with heavy issues including that of sexual assault and a woman’s right to choose. The choices made by the women in this book serve the needs of this story alone. They are not meant to be a statement or judgment on the real-life choices women are faced with every day—choices that are becoming increasingly restricted as resources are being legislated away. If I have any “agenda” here, it’s to increase awareness and empathy and to foster understanding that behind every statistic is a human being with her own story.
RAINN Sexual Assault Hotline
Planned Parenthood
And one more thing… In this novel, Ronan takes Shiloh to the Natural Bridges Monarch Trail in Santa Cruz. That is a real place, and thousands of monarch butterflies flock to it each year…in October. Not June. I may have fudged a little on the great migration so Ronan could create some magic for Shiloh. To all the entomologists out there, my apologies, but anything for the romance. ;)
Acknowledgments
A huge thank you to my Gal Friday, Melissa Panio-Petersen, who is the perfect example of found family. Love you so much for all that you do but especially for all that you are.
To my incredible sensitivity reader, Korrie Noelle. I will forever cherish our discussions and you for sharing a piece of your heart with me to make this book what it needed to be. Shiloh can’t help but be a reflection of your beautiful spirit.
To Joanna Louise Weightman for continuing to share your thoughts and insight with me. Through every Lost Boy—I am forever grateful for your time, love, and support.
To my beta readers, Marissa D’Onofrio and Joy Kriebel-Sadowski. You both do so much to keep a nervous author sane and are the bringers of happy tears. Thank you for reading all the unproofed messy bits and sharing your thoughts (and screenshots) with me along the way. Much love.
To Officer Elon Kaiserman of the Los Angeles Police Department. Thank you so much for sharing your professional expertise and answering countless questions on police procedure and the ins and outs of courtrooms, departments, and prisons. Any mistakes are liberties I took for the sake of the story, but thanks to your generous input, there weren’t many.
To Lori Jackson. Thank you for bringing Ronan—and every Lost Boy—to life on the covers of these books. They are such perfect representations of my boys, and I’m so grateful for your time and talent. #thatmountaintho
To Nina and her team at Valentine PR. I am so grateful to have your guiding hand and love through these crazy times called book releases and everything in between. Love you!
And to Robin Hill, who made this book possible from Day One to the last chapter; through a once-in-a-lifetime winter storm; through power outages and empty pipes and sick doggies… Through it all, she carried this book from the muck of the first draft to the formatted final copy, taking my rough collection of words and making them shine. I will forever be indebted to you, not just for this book (or all those that came before it and those to come) but for giving me the gift of knowing that, through my own mental hardships and grief bombs, my work is cared for so that I can share it with the world. Thank you, with love.
And finally, in the Lost Boys series, I wanted to explore the notion of home and what that word means to different people. When I was a kid, my parents were divorced, and we’d spend one week at my dad’s, one week at my mom’s. My dad was constantly moving around, too, one house to the next. In college, I lived in the dorms, in on-campus apartments, then in a flat in the city. Since marrying Bill, we’ve moved seven times in fourteen years, following jobs, moving ever closer to our “forever home” that is still on the horizon. To this day, if I’m in a hotel, I unpack everything immediately in order to settle in as fast as possible. My experience is not nearly as extreme as Miller’s homelessness, Holden being unwelcome in his own house, or Ronan being shuffled from place to place, never staying longer than a few months. But what I’ve come to know—and put in these books—is the idea that home isn’t a place or a house. It’s the people you share those spaces with. Family doesn’t have to mean blood relatives. A great-grandmother could be more of a parent than a mom or dad, the person next door could be more than a neighbor, and friends could become like brothers. These novels are about belonging, finding one’s place in the world, and making family where there wasn’t one before. It has been a joy—and a few tears shed—being in Miller, Holden, and Ronan’s world, and I’m sad to go. But I’m forever grateful to you, my readers, who have taken them into your hearts and who have given me a community to call home no matter where I am. Thank you and much love to you all.