The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys #1)(62)

“Because you’ve been so busy with your college apps and study loads and not talking to Miller.” She smiled and looked away. “It’s nice. Bonfires at night… The guys drink beer and behave like horses’ asses most of the time, but it’s…nice.”

“Miller invited you?”

“No, Ronan.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Really? Since when are you two friendly? He sits right next to you in our History class and you never talk.”

She waved a hand. “He’s an asshole. I can barely tolerate him, but it’s worth it to sit and watch the ocean, and nothing smells better than a beach bonfire. And I say all this because it’s high time you were there too.”

“I’m not going anywhere I’m not wanted, Shi,” I said. “Being stood up at Homecoming in front of the entire school aside, I still have a shred of dignity.”

“On that note, Miller told me Evelyn Gonzalez stole your phone that night, took the video of him singing ‘All I’ll Ever Want,’ and put it on her vlog.”

My mouth fell open. “She did what?”

Shiloh pulled out her phone. “I was hoping you gave her permission, but I guess she even didn’t tell you.”

“She returned it to me the next day but didn’t say a word about Miller. She and I haven’t been…close lately.”

But she and Miller are?

I watched the vlog footage, marveling through my shock at Miller’s beautiful voice, his talent, and that sexy-as-hell way he’d taken off his beanie to run his hand through his hair. Moments after that song ended, he’d kissed me…

The video finished. “That explains why everyone’s been smiling and being nice to him.”

“Oh, you noticed that too?” Shiloh put her phone away. “Yeah, he’s suddenly the town famous person.”

“They should be nice to him, but they should’ve been nice to him this entire time. Not just because of this.”

“Agreed.” Shiloh put her arm around me. “You’ve always treated him the way he’s deserved to be treated. Come to the Shack. You’re wanted there. Believe me.” She gave me a squeeze. “And not just by me.”





A few days later, I worked up the nerve to take Shiloh up on her offer. As the sun set behind the ocean, she led me on a crazy path over jagged, porous boulders, while the tide washed over our ankles.

“You’re not taking me out here to murder me, are you?” I asked, tripping over a tangle of seaweed while protectively clutching a paper bag holding the six-pack of beer I’d stolen from Dad—an offering to the Lost Boys for having me at their bonfire. My Converse were drenched, and the rolled-up cuffs of my jeans were damp. “This is getting a little rough, Shi.”

“Almost there.”

Shiloh wore sandals and another pair of billowy, linen pants. We’d both worn hoodie sweatshirts, as she’d warned the wind could be bitter at night, fire or no fire. I followed her slim shape, her long braids flowing behind her, and was relieved to see the terrain grew easier and farther away from the ocean.

We rounded a huge boulder, and there he was. Miller sat on a worn-out beach chair in front of a roaring fire, his guitar case at his side. Ronan Wentz and Holden Parish sat in similar chairs, and they were all talking shit and laughing. The Shack was a little fisherman’s hut built against the rock.

“Hello, boys,” Shiloh said, stepping into the ring of light. She looked pointedly at Miller. “You all remember Violet, don’t you?”

Miller met my eye, and I swear the smallest flicker of a smile touched his lips, then vanished. Shut down. He was guarding his heart the same way I had been for four years.

We’re like a pendulum, swinging back and forth, I thought, wondering when or if we’d ever be unguarded at the same time.

“Miss Violet,” Holden said, rising to his feet and offering me his chair—right next to Miller. “Please. Sit.” He kicked at Ronan’s boot. “Wentz! Mind your manners, for fuck’s sake. We have company.”

Ronan pulled in his long legs that had been stretched out to the fire so I could cross to the chair.

“I come bearing gifts,” I said with a small smile. “An IPA. I hear it’s good.”

“You’re an angel,” Holden said, taking the bag from me and dumping it in Ronan’s lap. “He’s in charge of libations.”

Ronan grunted and shot Holden a scowl, then turned his silvery eyes on me. I knew next to nothing about him, except that he was constantly in trouble at school and that Frankie Dowd had made it his life’s mission to one day kill him. Judging by Ronan’s bulk, his muscled and tatted arms, and the dangerous aura around him, I guessed he had little to fear. He could break scrawny Frankie in half.

But I wasn’t prepared for the shrewd intelligence in his gaze that followed me to my seat.

Holden procured two more chairs, one for Shiloh—between Ronan and Miller—and another for himself, between Ronan and me.

“The circle is complete,” Holden said, and then his smile slipped at a sudden thought. “Almost.”

“Hi,” I said to Miller. Shiloh had assured me he knew I was coming, but I still felt like an unwanted guest.

“Hey.” He took a pull from his beer. I bit back the urge to ask how he was feeling and how his diabetes management had been going. That was Amber’s job now and that of his friends. I wasn’t sure if we were even that anymore.