The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys #1)(98)

He started to shut the door, and I blocked it with my boot, at the same time Ronan swung around from the wall, throwing the door all the way open with a bang. He strode into the house, gripping Chet by the collar of his shirt and driving him backwards as he went. Chet gave a shout of surprise, stumbled, and fell on his ass.

“Who the fuck are you? You can’t be in here!”

Ronan stood over him, still and hard as stone, hands balled into fists, his eyes like a snake’s before it struck.

“We’re your unwelcome wagon,” Holden said, leaning casually against the door, examining his nails. “As in, you are no longer welcome here, fuck-nugget.”

Chet’s panicked glance went between them as he scrambled to his feet. “Get the hell out of my house.”

“You good?” I asked Ronan.

“I got this.” His gaze hadn’t moved from Chet for a second.

I went to go around them in the small space.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Chet’s hand shot out to grab me, and Ronan was there. Like a statue come to life, his fist shot out, connecting square with Chet’s flabby cheek. Chet snarled, cursed and flew at Ronan, tackling him to the ground. The two became a tangle of arms and legs, grappling and grasping, cursing and grunting.

“We’re good.” Holden waved his hand. “He’ll tag me in if he needs me.”

I nodded and hurried down the short hall, nearly crashing into Mom.

“Miller, don’t do this. Please.”

“Do you love him?”

“N-no,” she said in a small voice. Then louder. “No.”

“Good.” I went past her into their bedroom as the sounds of our coffee table being demolished came from the living room. “This his bag?”

Mom nodded at the dirty red duffel bag in my hand.

I handed it to her. “Pack up his stuff,” I said and went back to the living room.

Ronan had Chet pinned to the floor face down, one knee in between Chet’s shoulder blades, the other on his elbow. He had a fistful of greasy hair and was pressing his face sideways to the floor.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Chet seethed, his face smashed, spittle flying.

“How we doing out here?” I asked.

“Well, it was touch and go for a second,” Holden observed from the door, dabbing a handkerchief to his bleeding lip. “Chester, here, had Ronan pinned, which caused me to heroically jump into the fray and take an elbow to the mouth. My mistake. Ronan was going easy on him to prolong the violence. You know our boy. He needs to get it out of his system every now and again.”

I shook my head at Ronan who shrugged one shoulder.

Mom emerged from the back bedroom with a duffel bag full of Chet’s stuff. I took it from her and joined Ronan in the center of our smashed living room.

“Let him up.”

Ronan released Chet, his eyes never leaving him, clearly ready—maybe hoping—for more of a fight. I shoved Chet’s bag into his arms.

“I’ll say it one more time. Get the fuck out of my house.”

He hesitated for a second, which was one second too long for Ronan. He grabbed Chet by the front of his shirt with both hands and drove him toward the door.

Holden opened it smoothly. “Thank you for choosing Ronan Air for all your travel needs. Please watch your step as you exit, as you could be in for a rough landing.”

Jesus, Ronan is going to kill him.

But instead of throwing Chet down the cement stairs as I feared, Ronan gripped him by the shirt collar and tipped him backwards over the balcony.

Chet’s arms pinwheeled. “Are you fucking crazy?”

“I live less than a block away from here,” Ronan said. “I’ll be watching you. If you step foot anywhere near this place again, I will end you. Do you hear me? I will fucking end you.”

Slowly, he released him, their eyes never breaking contact as the older man jerked his shirt back into place.

He shot me a pained look. “You needed a man in the house. I did my best. That’s all.”

“Your best was sorely lacking, Chester,” Holden observed.

Chet’s lip curled but he didn’t have any more fight in him. He took the stairs down, muttering and cursing impotently.

Ronan stepped back into the apartment. Holden shut the door. A short silence passed, the four of us absorbing what had just happened.

Then Holden clapped his hands together. “Who could go for some pancakes right about now?”

I shook my head, affection and gratitude for both my friends flooding me, calming the adrenaline rush.

“Can you guys give me a minute? Meet me at the Shack.”

Ronan nodded and looked to my mom. “Ma’am.”

Holden tipped an imaginary cap. “Good day, madam.”

When they were gone, I went with Mom to the couch, stepping over the ruined remains of our coffee table. She stared at the mess fearfully, not fully grasping yet that she was free.

“Mom,” I said. “Look at me. Gold Line Records gave me a contract. They want me. I don’t know how or why…” My throat was suddenly choked with emotion that was finally bubbling to the surface. Elation. Fear. All of it. I swallowed hard, tears stinging my eyes. “Things are going to be different now, okay?”

“Oh, baby,” she said, her brown eyes filling too. “I’m so proud of you. I know I haven’t been here for you the way I should—”