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My head fell back against the wall. “He never told me.”
“He’s self-conscious about what happened,” Miller said, running his fingers along the edge of his guitar case. “I think he thinks he’s damaged or something. Like what his dad did poisoned him too.”
I nodded. “He told me what happened in Wisconsin messed him up and he didn’t want me to deal with the repercussions.”
My heart cracked again, thinking of Ronan going through all that alone. And thinking it might hurt me somehow.
Because he wants to protect me. Always. Even from himself.
“God…” I ran my hands over my braids, giving them a tug to keep myself from crying.
“You haven’t been to the Shack lately,” Miller said in a low voice.
“I know. I…wasn’t feeling well.”
“But you’re better now?” He was looking at me like someone who could see into people’s hearts and then write songs about what they saw.
“Not really,” I admitted, thinking of my mom’s visit. “But I’m working on it.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s all we can do, right?”
I nodded and rested my head against his shoulder. Time dragged. My butt was getting numb from sitting on the cold linoleum floor. Finally, the door beside us opened and Vince and Lynn McNamara emerged.
I’d known them since I was a kid, in better times, when they’d been happy and in love. Now they looked tired in rumpled business clothes, like lawyers fighting on opposite sides of a case.
Vince smiled wanly as we got to our feet. “Hey, Miller. Shiloh. It’s great of you to come.”
“But it’s late,” Lynn said. “Violet needs to rest.”
“Is she okay?” I asked. “What happened?”
“She crashed into another soccer player at practice and suffered a concussion,” Vince said. “But they say she’s going to be fine. Keeping her overnight is just a precaution.”
I sagged as relief gusted out of me. Miller stood ramrod straight.
“I’m not leaving,” he stated, his voice hard. “I want to see her.”
Lynn sighed. “It’s late…”
“It can’t hurt,” Vince put in. “A few minutes. They came all this way.”
His wife glared daggers at him. “It’s not even visiting hours. They can come back—”
“I’m not leaving,” Miller said again. “I don’t care what time it is. I’ll stay here all night if I have to, but I’m going to see her.”
The protective tone in his voice reminded me of how Ronan spoke to me.
And Miller loves Violet.
A strange sensation flooded me, something between euphoria and nausea. I fumbled my phone out of my bag to give myself something to do. I called Bibi and told her that Violet was okay.
“I’m so glad, honey. But it’s getting late. I’d feel better if you came home.”
I checked the visitor situation: Lynn McNamara wasn’t going to budge, but then Miller wasn’t either. Violet was in good hands and I was suddenly exhausted. Drained.
“I’m leaving now. Love you, Bibi.” I hung up with her and turned to Miller. “Bibi wants me home. You going to be okay?”
“I’ve never been better,” he said. “For the first time in a long time.”
