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I showed my ID at the window and passed through the metal detectors, feeling like I was trapped in a bad dream that began the night of the grand opening, and I couldn’t wake up. A corrections officer led me to the visiting room, my stomach twisting in knots. The room smelled sharply of musty sweat and vending machine food.
Ronan was already there.
I moved on numb legs to the table and sat down across from him. He looked as beautiful as always but different somehow. Maybe it was the orange County Jail jumpsuit or the fact we were surrounded by armed officers and inmates, but he was less like himself. Right there in front of me but far away too.
“Hi,” I said, my throat dry.
He looked up, his expression softening to see me, and then it shut down again. Turning hard.
“How’s Frankie?” he asked. “They won’t tell me.”
“Not great but he’s going to live.”
I reached for him, and a CO barked at me, “No touching.”
I jerked my back, feeling small and helpless. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” Ronan said and then set his hands on the table between us. The clank of the handcuffs seemed louder than it was, the bruises on every knuckle jumping out at me.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice small.
Ronan knew what I meant. He rubbed the fingers of one hand over the other. “Doesn’t matter.” He leaned over the table to me. “Listen…”
“Doesn’t matter? Of course, it matters.” I stared, incredulous, ignoring the twinge of doubt that nipped at me. “We can still fight this. Go to trial, but you have to tell me—”
He was already shaking his head. “Shiloh, listen to me. We don’t have a lot of time.” He nodded at a corrections officers stalking the visitors’ room. “No matter what happens, I’m going to take care of you.”
“What does that mean?”
“The money from Nelson. I have a lot left. Almost all of it. It’s yours now. Rebuild the shop. Or save it for tough times or…whatever you need.”
I crossed my arms, a cold feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. “This sounds like goodbye.”
“Because it is.”
“No!” I smacked my hand on the table, drawing the eye of the CO. I lowered my voice to a hiss. “If you didn’t do it…”
I checked myself, hearing the doubt in my voice again. My gaze couldn’t stay away from his bruised knuckles while his words from the other night, I’ll take care of it, echoed in my mind.
No! I have to trust. Trust and keep going.
“You have the truth on your side,” I said.
His expression was grim. Resigned. “Truth and justice aren’t always the same thing.”
“So that’s it? What about us?”
“There is no more us, Shiloh,” Ronan said, the words slamming into me like hammer blows. “No matter what happens, I’m going away for a long time. You need to move on.”
“What…? Move on? No…”
“This is fucking humiliating,” he seethed. “I hate you seeing me like this. I can’t fucking stand it, Shiloh. If I have to do this for ten years… If you have to do this shit for ten years… Metal detectors and collect calls and two-hour drives for thirty-minute visits…” He shook his head gravely. “I won’t do that to you. I can’t.”
“You can’t just…cut me off,” I said, disbelieving. “You can’t…”
“I have to,” Ronan said, his voice thick. “For your safety. They’ll keep going. Harassing you. I made it worse. I brought this to you.”
“No, Ronan…”
