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“Holy shit,” I murmured, envisioning it all perfectly: Ronan—deadly calm and quiet—taking care of business. To protect me and my shop.
I’ll handle it, he’d said.
A shiver ran down my spine, and I had to refocus on Frankie, who was looking at me through remorseful eyes.
“Ronan knew it was me who trashed your place. I’m sorry for that, Shiloh. My dad…he told me to do it. And I admit, I was happy to, at first. Things were so bad at home, I needed to break shit. But after it was done, I was sorry.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why would he tell you to do that?”
“Dad wanted revenge on Ronan for getting kicked off the force. When he got an idea that you were an enemy, that was it. He wouldn’t let it go.” He shifted in his seat and glanced down, his voice low. “I was the one who told him you two were together. How hurting you was the best way to get to him. The plan was to keep hitting your store. Throw a rock or tag it. Constantly. Just wear you down until it closed.”
My stomach clenched. “Go on. Or go back. What happened when Ronan got you out of the car?”
“He slammed me against it and told me to leave you alone,” he said. “He told me that his life meant nothing, that he wasn’t afraid of me or my dad. He said he’d do whatever it took to keep you safe.”
Oh, baby…
“Then what?”
Frankie looked away. “I pissed my pants.”
“You what?”
“Ronan wasn’t fucking around. I could see it in his eyes.” He smiled a little. “And did I mention he’d just yanked me out of a car window he’d smashed with his fists? I got the message loud and clear, and I didn’t want to go along with Dad’s plan anyway. Ronan made me swear to him I’d leave you alone, and I did.”
“And then?” I asked, breath held.
“He let me go.”
“He just…let you go?”
Frankie nodded. “He walked away, and I went home.”
The implications of what Frankie was telling me were starting to seep in.
Ronan’s innocent…
In my deepest heart, I knew that, but not having a reason for his bruised knuckles or Frankie’s injuries always lingered at the edge of my thoughts, whispering doubt. Hearing the truth out loud brought hot tears to my eyes. Ronan had fought so hard to not be the monster his father was. But he ended up in prison anyway, suffering the same fate, the same public perception—that he was a criminal.
He was never a criminal. Never.
“I tried to sneak past my dad on the couch, but he caught me,” Frankie was saying. “He saw I’d pissed myself and…” He hunched his shoulders. “Dad hated cowards more than anything. Said it was the worst thing a person could be and something his son could never be. He called me names and asked me what happened. I told him that I was done messing with your shop. I remember that first punch, and that’s about it. I woke up in the hospital.”
“Jesus.”
“When I came to, Dad was there. He looked a little bit scared about what he’d done to me. Then Mikey visited me in the hospital. They came up with a story to pin it on Ronan.”
“Mikey Grimaldi?”
Frankie nodded. “Because Ronan spray-painted that word on his car. Mikey wanted revenge too, even though he really did…do what he did to Kimberly. So he lied for my dad.”
The ramifications were filling me up, lighting me up from the inside, erasing my bone-weary exhaustion and filling me with hope. And anger. Years’ worth of anger, pain, longing. Missing Ronan with every breath…
“Frankie, Ronan has served three years in prison for the lies you told. Three years. He won’t speak to me. He’s cut me off because he thinks we’re better off without him.” My voice was shaking. “You ruined us.”
Frankie nodded. “I know, I’m sorry. I really am. But after I got out of the hospital, I was messed up. I can’t think so good and I get these headaches. I can’t hold a job so I had to live at home. Once Ronan was put away, Dad’s temper got worse. Like he had nothing to fight against anymore except me.” He picked at the tablecloth. “I wanted to come clean so many times. But I was too scared of him to say anything. But he’s gone now and I’m ready to talk. To get Ronan out. I know that’s a chickenshit way to do it and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Shiloh. For everything.”
I stared, the full weight of his story sinking in. I wanted to grab Frankie by the collar and drag him to the police station, but he was fiddling with his spoon as if waiting for my permission to eat.
