“Work. And now suspension.”
He said it simply enough. Everything about him seemed simple: his clothes that had seen better days, his scuffed boots, and the wayhe moved—directly and deliberately. Except for his eyes. There was depth there.
The kind you’d get lost in if he let you.
I snorted at my own ridiculous thoughts. Now that Ronan had his lemonade—and I’d confirmed in all likelihood he wasn’t a serial killer—I should’ve left him to it. But he wasn’t the want-ad handyman I’d expected. He was a high schooler, even if he didn’t look like that either. His eyes were hooded, almost haunted. Whatever they’d seen had set him apart in some intangible way. It gave him an aura of intense loneliness that hung over him like a shadow.
I didn’t like it.
And I didn’t like that I didn’t like it.
It won’t kill you to be friendly to him. New kid and all.
Only this guy was no kid. He was a man in every sense of the word. Something in his past had rushed him into adulthood, and a not-so-small part of me needed to prove I could be in his space and not melt into a puddle at his feet.
“Bibi said it’s break time.” I nodded at the small wrought-iron table with two chairs in the middle of the patio. “You want to have a sit for a minute?”
“Sure.” He sounded less than thrilled.
He lowered his tall frame of lean muscle into a chair at the table and went at the sparkling lemonade, downing huge gulps that made his Adam’s apple move under the sweat-glistened skin on his throat.
I brushed a cluster of braids off my shoulder. The afternoon suddenly seemed hotter.
“So you’re new to Santa Cruz?”
He nodded.
“Where did you move from?”
“Manitowoc, Wisconsin. Got here a few weeks ago.”
“How do you like it here so far?”
He shrugged. “It’s better than where I was.”
Holy shit, I felt the weight of the subtext in those six words as if he’d packed his body with muscles to carry it all.
And to fight back.
“I heard you’re suspended for punching Frankie Dowd.”
Another nod.
“My friend Violet said you were protecting Miller Stratton.”
“You could say that.”
“I didn’t realize you and Miller were friends.”
“We are now.”
I furrowed my brow. Talking to this guy was like walking a maze and hitting only dead ends. I had to keep turning to keep the convo going.
“Well, I’m not glad you’re suspended, but Frankie’s been a dick to Miller for years, and Miller can only fight back so much.”
Ronan’s gray eyes hardened. “Why? The diabetes?”
“That, but also he’s a musician. Plays guitar. If his hands get banged up, he won’t be able to play.”