“You disagree?”
“If you care about him—”
“Let’s not go that far.”
“—then tell him.”
“That proves difficult, since he specifically asked that I never speak to him again. And even if by some miracle he is gay, nothing good can come of something with me. Except for sex. I can do meaningless sex.” I glanced at him. “That’s not an offer, by the way.”
Ronan didn’t crack a smile.
I took a sip from my flask, wishing the bite of vodka would kill that soft feeling in my stomach that had been living there since the day I met River.
The fire flared suddenly as Ronan spewed lighter fluid over the charred embers. “Is that what they stole from you in Alaska?”
“What?”
“You said nothing good could come of you being with that guy. Is that what they taught you? That you’re no good?”
The doctors at the sanitarium had discussed the conversion therapy more than I ever wanted to discuss it, with convoluted terms and jargon and analysis. Ronan cut it down to its most essential element.
“Yes,” I said. “But it began earlier with my parents. And it’s more complicated—”
“It’s bullshit is what it is,” Ronan snapped. “Whoever made you think that, no matter when it started, it’s bullshit.”
He drained his beer and got up for another. He came back with two and stood over me, his expression softer than I’d ever seen it. He offered one of the beers to me.
I took it and put the flask away.
***
The next night, Miller, Ronan, and I strolled the boardwalk on one of our nightly prowls. The three of us garnered stares—mostly due to my fabulous wardrobe—and I knew whispers and rumors about us filteredback to the school. But none of us gave a shit what anyone thought. Least of all me.
Okay, least of all Ronan.
But I gave a shit abouthim. That afternoon, Ronan had come to the shack with bruises peeking out from under his sleeves and a shiner over one eye. When Miller and I asked what happened, he snarled at us to mind our own fucking business.
Later, Miller left us to hang out with Violet and finally tell her how he felt about her. Ronan and I went back to the shack.
“Is it true that Violet has a thing for River?” I asked Ronan with Academy Award levels of casual.
He shrugged. “They’re going to homecoming together unless something happens tonight.”
I nodded.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “What?”
I blinked, pure innocence. “Whatwhat?”
“You’re quiet.”
“It happens.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
I laughed. “Can’t a man contemplate the mysteries of the universe in peace?”
Ronan snorted but left it alone. Unconsciously, he rubbed his upper arm where a bruise lay dark against a tattoo of a black-and-white owl with orange eyes. I was itching to ask him who’d hurt him, but I had to leave that alone too.
