All left on read. All unanswered. He had tried calling twice that morning, and she had let it ring out. A small part of him had been relieved. Because what could he possibly say if she picked up?
He stared at the two threads—Amanda's neediness, Sage's silence—and felt the weight of both. One suffocating him, the other cutting him off at the knees.
David, of course, did not bother to pick up the phone when he called.
He went through the motions with his team—his partner cracking jokes, Gage chattering about the schedule in his good-humoured, easy-going way, the endless business dinners. The trip went well on paper, but Ronin was lost, a ghost at the table. Nights were the worst. He lay in hotel beds plagued by nightmares—of Sage walking away from him, Sage in an accident, Sage with another man.
Always Sage.
The urgency was unbearable by the last day. He noticed every absence, the hundred little things she used to do. His cufflinks to match his suit, the way she reminded him to call his mother, even though she had never treated Sage right, or the way she smoothed down his collar before he walked out the door. But most of all, he missed her smiles and the easy way she brushed off his crankiness and irritation. They fought, yes, but Sage was the one who always backed down first, who looked at him like he hung the moon. That look was gone now.
He felt a sudden urgency as he boarded the plane, like something was slipping away. It got worse as the plane taxied and every minute dragged.
The uneasy feeling crawled down his spine as his car pulled up to the house. Relief flickered when he saw Sage's car still in the drive. She was here. She hadn't left. But the feeling didn't leave him.
Something was wrong.
The house was silent. David must be upstairs. Ronin walked through the rooms, unsettled, noticing tiny differences he couldn't place. The air felt empty, still.
He filled the kettle, set it on to boil, trying to settle the panic in himself with something familiar. And that's when he sawthem—Sage's keys sitting on the kitchen island, not in the blue porcelain bowl next to the door where they always were.
Chapter 12
Sage bought her ticket without thinking, hands shaking as she pressed the screen on the machine at Bristol Temple Meads. The next train was the 10:42 to Paddington. She didn't care where it went, only that it took her away.
The train was nearly empty, all darkened windows and the hush of tired passengers. She pressed her forehead to the glass and watched the night spool past. At Paddington, the cavernous station swallowed her—too bright, too busy, her heart beating like a drum as she scrolled through the Trainline app; her app now, not Ronin's. For years she had leaned on his account, his reminders, his plans. But now it was her fingers, clumsy and alone, choosing where to go.
The Highlands came to her suddenly, to their trip to Inverness years ago, when they were still young and in love. The air had been sharp and clean. There was magic in the Highlands—hiking through Rannoch Moor while the wind bit through their layers like butter and falling into their freezing bed in that ancient inn because they couldn't afford anything else. They were still in university, and Ronin's parents, though affluent, kept the pursestrings tied up tight. She wanted that again, to escape, to be somewhere that wasn't here.
By dawn, she was at King's Cross, boarding the train north. She sent a message to David and got no reply, though she had expected his anger, his silence. Her phone battery was draining fast, each percentage ticking down like a countdown, and she forced herself to be careful until she could buy a charger.
The farther north the train carried her, the more her body ached. A dull heaviness had settled into her lower abdomen, a familiar twisting pressure building. Her thighs felt leaden, sore as if every muscle were bruised from within. She knew the signs too well; her period would come soon. The timing, as always, was merciless.
Four hours later, Edinburgh blurred into another platform, another transfer, and then she was on the ScotRail to Inverness. With her phone officially dead, she bought a paper ticket at the counter, folding it neatly into her pocket. There had been no time to look for pads, and she didn't have any with her—yet another thing she had forgotten. She leaned her head against the seat, her whole body aching now, as if it had been wrung out.
And then the cramps started, deep, twisting, and cruel. Heat flushed her face, and she knew before she even shifted in her seat that it was the dreaded time of the month again. Of all times, of all days. No pad, no spare anything. Just her jeans, her bag, and the growing dread at the wet warmth spreading beneath her.
Two stops later, the train jolted to a halt, and new passengers boarded. Among them was a massive man who strode down the aisle with the kind of presence and bulk that made people lean back in their seats to give him space. Broad-shouldered and gruff in a thick wool overcoat, his whiskered jaw set hard. He stopped in front of Sage and jerked his chin towards her.
"You're in ma seat." His voice was low, rough, and threaded with a Scottish burr that made it sound more like a warning than a statement. His voice was deep, edged with impatience as he fixed his icy blue eyes on her.
Sage blinked, fumbling for her ticket. She glanced down, then up at the little digital display above the seats. He must be right. Heat rushed to her cheeks.
"Oh, sorry," she mumbled, scooping up her bag while surreptitiously checking if she left a stain. She slid out of the seat, trying not to brush against him, and crossed to the opposite side of the table where a free space waited. That proved to be difficult as he stood there like a sentinel guarding the train from annoying women.
"I really am sorry, I didn't notice..." she stammered as she settled herself into her seat.
He didn't answer, just looked at her like she had crawled out from under a rock. Then he lowered himself into the seat she'd vacated, his sheer bulk filling it and half of the next besides making the lad next to him precariously balance on the edge. Sage sat opposite him, clutching her ticket while wishing she could melt into the upholstery. But she was only human and couldn’t help notice the dark hair, strong jaw and broad shoulders bulging beneath the thick coat. Handsome, in an almost brutal way with a hard and unfriendly expression to match. He glanced at her once, twice, the kind of look that made her sit straighter, as though the headmistress had come down for an inspection and her skirt was a couple of inches too short. Then he proceeded to ignore her, turning his gaze out to the darkness beyond the glass.
"Hi, I'm Sage. Haven't been to the Highlands in a while." Sage tried as an awkward prelude to asking for a charger when he took a book out of his pocket.
No answer or response. She might as well have been talking to the table between them.
Sage hesitated, clutching her nearly-dead phone, before finally leaning forward and making another desperate attempt. "Excuse me, would you mind if I borrowed your charger?"
He lifted his head slowly, and for a moment, those icy blue eyes fixed her with a stare so sharp she felt skewered. He didn't speak; he just held her gaze until the silence stretched uncomfortably. Then, deliberately, he looked back down at the book in his hands, turning a page as if she hadn't spoken at all.
Heat crept up her neck. She shrank back into her seat, mortified, her phone heavy in her hand.
