I want to believe her. I do believe her. But I know what Derek is capable of when he feels like he’s losing control. The last time I tried to leave him, he showed up at my work and made a scene inthe parking lot. Told my boss I was unstable, that I needed help, that he was just trying to take care of me.
I lost that job three days later.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I grab it so fast I nearly knock over the tea.
It's Rosa:You ok? Heard there was something happening.
I type back:I'm fine. At Patty's. Long story.
Her reply comes immediately:Need me to come over?
I smile despite everything.No. But thank you.
Text me if that changes. I can be there in 5 min.
I set the phone down and Patty's watching me with that expression she gets, the one that sees too much.
"You've made good friends here," she says.
"I have."
"Good man too."
I don’t answer. I can’t, really. I don’t know what Ronan and I are beyond his cabin, beyond the way he looked at me in this kitchen and saidstay herelike it was the only thing that mattered.
It hasn’t been long since he stepped between me and Cal with that flat, certain voice that made a drunk man back down. Now I’m sitting in someone else’s house waiting for him to come back from confronting my ex like this is normal. The terrifying part is that I accept it.
With Derek, I spent years making myself smaller, learning how to keep the peace. With Ronan, I don’t know how to make myself smaller at all. He looks at me like he sees everything and wants it anyway.
The sound of a motorcycle cuts through my thoughts.
I’m on my feet before I realize I’ve moved.
Patty looks up. "That's him."
I don't ask how she knows. I just go to the window.
Ronan’s bike idles at the curb, and he sits there a moment with his head slightly bowed before cutting the engine and standing.
Even through the window and the dark, I can see he’s unhurt. No blood. No limp. Just Ronan, solid and steady, coming up the porch steps with that deliberate pace.
I open the door before he knocks.
He stops at the top step and we look at each other. His jaw is tight, the scar catching the porch light, dark eyes searching my face for something I can’t name.
"Is it done?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"Is he—"
"He's fine." Ronan's voice is flat. Even. "Alive, unhurt, exactly as entitled as he was when I got there. But he understands the situation now."
I step out onto the porch. Close the door behind me. Patty doesn't need to hear this.
"What did you do?" I ask quietly.
"I talked to him."
