Page 145 of End Game

“No,” he says after a moment. “Mom, I’m not asking you not to invite him.”

His shoulders rise with one slow, controlled breath.

“I’m telling you that if he’s there, Cami and I won’t be.”

Cami drops her gaze to her lap, and Griffin’s jaw tightens beside her.

My feet move before I make a conscious decision to follow them.

I don’t go all the way into the kitchen. I just close some of the distance between us until I’m near enough that Ronan doesn’t have to turn around to know I’m there.

He does anyway.

His eyes find mine while his mother talks on the other end of the phone.

“I know,” he says, his voice softer. “I know it’s Christmas.”

His gaze stays on mine.

Another silence.

“I love you too. That isn’t the issue.”

Something twists hard beneath my ribs.

Because that’s always the fucking problem, isn’t it?

Love doesn’t make logistics disappear. Sometimes it makes them worse. It gives everyone more reasons to want you somewhere and more ways for it to hurt when you can’t be.

The call lasts another minute before Ronan finally says goodbye and sets his phone facedown on the counter.

Nobody approaches him.

He keeps staring at the phone.

Finally, I move the last couple of feet into the kitchen and stop beside him, close enough that I can feel the heat off of him.

“You okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine,” he answers immediately.

I don’t move.

After a few seconds, his mouth tightens. “I’m irritated.”

“That’s closer.”

A quiet huff leaves him—almost a laugh—and some of the tension in my chest loosens with it.

Then Ronan lifts his hand.

For a second, I think he’s racing for his phone again, but his palm settles against my back instead.

Warmth spreads through my shirt beneath his hand.

There’s nothing sexual about it. Nothing unusual enough that I should be so fucking aware of the weight of his palm or the slow movement of his fingers between my shoulder blades.

My body goes still anyway—not tense, just aware.