Page 93 of End Game

I laugh. “You liked it.”

“I respected it.”

“You liked it.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

That makes me laugh harder.

Ronan shakes his head, but he’s smiling now too.

“He understood what Cami needed. He also checked in with her, but also with me. Frequently,” he admits. “And when he decided he wanted something from her—or to do something to her—he didn’t look at me for permission.”

Something about that catches.

Not because I think Griffin should have needed Ronan’s permission.

Because a few days ago, Ronan had been worried Griffin might make him lead the whole thing or make him feel like he was borrowing Cami.

Apparently Griffin soothed those concerns—easily.

“That’s good,” I say.

“It was.”

Ronan stubs his cigar out, then immediately reaches for another.

My eyebrows raise. Somehow, that’s when I know he didn’t want to just talk about last night.

I wait until he lights it.

“What are you thinking?”

He exhales smoke toward the yard. “I think we need to talk.”

“We are talking,” I tease.

“All of us.”

I lean back against the step. “About?”

“Structure.”

The word makes me laugh before I can stop myself.

Ronan frowns. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just the most Ronan possible word for whatever the fuck we’re doing.”

“What would you call it?”

I consider that, then smile. “Whatever the fuck we’re doing.”

He rolls his eyes. “Very useful.”

Then his expression sobers.

“I don’t want us to keep relying on everyone intuitively knowing when to step forward and when to get out of the way.”