Page 14

14

Ronan

AGE 23

“Y ou are the kind of heavy that isn’t worth carrying, Ronan.”

I take another shot, the liquor stinging more than her words.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?” The crack of her palm across my cheek makes me drop the glass in my hand, the sound of it shattering echoing as the bar silences around us. “You destroy everything you touch, you know that?”

I tap on the wooden bar top, trying to get the attention of the brunette bartender. She just stares at me, so I scoff and bang my fist on the surface, making her jump.

“You cheated on me and you’re just going to stay silent! What is your fucking problem?!” The hit to the back of my head makes me groan, and I drop my forehead to my forearm. I close my eyes and begin counting backwards from ten. “Piece of shit!”

I don’t cheat because I don’t do relationships.

She was nothing more than a hole I dragged into my bed far too many times. It’s not my fault she got attached. I’m not here to argue about what I am or what I’m not. I don’t give a single fuck about how she feels—or about anything, really.

I’m numb.

Six hours ago, my mother was buried. I found out through an online article. Since getting out three years ago, I’ve searched weekly for any news about the family I still have alive. This week, unlike so many others, something finally showed up.

‘Joanna Ann Byrne leaves behind her husband and son…’

I threw my phone, not having the heart to see the singular ‘son’ comment. Even now, I don’t understand how I became the one shunned by my family. I’m a product of their own making. I didn’t ask for any of this shit, and now in my mother’s obituary, I’m not even mentioned. I know she wouldn’t have wanted that, but with my father being the hateful asshole he is, it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.

A grip on my shoulder, one I know that isn’t coming from Samantha, pulls me from my own fucking misery.

Turning my head, I see her brother standing there with his chest puffed out, eyes blood shot with anger. Or, maybe he’s drunk, who knows.

I’m an idiot for getting sexually involved with a Mafia Princess, or whatever she likes to call herself.

“You fucked with the wrong girl, Byrne,” he seethes, and accompanying his words, is spit.

I can’t go back…

Around him is his posse, and I can see the smug smile on Samantha’s face as though she’s won this little tiff that we are having. Honestly, I have no clue what is going on because I’m about six shots of tequila and a beer in, but fuck it, if they want to fight I’ll take it.

“You’re lucky Papa didn’t send his men to protect me,” she says, and as I look around, the bar is clearing out. The power of a Cheshire is quite incredible. I wish I had that. To snap my fingers and boom, something happens.

I’ll get there one day, maybe . If I’m not dead first.

The first punch lands square to my cheek, sending me tumbling off the barstool and right to my ass. A groan falls from my mouth as I spit out blood across the dirty floor.

“Get up!” one of his friends says as I grab hold of the bar and pull myself to my feet.

Sucking in a deep breath, I blink a few times to settle the room around me.

“I should’ve fucked your ass and then your mouth… put shit right where it belongs, cunt .” I lean in and slam my fist into Samantha’s brother’s nose. He stumbles, and in come his friends.

Being drunk during a brawl is not ideal, because I feel like I’m in a broken movie reel. One moment I’m landing a punch, and in a blink I’m hanging over the bar with someone smashing a bottle across my head.

I blink, and I’ve got one of them pinned to the ground, blood pooling from an open gash in my arm. The next, I’m fighting to get up when a wooden chair is smashed against my shoulder.

Suddenly a scream pierces my eardrum, and I shake my head, trying to clear it. The world spins between twos and threes before finally settling on a single image. What I see is straight out of my nightmares.

A broken beer glass that had been shattered now lays embedded into Samantha’s brother’s neck. I’m straddling his waist, breathing erratic, as he grabs at it and attempts to pull it out. Blood from the point of impact gushes out, and he gurgles something that I can’t quite understand.

I blink again and again.

I can’t go back.

Releasing a breath, watching his eyes slowly fade into darkness, heat builds up in my nose. A weight I’ve come to know too well pulls heavily on my shoulders.

I’m going to go back.

I’m sorry, Mom… Hopefully I’ll be seeing you soon.

The sound of the shower pulls me from my fucked-up memory, and when people say “ I remember like it was yesterday” ’ I understand it. It was so vivid, I swear it was happening in the present and I wasn’t dreaming. Last night at the bar really felt too familiar. I didn’t even make that connection until I was driving home.

Someone had shot off a gun which scattered the crowd. The guys who’d touched Calista didn’t stick around in the parking lot, and despite the hit to my head, I managed to drive the three miles back to the cabin—wobbly but in one piece.

After ordering Cal to eat and go back to sleep this morning, I crashed into bed and passed out. I should’ve taken something, maybe eaten or drunk some water, but all I needed was to lie down.

The sun is high above the cabin, but its orange rays still spill into the room. I can’t help but wonder why Cal is taking a shower in the middle of the day.

Throwing the sheet off, I climb out of bed and stretch my arms high above my head, nearly touching the ceiling. I drop them immediately when a sharp pain shoots through my right rib, vibrating through my spine. I move one hand to it, poking around. Nothing’s broken, just bruised.

I groan and look at the bathroom door as the water turns off. I’m curious if she was smart enough to—

“Fuck!” she whisper-shouts, and I get the answer to my unasked question. “Why doesn’t he have multiple damn towels in here?” There isn’t a linen closet in there, what the hell does she expect?

My towel is hanging over the shower, and I wonder if she’ll use it. I step closer, leaning against the wall beside the door and close my eyes as I listen to her.

There’s some shuffling, followed by the sound of cloth being dragged. I’m pretty sure she sniffs the towel, though she could just be breathing.

“Why does he smell so good…” Nope, she definitely sniffed my towel. When she groans, I can't help but smile.

Weirdo.

I hear her footsteps approaching the door, so I square myself to face it just as it opens inward. The sheer terror on her face makes my cock come to life. Then she lets out a loud, unfiltered scream. When she tries to slam the door shut, my foot catches it, keeping it propped wide.

As she registers that it’s me, she places a hand over her chest and closes her eyes, breathing in slowly to steady herself.

I give her a moment, and once she’s centered herself, her face morphs to anger. “Why the fuck are you just standing here in the doorway?! You scared the living hell out of me!”

Her eyes slowly shift from mine, down to my bare chest. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, holding it there as she hums softly.

“Heard you talking to yourself,” I say, leaning against the doorframe, blocking her from leaving. “Is that my towel?”

We need to discuss last night, but when we are both fully clothed. Her drinking like that is going to get her in trouble, and I won’t always be there to save her ass.

She turns a shade of pink, like a dusty rose—exactly the color of her lipstick the night of the dinner with her mom. It complements her lime green eyes perfectly. I won’t lie, I enjoy seeing it happen. Embarrassing her is going to constitute half my personality while I’m here in this cabin.

“Why don’t you have more than one in there?”

I huff out a short laugh. “I’m one person. Why didn’t you bring one with you?” Leaning down slightly, I tilt my head. “Still a bit hungover?”

Shaking her head, she takes a step back from me. “No, I just… didn’t think about it. Can I go now?”

My gaze drags to her shoulders where she has the scattered flowers from arm to arm and across her collarbones. They are bright, and stunning on her alabaster skin. I’ve been curious if she has any more where I’ve not been able to see. She has some on her legs, notably my favorite one: the snake, but what about her stomach, sternum— fuck , I’m just curious about what she looks like naked, let’s be honest.

“You can,” I finally answer after a moment of pause. “But my towel stays here.”

Her chest rises, and I look at how said cloth is being held around her large breasts. She has it tucked, wrapping tightly under her armpits. One tug and she’s bare for me. Just the thought of exposing her, hearing her gasp and watching her become more flustered, almost has me giving in.

“Absolutely not.” She attempts to move to my side, but I take up the entire doorway. “Move!” The shout is cute, nothing compared to her actual terror just moments ago when she opened the door.

I shake my head, and she bares her teeth. “You were so sweet earlier for staying beside my bed.” Her words cause me to pause. Did she call me sweet? “Now you are being a fucking asshole. Move! I’m not getting naked in front of you.”

Was that act of not wanting her to die ‘sweet’? Her breathing was so erratic, and I started to worry she might be having a nocturnal panic attack. Ken used to have them when he first got booked into prison, and I became all too familiar with how to handle them because of him.

When she woke, I stayed quiet, just watching to see if she could pull herself out of whatever was happening. She’d been mumbling my name while she slept, but I wasn’t about to tease her. I think I was hurting her—especially since she screamed for help and told me ‘no’.

“Drop the towel, Cal, and I’ll let you go.”

She crosses her arms in defiance. “Stop, Ronan. That isn’t happening. I’ll touch you if you don’t move.” The threat may as well be a knife to my throat.

“Do it and I’ll bend you over that sink, take the towel anyway, and spank you while you watch yourself drool.”

When she uncrosses her arms, my heart beats quicker, pounding hard against my chest. Her hand reaches out to me, and my jaw ticks. “Baby girl, I do not make threats.”

“Move.” Her fingertips move to my chest and my nostrils flare. I can feel the heat of her skin nearing mine.

“I make promises. The answer is no, do not touch me… you will regret it.”

I don’t take my eyes off of hers, and when she swallows, her palm presses against my chest.