Page 20

20

Calista

H e literally stepped over me, leaving me on my knees in the garage.

Do I blame him? No. But does it hurt? Absolutely. It’s not just my heart that aches, but my head and everything in between.

I spread my legs and sit on the cold concrete, turning my hands palm-up as I search for a way to make this right. How to fix this. I’ve always been the one to mend what’s broken.

I dragged my mother out of the situation she was in, and I’m still paying the price for it. From the memories they left me with to the ones they’re still creating.

This cabin, sure it was just an excuse to get here, but it’s a metaphor to my fucked-up life.

Now, Ronan.

I need him, the man who’s slowly stealing every part of me, to see that I don’t want to hurt him—not more than I already have.

Why can’t he see that I just don’t want to lay all the baggage that I’ve got on him? He can’t be allowed to see what I’ve done, because it’s my mistake to correct. I thought I fixed it already by telling them I won’t go through with what they asked, but it seems I need to do more to convince them to leave me be.

Telling Ronan that I can handle it myself won’t be enough for him. He’s going to fight me every step of the way and push harder or walk away like he did now.

That’s the last thing I want. I don’t want to be farther from him, I want to be closer.

“You’d detest touch too if you were only ten when people started placing their hands and body parts where they didn’t belong.”

Bile rises in my throat, and I throw my hand over my mouth, leaning forward while a tearless sob escaping me. Oh, Ronan… I cup my hands over my chest, squeezing my eyes shut. How could anyone do that to you?

I want to show him that my touch isn’t here to hurt him, but instead to heal. It’s possible that we can do that for each other. If he’d allow me to cleanse his past, he can do the same with my present. Give me the strength to do what I need to not go down the path that I’m heading down.

“I’m so sorry…” I whisper

He doesn’t want my apologies and has only asked one thing of me that I’ve denied him. To just be honest, and I can’t even fucking do that simple thing for him.

I’m the worst kind of person, even if I swear I don’t want to be.

After picking myself up off the floor, I walked into the cabin, and right to the guest room. His door was closed, and while I wanted to force myself in to talk with him, something told me I needed to give him space.

Ronan saying he would be free if he died breaks my heart. It drained every ounce of energy from me. The moment I hit the bed, I choked on a dry sob, before finally surrendering to sleep.

I slept longer than I intended. When I woke, he was gone. His door stood open, and his bike was missing from the garage.

I’d forgotten the contractors were coming to work on the house today—installing kitchen cabinets and moving furniture into the living room. I’d decided to leave the wood paneling unpainted, along with the exposed stone throughout. It made the place feel more like we were outside, immersed in nature, rather than shut inside four walls.

To avoid getting in the workers’ way, I retreated to the dock, staring at my phone in silence, hoping to hear the sound of his motorcycle coming up the pathway. Hours passed, and the knot in my stomach only tightened, the sound I longed for never coming.

Without thinking, I pull up a contact on my phone and hit call. I press it to my ear, listening to it ring three times before he finally picks up.

“Hey there, honey,” Eamon says, sounding both surprised and happy.

“Hey…” I don’t even know why I’m going through with this. It’s bound to raise his suspicions. At least we’re not face to face; I can lie more convincingly when my expressions aren’t on full display.

“Everything okay?” he asks, and I fiddle with the hem of my shorts.

“Yeah, I’ve just had a lot on my mind since our dinner.”

“Oh boy.” He sighs and clears his throat. “Have you talked with your mother?”

“No, but I was hoping to ask you something… about your brother.”

I don’t need to see him to know he is uncomfortable. “Sure, within reason.”

“You guys are like… seven years apart?”

“Eight,” he corrects me.

“That’s quite the age gap. You guys didn’t have any other siblings?” I already know that they don’t, but I really need to be careful with this.

“Right, Ronan’s my only brother; just the two of us.”

“By the sounds of it at the dinner table, you guys aren’t close. Was it always that way?” I’m purposefully lowering my tone, slightly sheepish as to convey that I’m attempting to tread lightly. “If that’s okay to ask.”

Again, his sigh is filled with unspoken resentment, and I know whatever he is going to say will tear my heart in two. “I loved—no, I love my brother. I failed him when he was still so young, and I hadn’t realized it until it was too late. He hates me for good reason. It’s selfish to try and fix what I refused to face myself. I should’ve done better for him…” His words trail off, and I try to listen to see what is happening, but it’s impossible.

“I’m sorry…” I say to break up the silence. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s alright. Why do you want to know?”

Closing my eyes, I pull my knees to my chest. “He said something that stuck with me…”

He hums. “I can see if he wants your number.” I’m completely taken aback by his comment. “He isn’t a bad person. Has he done bad things? Yes. However, he is the creation of a world that has done nothing but not listened. I’m not saying meet up with him. I’d prefer that he stay physically away from anyone until he can figure out what his purpose is now that he is out.”

And here I am, living under the same roof as him. I get why people find Ronan scary—hell, I did too at first. But now? Now, I don’t feel that way.

“But that doesn’t mean he should be alone. Texting and chatting wouldn’t be bad. He’s technically family after all…” Something has him trailing off again, and I wait to see if he continues.

When he doesn’t, I clear my throat. “Eamon?”

“Yeah?”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He takes a deep breath and sighs through the phone. “There’s no way for me to make it up to him, and even if there was, I don’t think he’d want me to.”

Heat burns behind my eyes as I bury my face into my knees. My chest aches, and I can’t tell if it’s because Eamon genuinely sounds crushed by the thought of his brother never forgiving him, or if it’s for Ronan, who’s carried so much pain for so long—alone.

“You have always been such an empath, Cal. I can hear you beginning to hyperventilate. Just take a deep breath.” I do as he says and try to breathe slowly. “There you go.”

“Thank you.” I look out at the lake and wet my lips. The sun is beginning to go down, the colors of orange and red bouncing from the water’s surface. It’s then I hear a motorcycle in the distance. “I need to go…”

“I’ll see about giving your number to him, if you want.”

I look over my shoulder, “Yeah… I’d like that. Like a pen pal. Talk with you later.”

“Pen pal… funny… Bye, honey.”

The cabin is empty of contractors, and I can’t believe how long I’ve been sitting out here. I must have disassociated or something, because it hadn’t felt like an entire day.

Ronan comes into view, driving up the driveway, circling around the house before heading straight into the open garage. He doesn’t look this way, but I wouldn’t have expected him to.

Standing, I tuck my phone into my pocket and sprint up the stairs toward the cabin. The door leading into the house shuts just before I’m close enough to call out to him. I’m not even sure what I want to say; I just need him to turn and look at me—that would be enough to steady my heart.

After hitting the garage door button and hearing the metal clinking as it closes, I barrel into the house.

“Ronan?” I look immediately around the living room and don’t see him. My feet move without my direction, carrying me right in front of his room. The door is closed, and I should just leave him alone. I should step away and let him be.

Instead of doing that, I groan and say, “Ronan, can I come in?”

Silence from the other side, and I place my forehead onto the door. “Please?” Again, nothing but quiet comes as a response.

Fuck this.

I place my hand on the doorknob and turn it slowly. The sound of the shower running as I push the door open brings a sigh of relief. At least he isn’t ignoring me—or well, not yet.

Moving into the room, his clothes scattered across the floor catch my eye. His jeans, then next his shirt, socks; all of it trailing and leading me to the bathroom, the door wide open. Steam is already spilling out of it and into the master bedroom.

Placing my back against the wall beside the doorframe, I say nervously, “Ronan?”

Water cascades in various rhythms, with some drops landing heavily on the tile, while others produce gentle, delicate taps. He doesn’t respond, but I know he can hear me.

“If you don’t say anything I’m coming in.”

I’m not entirely sure what I was expecting. Why would he respond? He’s been dominating and probably doesn’t give a shit that I see him naked. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, he isn’t going to. That’s something I’ve learned about him. He is going to do whatever he wants, no matter what it is.

Or he doesn’t think I’ll follow through. Like I’m not desperate enough for this conversation, and him, that I’m not willing to do whatever it takes.

Well, I’m here to prove him wrong. I am that desperate.

I’ve got my shirt off before I can tell myself to stop. Unclasping my bra and shoving down my shorts with my panties, I turn into the bathroom and don’t hesitate to open the glass door to the shower.

I had to just go for it. If I stopped to think or even glance at him before getting in, I’d have convinced myself this was a bad idea, turned around, and bolted out just like the last time I was naked in this very bathroom with him.

This shower is a decent size, easily capable of fitting more than a few people at a time. So I’m comfortable in our few feet of distance between one another.

He’s turned away from me, the waterfall shower head hitting his back. I can now confirm that nearly every inch of his backside is inked, all the way down to the curve of his ass, and straight to his thighs and calves.

It’s not how perfectly sculpted his body is or the incredible artwork across his back that has me staring. It’s the scars on them, the ones on his sides where I know whatever punctured him was dangerously close to his lungs. There are six in total, and the urge to reach out and touch them is so overwhelming that not doing it feels like knives slicing through my fingertips.

His shoulders rise as he releases a frustrated breath. “Yes?”

Now that I’m here, standing naked with him, I don’t know where my brain cells went. Every cognitive thought has gone straight out the door with the steam. One would argue I didn’t have a brain walking in like this in the first place, but I swear I had a plan.

When I don’t respond, he turns ever so slightly, and it’s then I see a cut across his eyebrow. “Silence doesn’t suit you, baby girl.”

“What… what happened?”

He leans back and lets the water fall over his face. It isn’t just the blood from his temple that runs from his face, but also his ear, and soon his head. His hand comes up to run through his hair, and when he turns to face me, my entire body heats.

“Doing a job,” is all he provides me with as an answer. “Since I didn’t have pussy getting in the way this time.” The rough delivery of his words makes me wince.

I keep my eyes on his, watching the water clear his face of blood and what I imagine is dirt.

I’ve forgotten myself, and I reach my hand out to touch his wound. His eyes widen, and the loud smack of his grip taking my wrist makes me jump. It didn’t hurt but surprised me enough that I take a step back.

“No.”

Clear as day. No .

“Please,” I whisper. “Let me touch you, Ronan, please.”

He narrows his eyes. “What makes you so special ? What makes you think you have some magical fucking touch that won’t scorch me?”

I’d hoped that was the case. That I was the band-aid that was created for him, and only him. Where chaos meets the calm. The healer to the scarred.

That, however, is just my own delusion.

“Nothing. I’m nothing special.” He scowls at my choice words. I don’t think he likes that I said it, even if he was implying it to be so. “Hurt me, I don’t care, but let me—”

“Tell me who is after you, Cal.”

My bottom lip trembles, and my mouth immediately shuts.

He growls out, “That’s what I thought.”

“You’re a fucking asshole!” I scream so loudly it echoes around the bathroom, but even with its intensity, he never falters. Instead, he stands taller, keeping my wrist tight in his grip. The water that had been hitting his face now hits his chest causing droplets to bounce across my face. “I’m just… trying to protect you.”

The sudden movement makes me gasp, the impact of my back slamming against the tiled wall taking my breath away. I cough, the sting in my shoulder blades sharp and immediate. Before I can recover, he’s pressing against me, his free hand gripping my jaw and tilting my head up to meet his gaze.

“I don’t need protection anymore and you know that. Stop using my safety as a scapegoat. Tell me what I want to know.” His hand releases my chin, and purposefully trails down my neck to my arm, where he grabs my other wrist and brings them both up over my head.

My breasts rub against him, the wetness of his chest combined with the smallest of movements causes my nipples to feel every ripple of his muscular frame. His cock twitches against my thigh, and I pant out a whimper as my hips meet his.

“This is toxic…” He leans into my ear, his breath fanning against it in such a way that sends a shiver straight down my spine. “We are the makings of violence because I want to hurt you for lying to me, break you… make you cry out for mercy that I will not give you.”

I’m breathing erratically, my chest attempting to rise but being constricted over his dominance. When his hands move up from my wrist, my breath catches, and for a moment I swear my heart stops beating. His fingers intertwine with mine, and then his head gently rests against the wall behind me.

I can still feel his words, but this time against my neck. “But I equally want to put you on your back, spread your legs wide, and fuck that beautiful cunt of yours. I want to watch how I make you feel, have you scream out my name…” He rolls his hips against mine, and my leg, as if tugged up by a string, lifts up to his hip. “Have you come all over my cock to show you just how much of a greedy slut you are for me.”

He’s right, holy fuck, he is so right. I’m trying to find friction, but he doesn’t move his hands to shift his cock to an angle I can get it.

“Look at you.” His nose brushes against my neck, his mouth so close that I can’t help but whimper, instinctively pushing into him, desperate to feel the contact of his lips against my skin. “So desperate for it, and you’ll stay that way. Needy. Wanting. I bet you are dripping from that shaved pussy of yours. The one you keep tidy in hopes that I will break, drop to my knees, and shove my tongue into your tight holes. Is that it?”

My hands tighten around his, both our nails biting into each other in a way that I’m certain one of us will draw blood soon.

“Are you a fucking slut for me, Cal?”

“Y-Yes…” Again, my hips move to try and find something to just brush against my sensitive clit. “Ronan, please…”

“Tell me, baby girl… then I’ll give you what you want.”

My fingers loosen, and in a breathless plea I say, “I want to touch you. That’s what I want.”

When his lips press against my neck, right where my pulse rises, I fucking moan. I imagine them against my own, around my clit, and I know even with the smallest of stimulation I’d come right now.

It’s inevitable at this point, especially as he drags his attention to my jaw, where he bites down with an intensity that makes me scream through a mewl.

“Name” is all he says, and as his nose pushes against my cheek, I shut my eyes.

He’ll know if I lie. I can’t take him throwing me out.

I’m so pathetic.

“The Serrano’s.”

He leans away from me but doesn’t separate us. His forehead presses against mine while he brings our hands down between us, then untangles our fingers.

Both of his arms raise, caging me between them as he leaves my hand inches from his stomach. I lift my gaze, his eyes dropping to half-mast. He’s giving me what I asked for, and my skin feels like it’s under a small vibration.

“Tell me it’s okay,” I whisper.

He hesitates, his eyes shifting quickly between mine. I can see his chest rising and falling with his breathing. When his jaw clenches and his throat bobs, I don’t think he is going to say anything. He doesn’t want this but is appeasing me for finally giving him what he asked for.

Just as I’m fisting my hands, he murmurs, “Touch me, Calista.”