28. Ciara
Chapter Twenty-Eight
CIARA
Ronan just…leaves.
I stare at the open door to the bedroom, listening to the sound of tires crunching against the gravel as he disappears into the night without offering me an explanation.
He knows something, and once again he’s keeping me in the dark when it’s my friend who ended up dead. Despite the role Ronan played in Max’s death, somehow I feel like the one being punished.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep sitting around and waiting for Ronan to decide whether or not he can trust me.
I wrap my arms around myself as I pad over to the window.
Ronan’s car is long gone, but I still stand there, as if hoping he might turn around and come back for me. But of course, he doesn’t.
My stomach knots with a mix of fear and frustration.
Why can’t he just talk to me? Have I not proven myself enough? Have I not shown that I’m loyal to him and to the Sullivans?
My life has been turned upside down because of him, but I’ve refused to walk away, even when Ronan gave me the chance. Despite everything that has happened, I chose him. I still choose him, and yet sometimes, it feels like he doesn’t choose me back.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
It could be hours or even days until Ronan comes back, and I know there’s no way Stephen will let me leave this house to go after him. So, I turn my back on the window and head into the bathroom to draw a bath because I have nothing else to do.
I run the water just hot enough to turn my skin pink, sinking down into it until it comes up to my chin.
The steam fills the room and beads of sweat start to form around my temples.
I try to clear my mind and let the water relax the muscles in my back and shoulders. The lavender oil and the bubble bath will help.
As I close my eyes, my mind starts drifting, and I slip into an almost dreamlike state.
Pictures start playing in my head. Every brutal swing of Ronan’s fist, every splatter of blood on Max’s face, the jolt of his body as the bullet—
“No!” My eyes fly open, and I bolt upright, sending water splashing over the side of the bath as I gasp for breath.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes.
But the harder I try not to picture Max getting shot, the more my mind plays the image on repeat.
“Stop!” I cry out in the hopes of snapping myself out of the memory loop.
The image shifts, and now Ronan is watching the scene, his eyes focusing on the hand holding the gun and the flicker of panic that followed.
He recognized that tattoo. He knows who killed Max, but he refused to tell me who it was, and I can’t help but wonder who he’s trying to protect by keeping silent. Me? Or the killer?
When I finally step out of the bath, my skin is pink and raw from the heat, yet I feel no calmer than before. I take my time brushing out my wet hair, tying it back in a braid, and throwing on a fresh pair of sweats.
After I’m dressed, I pad barefoot out of the closet into the main bedroom and stare at the huge bed.
I’m exhausted, yet I have no interest in sleeping. Maybe because I know there will be no peaceful dreams when I do. So, I bypass the bed and head downstairs into the kitchen.
Stephen sits at the kitchen island, tapping away on a tablet as he switches between various camera feeds that survey the grounds. His eyes flick up as I walk in, and he straightens slightly.
“I heard Ronan leave.”
“Yeah. He had to go out.”
He frowns. “Is everything all right?”
“Sure.” I open a cupboard and pull out a mug, too aware of his eyes on me.
“It didn’t sound like everything was all right.”
I freeze for a second, then slowly reach for the tub of cocoa powder and set it down on the counter.
“You heard that, huh?”
“I think the whole neighborhood heard it.”
I groan. “Wonderful.”
I pad over to the fridge to get the milk and notice the can of whipped cream on the top shelf.
“Screw it.” I get the milk and snatch the can and shut the fridge door a little too hard.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“What I want is to drown my sorrows in a vat of hot chocolate.” I pull out a saucepan and pour in the milk before turning on the burner.
Stephen is quiet for a moment, but then his footsteps disappear into the walk-in pantry.
“Here.” He tosses down a fresh bag of marshmallows on the counter.
I look at the bag, and my eyes start to sting.
He frowns again. “Unless you don’t like marshmallows…”
“No, I love them.” I hastily wipe my cheek. “It’s just… I showed Ronan something. It was camera footage from Max’s apartment the night he died.”
I glance sidelong at Stephen, who is nodding slowly, a deep crease between his dark brows.
“And?”
I stir the milk. “And I know he recognized the guy who shot him. But he wouldn’t talk to me about it. He just… left.”
My voice cracks, and I suck in a breath as my eyes start to blur.
Stephen comes to stand beside me, and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to hug me, but then he reaches for the tub of cocoa.
“Let me.” He starts tipping it into the saucepan.
I don’t argue. Instead, I lift myself onto the counter beside the stove and hug my knees into my chest as the tears start to fall once again.
Stephen whisks the milk. “Ronan’s got a lot on his plate.”
“So do I.” The words are harsher than I mean them to be, but it’s true.
“You’re right, but he doesn’t know that, does he?” He gives me a sideways glance.
I ignore his rib. “It’s exhausting not knowing what’s going on.” I rub my hands up and down my arms, feeling the cold start to seep in once again. “I feel like I’m part of his life, but never fully in it, if that even makes sense…”
Stephen turns off the burner and faces me. “You are in his life, Ciara. He just doesn’t know how to share the parts that scare him with you yet.”
“Is that what this is about? Fear?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Or control.”
“This is Ronan we’re talking about. It’s always about control with him,” I scoff.
“Ronan’s used to keeping things locked down. If he recognized Max’s killer like you said he did and didn’t tell you, it’s probably for a reason.”
“Because he doesn’t trust me.”
“I doubt that, Ciara. If anything, I think Ronan is just trying to protect you.”
“Well, it doesn’t feel like protection. It feels like I’m being kept in the dark.”
Stephen’s eyes soften as he glances at me. “I know.”
I shrug, my throat too thick with tears to say anything else.
But Stephen doesn’t push it.
I slide off the counter and take a seat at the island, reaching for the bag of marshmallows to snack on while he finishes making my cocoa.
He sets the steaming mug down in front of me. “My kids like to add their own marshmallows. Apparently, I’m too stingy with them.”
Just then, Stephen’s phone vibrates against the countertop, the screen lighting up with his wife’s name. He glances at it, and something in his face changes. His jaw clenches, and he quickly hits the side button to silence it.
“Everything okay?” I add a handful of marshmallows to my mug.
He pauses for a second too long. “Yeah. Tamara just worries when it gets late.”
I watch him more closely now, noticing the tension in his shoulders and the way he’s refusing to meet my eyes.
“You can call her back, you know? Ronan’s not here to reprimand you for taking a personal call on the job, and I certainly won’t tell him.”
I expect the offer to get me a smile in return or at least a nod of thanks, but Stephen only shakes his head.
“Not right now.” His tone is sharp.
The silence that follows isn’t the comfortable kind we sometimes fall into. Something flickers across his face as he looks down at his phone. Guilt, maybe? Or frustration? It’s hard to tell. Stephen gives very little away, which makes him almost impossible to read.
“Do you think I’m wrong to be angry with Ronan?” I’m desperate to break the awkward silence.
He raises an eyebrow.
I grip my mug tighter, the heat sending a shiver down my spine. “For not telling me what he knows.”
Stephen exhales through his nose as he braces his hands on the edge of the island. “You’re not wrong to be angry, Ciara. But Ronan’s not thinking straight.”
“Because of the footage?”
“Because he’s scared. Because everything he’s built is starting to fall apart. You’re perhaps the only thing that isn’t causing chaos for him right now, and that might scare him the most.”
“You think I scare him?”
He smiles faintly, but there’s sadness in it. “In the sense that you’re the one person he can’t afford to lose. That kind of fear makes people do stupid things.”
Stephen isn’t looking at me, his gaze fixed on the window as he loses himself in his thoughts. His dark brows are furrowed, and it’s clear something is on his mind, but I don’t push him to talk.
Instead, I sip my cocoa, letting his words sink in until the anger I’ve been clinging to feels more fragile.
“Don’t take Ronan’s silence personally, Ciara,” Stephen eventually says. “This is just how he works.”
“It feels personal.”
“I know.”
The silence stretches on again. It’s not as uncomfortable as before, but it’s heavy.
I stare down at my mug of cocoa, my mind feeling like a storm I can’t quiet.
After a few minutes, Stephen speaks again. “I’ve seen Ronan after a kill, after a war, after his father died.”
I glance up at him.
“But I’ve never seen him look the way he did walking out of this house tonight.”
“What did he look like?”
“He looked… afraid.”
My chest tightens. “Then why won’t he let me help?”
Stephen shrugs. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to let you.”
“I’m not made of glass.”
“No, you’re not. But Ronan’s afraid you’ll shatter anyway.”
I look away, blinking hard. “I hate this.”
“You know, he’s not the only one carrying things.”
I meet his eyes again. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been through hell lately, and what I’m trying to say is that you don’t need to keep pretending you’re fine.”
The lump in my throat returns.
I want to argue, to insist I am fine, but I’m not. “I’m scared too. Not just for Ronan and our baby, but for Mila and Callum and… well, everyone. It feels like the world is on fire and I’m walking barefoot through it.”
Stephen nods slowly. “You’re stronger than he is, you know?”
I blink. “What?”
“He’s fire, but you’re stone, Ciara. You take the hit and absorb the damage, but you don’t break.”
I can’t speak for a second, too stunned by his words. I never thought of myself as particularly strong. Fiery? Yes. But not strong.
“Right now, I feel more like a pile of rubble than stone.”
Stephen huffs a laugh. “Don’t worry, Ronan will come back. He always does.”
That might be true, but will he come back whole?