Chapter 10 Ronan
Chapter ten
Ronan
The storm hits like it’s been waiting all day to unleash.
By evening, the sky has turned the color of wet slate, and the wind howls through the pines with enough force to make the cabin groan.
I’m standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing the coffee mug from earlier, when the lights flicker once, twice, then die.
Darkness settles fast and complete. Outside, the trees thrash like they’re trying to pull free of the earth.
I set the mug down carefully in the sink.
The quiet that follows the outage feels heavier than usual, with only the wind and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs.
My phone screen glows when I check it: no bars.
Service always drops in these storms. I’m cut off from the world except for what’s right here.
And right now, what’s right here is the knowledge that Isla’s alone up on the bluff in that drafty cottage with Travis somewhere in town.
The thought settles low in my gut, cold and sharp.
I told myself this morning I’d keep my distance.
I told myself last night was the last time I’d let myself close enough to hurt her.
But the idea of her sitting in the dark, jumping at every creak of the house, every gust against the windows, thinking he might come back, makes my chest hurt.
I grab the flashlight from the drawer, check the batteries, then pull on my jacket. The keys are already in my hand before I’ve fully decided to go. Protective instinct, I tell myself. Nothing more. Declan would’ve done the same.
The truck starts on the first try. Rain lashes the windshield as I ease down the gravel road, headlights cutting pale tunnels through the downpour.
The wipers slap back and forth in a steady rhythm.
Branches scrape the roof like fingers. I keep the speed low since the roads are slick and visibility is near zero, and the drive feels endless.
When I reach the turnoff to the bluff, the cottage comes into view: dark windows, no porch light, just the faint outline of the roof against the storm sky. No car in the drive except hers. No sign of Travis’s rental sedan. Relief flickers, then dies. He could be anywhere. Waiting. Watching.
I park close to the porch, kill the engine, and sit for a second listening to the rain hammer the cab. Then I grab the flashlight, step out into the deluge, and jog up the steps.
I knock hard, three solid raps, then call her name so she knows it’s me.
“Isla. It’s Ronan.”
Silence stretches. Then footsteps cross the floor inside. The lock clicks. The door opens a crack, chain still on.
Her face appears in the narrow gap, pale in the beam of my flashlight. Eyes wide. Hair is loose and tangled. “Ronan?” Her voice trembles just enough to twist something in my chest.
“Yeah. Power’s out. Came to check on you.”
She hesitates, then slides the chain free and pulls the door wider. “Come in. It’s freezing out there.”
I step inside, dripping on the threshold. She closes the door behind me, locks it again—twice. The cottage smells like cedar and candle wax; a single taper flickers on the kitchen table, throwing long shadows across the walls.
“You okay?” I ask.
She wraps her arms around herself. “I’m… fine. Just dark. And the wind keeps rattling everything. I keep thinking—” She stops, swallows. “I keep thinking he’s out there.”
I set the flashlight on the table, beam pointed up so it lights the ceiling and bounces soft glow around the room. “He’s not here. I checked the road coming in. No sign of his car.”
She nods, but the tension doesn’t leave her shoulders. “He knows where I live. He could come back.”
“If he does, he’ll have to get through me first.”
Her eyes meet mine, searching and vulnerable. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t owe me anything.”
I step closer, careful not to crowd her. “I’m not here because I owe you. I’m here because I want to be.”
The admission hangs between us, quiet and heavy.
She looks away first, toward the candle flame. “Last night… you said it was a mistake.”
“I know what I said.”
“Do you still think that?”
I exhale slowly. “I think I’m scared. What happens if I let myself want something good? Of what happens if I fail you the way I failed him?”
She turns back to me. “You didn’t fail Declan. You tried. You survived. That’s not failure.”
The words land soft, but they cut deep. I feel the old ache rise, guilt that’s lived in my bones so long it feels like part of me.
“I was supposed to bring him home,” I say quietly.
“I promised myself I’d get him out. When the helo went down, I got to him.
I had him. But the fire… the smoke… I couldn’t—” My voice cracks.
I stop, swallow hard. “He told me to go. Said he was already gone. I didn’t listen until the flames were too close. I left him there.”
Tears shine in her eyes. “He wouldn’t have wanted you to die with him.”
“I know.” I rub a hand over my face. “Doesn’t stop the nightmares. Doesn’t stop me from waking up thinking I should’ve done more.”
She steps forward then until she’s close enough that I can feel the warmth of her through the damp chill of my jacket. She lifts a hand, rests it against my chest, right over my heart.
“You’re not broken, Ronan. You’re just… carrying too much. Let me help you carry it. Just for tonight.”
Her touch burns through the fabric. I cover her hand with mine, hold it there.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whisper.
“You won’t.”
She rises on her toes and kisses me—soft, tentative, like she’s asking permission.
I answer by sliding my arms around her waist, pulling her close. The kiss deepens slowly. It’s gentle at first, then deeper, hungrier. Her fingers thread into my wet hair. I lift her easily and carry her to the bedroom without breaking contact.
The room is dark except for the faint glow from the living-room candle that spills through the doorway. I set her on the bed, follow her down, and brace my weight on my forearms so I don’t crush her.
We undress each other with careful hands.
There’s no rush, no desperation. Only quiet need.
Her skin is warm against mine. I kiss every inch I uncover.
Her collarbone, shoulder, and the soft curve of her breast. She arches under me, breath catching.
When I settle between her thighs, she wraps her legs around my hips, pulls me closer.
I enter her slowly, watching her face, memorizing the way her lips part, the way her eyes flutter closed.
She’s slick and ready, welcoming me home.
We move together, unhurried, deep, every thrust measured and deliberate.
Her nails score my back lightly. I kiss her throat, her jaw, her mouth, swallowing her soft moans.
It builds quiet and steady pleasure, coiling low and tight. When she comes, it’s with a soft cry against my shoulder, body trembling around me. I follow a moment later, burying myself deep, shuddering through the release, her name on my lips like a prayer.
We stay tangled after, our sweat cooling on our skin, and breaths slowing in tandem. I roll to my side, pull her against my chest. Her head tucks under my chin. My arm wraps around her waist, hand splayed across her stomach.
She traces lazy circles on my chest with her fingertip. “Stay,” she whispers.
I press a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The storm rages outside, wind screaming, rain hammering the roof, but inside it’s quiet. Safe. Warm.
Her breathing evens out first. I listen to it for a long time, feeling the rise and fall of her ribs against my side.
Sleep pulls at me slowly. I fight it just long enough to tighten my arm around her, to breathe in the scent of her hair one more time.
Then I let go.
We fall asleep together, our bodies entwined, hearts beating in quiet rhythm, while the storm howls on outside, unable to touch us here.