Chapter 14 Ronan
Chapter fourteen
Ronan
The afternoon sun hangs low over the harbor when the call finally comes.
I’m sitting on the edge of Isla’s bed, our bed now, if I let myself think that way, watching her fold the last of the clothes she’d packed.
She’s moving slower than before, like she’s testing the idea of staying.
Her fingers linger on the edge of a sweater, smoothing it flat, and every time she glances at me, there’s a question in her eyes she hasn’t asked out loud yet.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Sheriff’s office. I pick it up before the second ring.
“Ronan, it’s Deputy Ellis.” Her voice is calm, professional, the way it always is when she’s delivering news she knows will matter.
“Travis is being held. No bail hearing until tomorrow at the earliest, but the judge already signed the emergency restraining order. Assault with a deadly weapon, breaking and entering, terroristic threats, and violation of the existing protection order from back east. The prosecutor’s stacking charges. He’s not going anywhere soon.”
Relief hits me hard enough that I have to brace a hand on the mattress. “Is he secure?”
“Locked down tight. We’ve got extra eyes on the holding cell. You and Isla can breathe easier tonight.”
“Thanks, Ellis. Appreciate the call.”
“Anytime. You two take care.”
I end the call and set the phone down. Isla’s watching me, sweater forgotten in her hands.
“He’s not getting out,” I tell her. “Restraining order’s active. Charges are solid. He’s staying put.”
She exhales a long, shaky breath that seems to pull half the tension out of her shoulders.
The sweater drops into the suitcase. She crosses the room in three steps and sinks onto my lap, arms wrapping around my neck.
I pull her close, bury my face in her hair, breathe her in like she’s oxygen after too long underwater.
“We’re safe,” she whispers against my throat.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rough. “We are.”
We stay like that a while, her straddling my thighs, my hands splayed across her back, holding on like I’m afraid the moment will slip away if I loosen my grip.
The cottage is quiet except for the distant roll of waves and the occasional creak of the old house settling.
Sunlight slants through the window, warming the side of her face, catching gold in her lashes.
Eventually, she pulls back just enough to look at me. “I almost left. I was so scared—not just of him, but of staying here and hoping for something that might break again.”
“I know.” I brush my thumb along her cheekbone. “I almost let you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I couldn’t.” I swallow. “Not after everything. Not after last night. Not after seeing what walking away would cost both of us.”
She leans her forehead against mine. “So we stay.”
“We stay.”
The words feel like a vow—simple, solid, the kind you don’t need a ring or a ceremony to make real.
We don’t rush to unpack. There’s no hurry now.
Instead, we move through the cottage together, slow and deliberate.
I carry the suitcase back to the closet while she hangs the clothes she’d folded.
We make the bed with fresh sheets. I help her smooth the quilt, tuck the corners the way my mom taught me years ago, and when our hands meet in the middle, we both smile.
Evening creeps in soft and gold. We walk down to the harbor together, her hand in mine, fingers laced, no hurry in our steps.
The town is waking up after the storm: boats bobbing gently, fishermen calling to each other across the docks, the diner’s neon sign flickering on early.
People nod as we pass—familiar faces, curious glances that linger a second longer when they see our joined hands.
Marjorie spots us first. She’s sweeping the community center steps, pauses mid-motion when she sees us coming.
“Well,” she says, smile spreading slowly and warmly. “Look at you two.”
Isla squeezes my hand. “Hey, Marjorie.”
“You staying, then?” The question is gentle, but there’s hope in it.
Isla glances up at me, eyes shining. “Yeah. I’m staying.”
Marjorie’s smile widens. “Good. Town’s better with you in it.” She looks at me next. “And you don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been hiding up on that bluff too long. About time you came down and joined the living.”
I duck my head, feel heat crawl up my neck. “Working on it.”
She pats my arm as we pass. “Keep working. We like having you around.”
We keep walking. At the hardware store, Hank waves from the doorway, toolbox in hand. “Black! You still owe me that consult on the dock pilings!”
“Tomorrow,” I call back. “I’ll stop by.”
He grins. “Bring the girl. She’s prettier than you.”
Isla laughs, and the sound settles something deep in my chest.
We stop at the diner for coffee to go. Jonny slides two paper cups across the counter without asking what we want. “On the house,” he says. “Looks like you two finally figured it out.”
I raise a brow. “That obvious?”
“Been obvious since she fell off that ladder and you damn near broke your neck catching her.” He nods at Isla. “Welcome to town. For real this time.”
She smiles, soft and genuine. “Thanks, Jonny.”
We take the coffee outside and sit on the bench overlooking the water. The sun is sinking now, painting the harbor in rose and amber. Boats rock gently. Gulls call overhead. I drape my arm along the back of the bench; she leans into me, head on my shoulder.
“I used to hate coming into town,” I admit quietly. “Too many people. Too many questions. Felt like everyone could see the guilt written on my face.”
She tilts her head to look at me. “And now?”
“Now…” I watch a fishing boat ease toward the dock, lines being thrown, hands catching ropes. “Now it feels like a place I belong. Because you’re here. Because I’m not hiding anymore.”
She turns in my arms, sets her coffee on the bench so she can cup my face with both hands. “You never had to hide from me.”
“I know that now.”
I kiss her—slow, deep, right there on the public bench with the whole harbor watching. She tastes like coffee and salt air and everything I’ve been too afraid to want. When we break apart, her eyes are shining.
“Let’s go home,” she whispers.
Home.
The word lands soft and sure.
We walk back up the bluff hand in hand, dusk settling around us like a blanket.
The cottage glows warm when we reach it—porch light on, windows golden.
Inside, it smells like cedar and the faint trace of the candle we burned last night.
I lock the door behind us—habit now, but one that feels less like fear and more like care.
She turns to me in the entryway, steps close, and rests her palms on my chest. “I love you,” she says simply. “I think I have for a while. I was just too scared to say it.”
The words steal my breath. I cover her hands with mine, hold them against my heart. “I love you too. More than I know how to say yet. But I’m learning.”
She smiles and rises on her toes to kiss me.
We don’t make it far. Clothes fall away between the living room and the bedroom, jacket, sweater, jeans, leaving a trail we’ll pick up later. When we reach the bed, I lay her down gently, follow her, brace my weight on my forearms so I can look at her—really look.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur, tracing the line of her collarbone with my lips. “Every inch of you.”
She arches under me, fingers threading through my hair. “So are you.”
We move slowly this time. Every touch feels like a promise.
When I slide inside her, she gasps my name, legs wrapping around my hips, pulling me deeper.
We rock together, eyes locked, breaths mingling.
Her nails dig into my shoulders. I kiss her through every soft cry, swallow every whispered “I love you” like I’m collecting them to keep forever.
When she comes, it’s a quiet shuddering, trembling, with her face pressed to my neck. I follow right after, burying myself deep, groaning her name against her skin, pleasure crashing through me in slow, rolling waves.
We stay tangled, hearts pounding in tandem. I pull the quilt over us, tuck her against my chest, wrap my arms around her, and I’ll never let go.
She traces lazy patterns on my skin. “We’re really doing this.”
“Yeah.” I kiss her temple. “We are.”
“Tomorrow I’m calling the community center. Telling them I’m staying for good.”
“Good.” I tighten my hold. “I’ll be there when you do.”
She tilts her head to look at me. “You’re going to start coming around more? Helping people? Letting them see you?”
I nod slowly. “I think it’s time. I’ve spent too long on the outside looking in. I want to be part of this place. With you.”
Her smile is soft, sleepy, perfect. “I’d like that.”
We talked a while longer, all about quiet plans and small promises.
About fixing the last of the roof leaks together.
About teaching self-defense classes at the center, so no one else feels as helpless as she did.
About maybe getting a dog someday, something big and loyal that’ll bark at strangers.
About nights like this, just us, no walls between us.
Eventually, her breathing slows and evens out. I listen to it for a long time steadily, until my own eyes grow heavy.
I press one last kiss to her hair.
“I love you,” I whisper into the dark.
She murmurs something soft and happy in her sleep, nestles closer.
I close my eyes, hold her tight, and let sleep take me.