30. Chapter Thirty Kieran
Chapter Thirty: Kieran
S he listened.
That alone said something. Not about trust, exactly—just the kind of resignation that settles in when you've got nothing left to burn.
I followed her upstairs. Into her bedroom. Sat on the edge of the bed like I belonged there, like I hadn’t just dragged her whole life into the dark and handed her the knife.
Water ran in the en suite. I stayed where I was, shoulders tight, my hands braced on my knees. Steam crept out under the door in soft, curling tendrils. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.
Then I heard it. A sound not meant for me—low, broken, gut-deep. Like she was trying to choke it down before it escaped her throat.
My hand found the door handle without hesitation.
She hadn’t locked it.
Of course she hadn’t.
I pushed it open, slow, quiet, and slipped inside. The heat hit first. Then the scent—coconut, iron, her skin.
She stood beneath the spray, head bowed, arms wrapped tight around her ribs like she was trying to hold herself together from the outside in. Her shoulders trembled. Her knees wobbled. Her breath came in shudders, soft and wet and wrecked.
She didn’t hear me. Not at first. I didn’t strip down. Didn’t say her name. I just stepped into the shower, clothes and all, letting the water soak through cotton and denim, letting it scald down my spine. She stiffened when she felt me behind her—but she didn’t turn around.
She didn’t tell me to leave.
I could barely see her skin through the steam and the blood and the grief. Her body was all soft edges, bruised and too warm, and I kept my hands to myself only because I didn’t trust what would happen if I touched her.
“Hey,” I murmured. “Hey. You’re okay.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not. What kind of person—what kind of mother lets this happen?”
“You didn’t let anything happen,” I said, voice low, steady. “Someone came into your home to kill you. You survived. That’s what Rosie needs. Not a saint. Not a martyr. Her mother.”
She turned just enough for me to see her profile, the curve of her throat, the heat flush on her cheeks.
“It doesn’t feel like the right thing,” she whispered.
I didn’t lie. I didn’t tell her it would. I just reached for the shampoo.
The cap clicked. The scent bloomed—too gentle for a night like this, too clean—and I gathered her hair in my hands, soaked through and clinging to her skin. I tilted her head back, slow, careful, and when I dragged my fingers through her scalp, she let out a sound so small I almost missed it.
But I didn’t miss it. I felt it—tight in my chest, low in my gut.
She let me wash her. Let me touch her. Let me do this one thing.
And fuck, if that didn’t feel like everything.
The water kept falling, red-tinted and heavy. I worked the shampoo through her hair, rinsing it out slow. Her arms dropped. Her spine curved toward me. She let me hold her there, still and quiet and undone.
This was surrender. Not the body. The trust.
I should’ve left her to it. Let her fall apart on her own.
Instead, I stayed. I ran my hands down her shoulders, over the curve of her back, anchoring her without pulling too hard.
“I don’t know how to feel,” she said, the words barely a breath.
“You don’t have to,” I replied.
She turned then. Eyes rimmed red. Lip trembling. Breath hitching just once.
Wrecked.
Raw.
Still beautiful.
Still fucking mine.
“How do you deal with this, Kieran? That’s a person,” she said. “That is vengeance. Vengeance isn’t justice.”
I shook my head. “You’re wrong, Ruby,” I said, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “A man tried to kill you. You put him in prison because he was dangerous and he got out and tried to kill you. That isn’t justice, sweetheart. That’s fucked.”
“But that isn’t your place.”
“Maybe you’re right. But if I hadn’t killed him, would Rosie still have a mother?”
She shook her head, sighing deeply. Her gaze flickered to my mouth, and my control snapped like a thread pulled too tight. Her eyes flickered to my mouth. My gut twisted, a warning I ignored.
I should have turned away.
But there was no going back now.
I kissed her—deep, hard—like I’d earned it, like I had any right at all.
She gasped against my mouth, but it wasn’t a protest. It was a challenge. And I met it head-on, pressing her back against the cold tile as the water rained down around us. Her body jolted at the contrast, and then she arched—into me, not away.
Her fingers dug into my shoulders, sharp little crescents of want.
She pulled me closer.
So I gave in.
“You’re in the shower,” she muttered when we broke apart, breathless. “Why the fuck are you still dressed?”
“You were crying,” I said, voice rough. “Didn’t seem like the right time to ask for a towel.”
She blinked. Then smirked, slow and dangerous. “So you decided to stand there like a brooding wet dog instead?”
“I decided to get in the shower with a naked woman. Don’t make me rethink my choices.”
Her eyes flicked down, then up. “You’re dripping.”
“You’re welcome.”
She huffed, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and for a second I thought she was going to push me away.
But she didn’t.
She grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me like she’d earned it too.
The water pounded against my back, my shirt sticking to my skin, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was her—the soft give of her mouth, the way her body fit against mine like we’d been built for each other.
But we hadn’t been.
We’d been built to grow up on opposite sides of this city, on opposite sides of this life. We’d been built to never end up here at all.
And so, when she pulled away this time and rested her forehead on my chest, I didn’t stop her.
“We can’t do this,” she muttered.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s why we’re kissing in your shower. Because we’re not doing this.”
She let out a noise—half laugh, half groan. “Kieran…”
“I’m just agreeing with you,” I said, hands sliding to her waist, thumbs brushing the curve of her hip. “Very respectfully. While shirtless. In your shower.”
“This will never be okay.”
“I’m aware. It’s horrible. Really.” I kissed the top of her head. “Terrible idea. We should definitely stop.”
Her hands moved to the hem of my shirt, and she looked up at me with a glare that barely held together. “Take it off or I’ll do it for you.”
“Well, if you insist on making the worst decision of your life…” I lifted my arms, letting her peel the shirt off me, her fingers brushing down my chest with more intent than she wanted to admit.
She stared at me. “You’re not even gonna pretend to protest?”
I grinned. “Oh, I’m full of protest. It’s just trapped behind the part of my brain that really wants you to keep touching me.”
My lips brushed her collarbone, and she clung to me, pressing her body closer like we could somehow dissolve into each other and never be separate again.
She kissed me with a sudden fierceness, like the last piece of something breaking loose inside her.
Like we were both still falling apart and holding on was the only thing that could keep us whole.
“Jesus,” she whispered against my mouth, her voice catching. “This is so…”
“Dangerous?” I offered.
“Stupid.”
“Mm. I like when you sweet-talk me.”
I hauled her closer, lifting her up and wrapping her legs around me. If there was going to be regret later, it could wait; right now, none of that mattered.
“Wait,” she said, giggling. “Don’t you want to take your pants off first?”
“You’re too impatient,” I said, kissing the curve of her jaw. “Didn’t they teach you anything at law school?”
She laughed against my mouth, short and breathless, and something in me sang at the sound. Then she planted her hands on my chest again, shoving me gently away.
“Impatient?” she said. “Says the man performing a rescue mission in soaking-wet jeans.”
“You’re not a rescue mission,” I said.
“Okay. What am I?”
Everything, I thought. But I didn’t say it.
I grinned, feeling it in every part of me, and when I let her go long enough to strip them off, she didn’t move away. She stayed close and warm and ready, eyes wide and wanting. When I pulled her against me again, so bare it almost hurt to touch her, she shivered at the contact.
I kissed her again, the kiss hot and long and desperate, and she kissed me back with just as much intensity. I slid my hands down her back, pressing her against the tile, feeling her naked body against mine.
I wanted to pace myself, but there was no chance. Not with Ruby naked. Not with her willing.
Not with her right there, looking so beautiful I could barely stand it.
“Fuck,” she whispered, like it was both a plea and a surrender. Like she was giving me permission to ruin her, or maybe herself.
It turned into a gasp as I made my way down her neck, careful now, softer, tracing the places she bruised and scarred. I gave each one a moment’s attention before moving lower, running my hands over her like she might vanish if I wasn’t holding on. Like she was a promise I was afraid wouldn’t hold.
“Kieran,” she murmured, her voice all breath and want.
I kissed my way down her chest, dragging my mouth over the curve of her breast, and felt her arch for me—like her body had been waiting for this as long as mine had. Her pulse thudded just beneath her skin, frantic and wild, and I couldn’t help it—I groaned against her, open-mouthed, needy.
Her legs tightened around me, locking me in, pulling me closer like she couldn’t get enough. Like she didn’t want to. We were tangled, soaked, breathless—just a blur of skin and heat and years of wanting each other with no way to speak it.
And now I had her.
“Okay,” I managed, my voice wrecked, rough with how fucking badly I needed her. “I’m gonna take my pants off now.”
She bit her lip, a little smirk in her eyes. “Finally.”