Chapter Eleven — The Dangerous Brother
ELLIOT
By nine, somebody had added a photograph of Ronan standing beside his motorcycle outside Whitmore Hall.
The photograph was old. Elliot remembered the day.
Last winter. Ronan wore a black coat and looked irritated because Elliot had made him wait twenty minutes while Claire finished talking.
The image had been cropped tightly enough that Elliot was no longer visible.
Now Ronan stood alone beneath the caption: WHO IS RONAN VALE?
Elliot stared at it. His thumb moved across the screen.
The comments were worse. Isn't this the guy connected to Dylan?
He beat someone half to death at Merrick.
Wrong. Apparently he has anger issues. True.
He was questioned yesterday. Also true. My roommate says he threatened Mason before he died.
Completely false. Elliot's jaw tightened.
Another comment appeared. Didn't one of the victims hook up with his stepbrother?
Elliot stopped. He read it again. Then again.
His coffee suddenly tasted bitter. That wasn't true either.
Not Mason. Not Lucas. But the fact that somebody had begun dragging Elliot into it meant the relationship rumors were spreading.
He opened the replies. Nobody seemed to know what they were talking about.
One person claimed Mason had dated Elliot.
Another said Lucas had. A third insisted Dylan had.
That one made Elliot laugh once. Coldly.
Bellweather had apparently decided every man within ten feet of Elliot had fucked him.
He scrolled further. A new screenshot appeared.
Ronan's Merrick disciplinary report. Elliot stared.
PHYSICAL ALTERCATION INVOLVING STUDENT AARON WHITLOCK.
His grip tightened around the phone. He remembered Aaron.
The memory remained unusually sharp despite three years passing.
A crowded house. Music. Too much vodka. Aaron cornering Elliot near the kitchen.
His hand closing around Elliot's wrist. Elliot saying no once.
Then again. Aaron laughing. Ronan appearing behind him.
Everything after that happened quickly. Aaron on the floor.
Blood beneath his nose. Ronan's knuckles split open.
People shouting. Elliot standing against the kitchen cabinets with bruises already forming beneath Aaron's fingerprints.
Ronan had never asked whether Elliot wanted him to hit Aaron.
He simply had. Elliot had loved him a little differently after that.
Maybe that should have worried him. It hadn't.
The carriage-house stairs creaked. Elliot locked the phone.
Ronan appeared wearing sweatpants and nothing else. His hair stuck up on one side. A faint bite mark remained near his shoulder. Elliot's eyes went there automatically. Ronan followed his gaze.
“Don't.”
Elliot looked back at his coffee.
“I didn't do anything.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“Can you arrest people for thoughts now?”
“Apparently Bellweather can arrest people for existing.”
Elliot looked up. Ronan had his phone. So he'd seen it.
“Who sent it?”
“Dylan.”
Of course. Elliot's mood worsened. Ronan opened the refrigerator.
“You'd think he'd have bigger problems.”
“He probably thought you should know.”
“Yeah.”
Ronan took out orange juice. Elliot watched him drink directly from the container.
“Glass.” “No.” “That's disgusting.” “We share bodily fluids.” Elliot almost choked on his coffee.
Ronan smiled. “You walked into that one.” “It's nine in the morning.” “You started staring at my neck.” “I hate you.” “No, you don't.” Elliot looked toward his phone.
Ronan noticed. “Don't read the comments.” “Too late.” “They're idiots.” “They're talking about you.” “People talk.” “They're lying.” “People lie.” Elliot hated how calm he sounded.
Ronan poured juice into a glass only after Elliot glared at him long enough.
“There. Happy?” “No.” “Shocking.” Elliot unlocked his phone again.
Ronan leaned against the opposite side of the island.
“Put it away.” “No.” “Elliot.” “Someone posted your disciplinary record.” “So?” “So that's private.” “Not anymore.” “They're making you look like some violent psychopath.” Ronan's eyebrows lifted.
“Interesting choice of words.” Elliot stared.
Ronan smiled. “Sorry.” “Not funny.” “No.” The smile disappeared.
Elliot looked back at the screen. Another comment.
He looks like exactly the kind of guy who would wear that mask.
Something inside Elliot went cold. He imagined Ronan beneath the porcelain.
The idea felt wrong. Almost offensive. That mask belonged to Elliot.
Not sentimentally. Practically. It was an extension of anonymity.
A boundary between the person everyone loved and the person Mason Kerr had seen before dying.
Seeing strangers mentally put it on Ronan made Elliot's stomach twist.
“He didn't do anything,” Elliot said.
Ronan stared at him.
“I know.”
“They don't.”
“They don't matter.”
“They could.”
“How?”
“Police read this shit.”
“Police hopefully have better evidence than Reddit detectives.”
Elliot looked up.
“Vance asked about you.”
Ronan's expression tightened.
“She asked about both of us.”
“What exactly?”
“We did this yesterday.”
“No. You gave me pieces.”
Ronan sighed.
“Elliot.”
“What did she ask?”
“Whether I'd fought people.”
“I know.”
“Whether I'm protective of you.”
“I know.”
“Whether I thought you could hurt someone.”
Elliot's jaw tightened.
“And?”
“I told you.”
“Everything.”
Ronan stared. There. That hesitation again. Elliot immediately knew.
“What didn't you tell me?”
“Nothing.”
“Ronan.”
“It's irrelevant.”
“What?”
Ronan rubbed one hand over his face.
“She asked whether I frightened you.”
Elliot blinked. Then laughed. Actually laughed. Ronan looked offended.
“What?”
“You?”
“Apparently.”
“That's fucking ridiculous.”
“Glad you think so.”
Elliot shook his head.
“They really are looking at you.”
“Maybe.”
“No. They are.”
Ronan poured more juice. Elliot watched him.
“Does that not bother you?”
“Of course it bothers me.”
“You don't act like it.”
Ronan gave him a look. Elliot immediately heard himself. He almost smiled.
“Okay.”
“Yeah.”
“Fair.”
Ronan sat across from him. For several moments, neither spoke.
Outside, Sunday morning moved quietly across the property.
The main house remained dark except for the kitchen windows.
Rebecca and Thomas usually slept late on Sundays unless Rebecca had decided church attendance temporarily mattered again.
The backyard was wet from overnight rain.
Bare branches scratched softly against one another above the stone path.
Peaceful. Safe. The entire property looked incapable of containing anything ugly. Elliot had always liked that.
“You worried?” Ronan asked.
“No.”
“Liar.”
Elliot stared into his coffee.
“About you.”
Ronan's expression softened.
“Don't.”
“What?”
“Get weird.”
“I'm not getting weird.”
“You are.”
“Police think you're dangerous.”
“I am dangerous.”
Elliot looked up. Ronan smiled faintly.
“Sometimes.”
“That isn't funny.”
“It wasn't supposed to be.”
Elliot studied him. Ronan had always accepted his own reputation more easily than Elliot understood.
He didn't care when strangers found him intimidating.
Sometimes Elliot suspected he enjoyed it.
People moved out of his way. They stopped asking questions.
They rarely underestimated him. Elliot had spent his life cultivating the opposite response.
He wanted people close. Comfortable. Unprotected.
Two entirely different strategies. Both useful.
“Would you tell them about us?” Elliot asked.
Ronan's smile vanished.
“What?”
“If they asked directly.”
“They already know.”
“That's not what I asked.”
Ronan leaned back.
“Would I confirm it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Answer.”
Ronan stared. Elliot held his gaze. Finally:
“If I had to.”
Something hot moved through Elliot's chest.
“Had to.”
“I wouldn't volunteer it.”
“But you'd tell them.”
“I'm not going to lie in a murder investigation about something they can prove later.”
Elliot looked away.
“That bothers you?” Ronan asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it's ours.”
The answer left before Elliot could edit it.
Ronan went quiet. Elliot stared through the window.
The word remained between them. Ours. Not secret.
Not shameful. Ours. There were pieces of Ronan that belonged to everyone.
His parents. Friends. Professors. Dylan.
The fucking world. Their relationship wasn't one of them.
That belonged inside locked doors. Inside Ronan's bedroom.
Inside the carriage house after midnight.
It belonged in bruises beneath clothing and texts nobody else read and the soft way Ronan said Elliot's name when he wasn't trying to sound annoyed.
Police had no right to it. Claire had no right.
Dylan definitely had no right. Nobody. Ronan reached across the island.
His fingers closed around Elliot's wrist.
“Hey.”
Elliot looked down at the hand.
“It's still ours.”
“They know.”
“So?”
“So that changes it.”
“No.”
“It does.”
Ronan tightened his grip.
“Only if we let it.”
Elliot looked up. Ronan's face had gone serious.
“That shit online doesn't know anything. Vance doesn't know anything except whatever somebody told her. Nobody knows what this is except us.”
Elliot swallowed. He hated reassurance. He needed it constantly. Both things could be true.
“Okay.”
Ronan's thumb moved once against his pulse.
“Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
Elliot smiled faintly. Ronan released him. His phone vibrated. Both looked. Dylan. Again. Ronan picked it up. Elliot's irritation returned instantly.
“What?”
Ronan read. His expression changed.
“What?”
“Dylan says cops are outside.”
“His place?”
“Yeah.”
“Again?”
Ronan stood. Elliot's stomach tightened.