Chapter Seven
Rowen
How I ended up at Berkley’s door, I don’t know.
Actually, that’s a lie. I know exactly why I’m here. I just don’t want to admit it out loud, because then it feels real—like giving weight to a thought that should’ve stayed buried.
Dad caught Ronan and me before he took off for the conference, his usual brand of disappointment dripping from every word.
“You boys need to get your shit together,” he snaps, eyes sharp as glass.
“You’re almost eighteen. It’s time you start acting like it.
” He jabbed a finger into my chest so hard I swear there’s a bruise forming.
“Why can’t you be more like your brother?
” he growls, the words tasting like venom in my ears.
Ronan stood beside me, arms crossed, silent.
But even he flinched—just slightly—and that said everything.
People always think he’s the unpredictable one, the unhinged one.
They’re not wrong... but they’re not right either.
He’s not dangerous in the way they think.
He’s just intense. Raw. Loyal in ways no one gives him credit for.
But that loyalty? It doesn’t extend to our father. Hasn’t in years.
Ronan’s got this sense about people, like he was born without blinders. He sees the rot in others before the rest of us smell the smoke. And when it’s our dad? He’s always said something was off.
But me? I still get caught in the undertow.
I know my dad isn’t a good man—not by a long shot—but he’s still my dad.
And there’s this pathetic part of me, some leftover version of the kid I used to be, that still wants him to look at me and not see failure.
Still wants to earn his approval, even if I know better.
Tonight, he made it clear—again—that I’m not enough.
Said we weren’t tough. Said he’d be “fixing that” soon. The way he smiled when he said it made my stomach twist.
After that, I asked Ronan to come with me. Figured we could both use some time with Berk. She always knows how to ground us, how to remind us of who we are beneath all the noise.
But he brushed me off.
Shrugged away my hand, gave me a look I couldn’t read, and walked off like the wind caught him and carried him away. He’s been doing that more often lately—drifting. Unpredictable. Restless. I don’t think he’s hurting anyone... not unless they deserve it. But even that’s becoming harder to track.
He’s never talked about it much, but Ronan sees things.
Patterns, inconsistencies, hidden truths in plain sight.
He has the kind of mind that could either build empires or burn them to the ground.
It scares me sometimes—how easily he reads people.
How precise he can be when he decides someone’s guilty of sin.
No jury, no trial. Just instinct and cold execution.
And I’m starting to wonder what he’s up to when he disappears like that.
But I let him go.
Because tonight, I needed something too. Something warm, real.
Something like Berkley.
So now I’m standing on her porch, hand halfway raised to knock, pulse tapping out a frantic beat in my ears. And before I lose my nerve, I knock.
When she opens the door, wearing a cozy oversized hoodie and that wide-eyed softness that never fails to gut me, I know I made the right call.
“Hey,” I say, voice low.
She doesn’t ask why I’m here.
She just opens the door wider and says, “Come in.”
And I do.
Because wherever she is... that’s home.
Her brows knit with concern as she shuts the door behind me and takes a step closer. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”
I don’t sugarcoat it. Never could with her. “Dad was being a dick. I needed to get away.”
Her expression softens, as it always does when I tell the truth. “Is Reign okay? Ronan?”
“Reign’s out with her boyfriend,” I mutter, stepping closer. “And Ronan... he’s in the wind.”
She bites her lip the moment I say his name. Her eyes flick to her phone like she’s debating something, then without asking, she snatches it up and starts typing. “I’m texting him. He’s probably spiraling.”
“He didn’t come with me,” I add, feeling the sting sharper than I want to admit. “He was pissed. Shut down.”
Her thumbs fly across the screen, then she pauses. “I asked if he’s okay... told him he better text me if he needs anything.”
The phone buzzes almost instantly in her hand with his reply. I glance down and, sure enough, a message from Ronan: All good. I’m fine. Just need some space.
It grates on me more than I want to admit that he’s leaving me on read but answering her in seconds. I’ve texted him a dozen times tonight. Not a single reply. But for her? Instant. Still, I push it down. At least he’s talking to someone.
She types again, eyes narrowed. “I’m video calling him soon. He better answer.” She threatens as she types those words.
A salute emoji comes through in response, and she laughs. That quiet, breathy giggle that makes my chest ache in the best way.
“I’m glad he’s got you,” I say before I can stop myself. “When he can’t come to us... at least he’s got you.”
She blushes, ducking her head just enough to hide behind that fall of hair, but I see the smile tug at her lips. “Thanks, Ro.”
I tilt her chin up, coaxing her eyes to meet mine.
There’s something about the way she looks at me—steady, soft, but strong—that always hits me like a punch to the chest. “I mean it, Berk,” I whisper, my voice rough with sincerity.
“Reign and I might share blood with Ronan—we’re part of his triplet, bound by biology—but you.
..” I pause, making sure she’s really hearing me.
“You have a part of him no one else does. Something untouchable. And I’m more than thankful you know how to handle him in that special Ronan way.
” A smile teases at the corner of my lips, and I chuckle, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
She always smells of something soft—vanilla, maybe—and warmth.
Familiar and comforting in a way nothing else in my life is.
I lean in, slow and deliberate, brushing my lips against hers.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling lightly in my shirt like she doesn’t want to let go.
I catch them, holding them between us for a heartbeat before letting mine drift into her hair, threading through those strands like they’re made just for me.
I deepen the kiss, not rushed, just present—like we’ve got all the time in the world.
She lets out the sweetest sigh, the kind that makes my stomach flip in the best way, and gently steps back. Her lips are pink, slightly swollen from our kiss, and her smile is enough to undo me all over again.
“I was just about to cook something for dinner,” she says, her voice light but inviting. “You hungry? Want to join me?”
“Only if I get to help,” I murmur, still close enough to feel her breath.
She gives me an evil smirk. “It has to be edible,” she warns, because I can’t cook to save my life.
We settle on tacos for dinner—easy, delicious, and messy enough to distract us from heavier thoughts.
Berk pulls out ingredients while I handle the stove, and before long, the kitchen smells like sizzling meat and seasoned perfection.
She hums while she preps, occasionally bumping into me on purpose just to steal a kiss or swipe a tortilla. I let her get away with both.
Once we’ve eaten our fill and cleaned up, we collapse onto the couch, her tucked under my arm like she’s always belonged there. The movie plays in the background—something light we won’t get too invested in—but she keeps glancing at her phone, biting her lip.
She doesn’t say it, but I know she’s worried about Ronan.
So, when she finally taps the screen and calls him, I don’t protest.
He answers after a couple of rings, and his face fills the screen. Well, not his face exactly—mostly darkness and chaos. The background’s pitch black, and I can hear muffled noises behind him. Voices, maybe. Movement. Whatever he’s doing, it’s definitely not chilling at home watching a movie.
Berk shifts so I can see over her shoulder, and my eyes narrow as I study the screen. Where are you? I don’t ask it out loud, but the question’s written all over my face. My glare is sharp, cutting, a silent message: You’re not hiding anything from me, brother. I know your tricks.
Ronan must feel it, because he shifts the camera just slightly, angling it more toward his face. His expression is wide-eyed and innocent—if you’d believe it. Which I don’t. Not for a fucking second. But Berk... she softens.
“You good?” she asks gently, concern in every word.
“I’m fine,” he says, brushing it off with a grunt. “Just pissed. Needed to blow off some steam.”
His tone’s clipped but calm enough to satisfy her. She sighs, nods, and tells him to be safe. He gives her a salute and a half-smile that’s meant to reassure.
I keep my mouth shut, even though every instinct in me is screaming that he’s up to something.
But I let it slide. Not because I believe him—but because she does. And right now, that’s what matters. Her trust. His space.
I pull her in tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as I murmur toward the screen, “Let me know when you get home tonight, alright?”
He nods, and the call ends—but I already know the truth. I’ll be checking anyway.
Berk’s fingers thread between mine as the call ends. Her forehead rests against my shoulder for a beat, her voice quiet and full of that soft kind of worry for him. “I’m really worried about him,” she whispers. “Promise me you’ll look out for him when he gets home tonight?”