Saturday, April 1st #7
Of course, Ronan never saw it because he was preoccupied with his recovery.
And I never recognized it because, well, it was learned behavior meant to keep me safe.
I’d been trained since childhood to stay small and agreeable to avoid injury.
My dad expected me to be a “good girl,” in not so subtle ways tasking me with ensuring others didn’t hurt me.
Adam, of course, was the case in point, teaching me that defiance results in punishment.
So I learned to shrink myself down, to hide certain pieces of me.
The last thing I ever wanted was to be abandoned.
Especially by the boy I loved… love most in this world.
Except the steam builds, and the pressure eventually finds a release valve.
Ronan was that valve. Everything burst out during that awful fight. After that, everything just… unraveled.
My face contorts with the wave of sorrow rushing through me. I shake my head, unable to dam the tears. “No,” I croak. “Ran, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he whispers. Somehow, I almost believe him.
I shake my head more vehemently. “No it’s not. That kiss should’ve never happened. I wish I could take it back. I wish I could undo everything. I—”
“I miss you,” he says.
I freeze, standing stock-still, unwilling to take even a single breath out of fear he’ll take those words right back, will yank them—and my feet—out from underneath me.
He inhales, the sound ragged. “I know I fucked up. I thought I had it figured out, but I honestly have no idea what I’m doing.
The one thing I know is that I’m fucking lost without you, Cat.
” His Adam’s apple bobs with his forced swallow.
“I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing. I really just want to keep you safe. You deserve to be happy. You deserve everything you want.”
“I want you,” I whisper. “You make me happy.”
The motion light behind Ronan clicks off, and we vanish into stark night. He waves his left arm once, casting us back into warm light.
His brow is set, his jaw clenched when our eyes meet again.
“I want you, too. Cat, you’re… everything.”
Relief should flood me, should rush in like a spring tide and sweep away all the fear and doubt, but instead, something in his face stops it short. There’s weight there. Hesitation. A heaviness behind his eyes that says this isn’t the part where we fall back together.
“Then what’s stopping us?” I ask. It comes out a whimper.
His gaze drops. “Me.” He says it so quietly, I almost miss it.
Elongated silence stretches between us like black tar. I have no idea what to say and instead plead with the universe that Ronan didn’t just slam the door on a potential future for us. But then he straightens, shoulders squared, and lifts his eyes to mine with unmistakable resolve.
“Do you love me, Cat?”
I blink at him, at his absurd question. “Yes.”
“Okay. Then I need to tell you some things.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. And… I’m doing this so you know. Like, really, really know.”
I have absolutely no idea what’s going on, where this is going, but I don’t interrupt.
“I want… I’m going to tell you everything. And then it’s up to you. What happens to us after? It’ll be up to you. And whatever you decide…” he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I also can’t lie to you anymore, so…” he trails off, his voice cracking.
“Ran, I hurt you,” I say, my voice trembling. “Not the other way around. I kissed that guy at that party and—”
“I slept with Randi.”
The words don’t register at first. Not fully. It’s like a delay in my system, a buffer loading pain. “W-what?” I choke. “What do you mean?”
“I had sex with her,” he says, his words like a speeding bullet to my chest.
“When?” I ask meekly.
“Yesterday,” he says like he’s confessing to murder. And in a sense, he is. He’s killing my heart. I knew Tori was wrong. I knew there was something going on between them. But then why is he telling me he wants me?
“Why?” It’s all I can think to ask.
Before he can answer, the light clicks off again.
“Fuck,” he mutters, raising his arm to trip the motion sensor.
The lights come on, and I see it. Just behind Ronan, in the tall grass, a flash of movement. Two glowing orbs. No, not orbs. Eyes.
I gasp, instinctively stepping back.
“Cat?” Ronan’s voice cuts through my panic. His eyes follow mine, and he turns slightly, just enough to look over his shoulder.
“Shit,” he breathes.
In quick, calculated movements, Ronan turns his back to me, positioning himself between me and whatever’s out there.
“What is that?” I whisper.
“A mountain lion.”
The words sink in like ice water. I crane my neck to see past him, and there it is, crouched low, eyes locked on Ronan, muscles coiled. Perfectly still. Perfectly dangerous.
A strangled cry gurgles in my throat.
“Baby, I need you to very, very slowly back up to the house, okay?” he says.
My heart stutters. Not because we’re about two minutes away from getting mauled by a mountain lion, but because Ronan just called me baby.
I’m sure it was a slip-up, an old habit, a relic from our shared past, but still, it results in an overwhelming need to wrap my arms around him and kiss him. Maybe for the last time.
“Keep your eyes on it. Move slowly. Don’t run. Not until you’re closer to the house,” he says, low and steady, though every muscle in his body looks ready to spring.
I start to back away. Two steps, then three. I stop.
“What about you?” I whisper.
His head shakes just slightly. “It’s locked on me. I just need you to get to the house, baby. Please.”
The grass where the lion crouches shifts and rustles; it takes a tentative step out of its hiding spot, moving in slow motion as if its tempo somehow camouflages it.
I do as Ronan said, backing away slowly, my eyes darting between him and the predator.
God, how far away am I from the house? The distance feels impossible.
Every step is its own little battle against panic.
I don’t dare go against his instructions, so I keep my eyes fixed on the broad line of his back.
His shoulders rise and fall with deliberate breaths, his body taut and still, a living barrier between me and certain, painful death.
It feels like an eternity, but finally my heel knocks against wood.
That’s my cue.
I tear my gaze from Ronan, whip around, and bolt for the door. My legs are jelly and fire all at once, and I pray my sudden movement doesn’t trigger the mountain lion to pounce and tear into Ronan.
“Help!” I scream the second I slam the front door behind me. “Help! Please!”
I sprint into the living room, headed for the stairs, ready to rip Steve out of bed, or the shower, or wherever the hell he is. But I only make it a few steps before Perry barrels out of his bedroom, Saoirse right behind him in her flannel pajamas, eyes wide.
“What happened?” Perry asks, his voice a rougher version of Frank’s.
“Mountain lion,” I gasp, pointing a trembling finger toward the door. “Ran. He’s still out there.”
Saoirse lets out a strangled cry. Perry doesn’t waste a single breath. He spins and disappears into his room again. Seconds later, he’s back, rifle in hand.
“Where exactly?” he asks, calm but clipped.
“Right outside,” I say, voice shaking. “In the grass near the barn. He was keeping it distracted so I could get away.”
Perry’s already moving, Saoirse on his heels as he pulls open the front door and steps out onto the porch.
I follow, stopping at the threshold. I’m not about to get in anyone’s way, not when Ronan’s life depends on his grandfather taking the perfect damn shot.
“What’s going on?” Steve says, approaching from behind me. He reaches my side, then freezes. “Oh shit.”
Ronan is still exactly where I left him, his back to us. But the mountain lion is no longer hidden in the grass. It’s fully emerged now, ten feet from him, eyes fixed on its prey.
Perry racks the weapon, the metallic shick-shick loud enough to make my heart jump into my throat. Then he shoulders it, and I cease to breathe. This angle is crap, and I pray that Perry is a skilled marksman. One wrong move and Ronan…
“Ran, I got it in sight. Don’t. Move!” Perry shouts before he, too, sends a muttered prayer. “God, let my aim be true.”
Then everything goes eerily silent, like even nature is holding its breath.
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.
A single shot cracks through the night, a deafening explosion that echoes across the valley. The mountain lion crumples instantly. But Ronan still stands.
No one moves. Not Perry, braced with the rifle still at his shoulder. Not Saoirse, hands clutched to her mouth. Not Steve, wide-eyed beside me. Not me, barely breathing.
Ronan doesn’t turn. Doesn’t speak. He just stands there, a statue etched in moonlight, like his body hasn’t registered yet that he’s safe. That it’s over.
The silence roars louder than the gunshot.
Then, slowly, his shoulders collapse. Ronan sinks to his knees. And, finally, the rest of us move.
Ronan
I can’t find sleep. My room feels like a tomb, the walls too tight, my thoughts too loud.
By the time my adrenaline faded to a bearable level and I managed to walk back into the house only to lower myself onto the sofa, my dad was here. He heard the damn gunshot, got in his truck, and sped to the main house where my grandpa debriefed him.
Even though his military background trained him for high-stakes situations, I could tell my dad was freaking out.
His brown eyes were wide, his voice just a little too loud for the hour, his tone clipped when he barked at my grandpa—his own dad.
He crouched down in front of me, eyes darting over my face and body, checking for injuries that didn’t exist.
“God damn it, Ran,” he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “What’s with you and always staring death in the face, bud?”
“It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose, Frankie,” my grandma said, setting cups of tea on the coffee table. One for me, one for Cat who was on the sofa next to me, her leg barely touching mine, but it was enough to ground me, to prove I was still here.
We didn’t drink the tea. We couldn’t. As far as Cat’s and my hierarchy of needs went, tea was the least of our concerns.
It took a while, but eventually the quiet returned.
My dad went back to his cabin, and my grandma ushered Steve, Cat, and me upstairs into our respective rooms without even the tiniest chance for me to ensure that Cat was alright.
Not just because of what happened with that wildcat out there, but because of my confession just before.
All Cat knows right now is that I did the unthinkable, that I slept with Miranda.
She doesn’t know why. She doesn’t know what was going through my head, or the hole I’ve been living in, or how I’ve hated myself every fucking second since I’ve ended things between us.
I didn’t get to tell her all the things I still need to get off my chest before we stand even a hope of repairing…
us. I didn’t get the chance to tell her any of it. And it’s killing me.
She went into her room without looking back, without saying a word.
Without acknowledging me or the gaping rift I caused, the one I had every intention of fixing and somehow only managed to make worse.
Fuck that mountain lion for picking that exact moment to show up.
Fuck the universe for reminding me, again, that I have absolutely zero control over anything.
A little while ago, I rolled out of bed, then stood outside Cat’s door for a solid five minutes like a damn ghost, hoping she’d open it. She didn’t.
So now I’m back in the dark, staring at a ceiling I’ve memorized since childhood, replaying the last hour on a loop, wondering if that one sentence, that one decision, was enough to destroy whatever hope we had left.
I did this to myself.
I deserve the silence.
I deserve the pain.