Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
STELLAN
Four days.
Four days since I’d walked out and meant it.
Wednesday, I’d worked, smiled until my cheeks hurt, and watched his game in a sports bar.
Thursday, Ronan, Naomi, and I had celebrated our own version of Thanksgiving, and I’d cried into a glass of wine like a living cliché.
Friday, more work, then another game in the same bar, surrounded by people mostly there to get drunk in decent company.
When the camera had cut to his post-game interview, words muted but eyes more alive than just a couple of days ago, already recovering while I was not, I’d left. Better that way.
I’d made the right choice. Even if it felt like shit.
Saturday.
Outside, daylight was fading into a winter sunset, slices of it just visible from my bedroom. Pale purple and darkening orange, navy already moving in around the edges. Ronan knocked once, then came in without waiting for a response.
“Jesus, Ronan,” I said, barely glancing up from my sketchpad. “Privacy.”
“More of a polite urban legend, if you ask me.” He put his hands on his waist. “Get dressed. Something presentable.”
Clothes, colors, shapes. Doodles, mostly, really just something to do with my hands while my brain spun in circles—similar to Matt’s wall, maybe. Just on a smaller scale because, well, that was my life.
I sat up with a sigh, the mattress shifting with me. “Why?”
“Thought we could go out,” he said.
I fixed him with a look. “You?”
“Yes, me.” He tipped up his chin, all stubborn pride. “I do occasionally leave this apartment for recreational purposes.”
“No, I know. It’s just that usually, Claire’s involved.”
“She is, sometimes. Not tonight.” A beat. “Naomi planned it.”
Ah. Well, that made more sense. So much for vegging out on my bed in sweatpants and a wrinkled T-shirt. If Naomi had decided I needed an intervention, there wasn’t much point in wasting my energy on a half-assed protest.
“What’s she planning?” I asked.
Ronan shrugged. “Drinks, I think. Food. Human contact.” He shot me a look. “Possibly shove a few hot guys at you in case one of them sticks for the night.”
Yeah, no thanks. Too soon.
I pushed a hand through my hair. “I’m fine, you know?”
“Cool.” He arched a brow. “Then get dressed.”
Okay, whatever. Better get it over with.
I swung my legs off the bed and got up, then opened my closet. Ugh. Nothing. Or maybe…
“Not all black,” Ronan said before I’d even fully pulled the sweater out.
“Seriously?” I tossed him a frown. “You’re micro-managing my outfit now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
One side of his mouth curved up higher than the other, a dimple pressing into his cheek. Same genes. “Because you’re not a widower. No one died, other than maybe your chances at the glamorous kept-man lifestyle.”
Wow, okay. Shots fired.
“Your empathy is astounding,” I told him.
“Whatever gets you out of this place—and not just to watch one of his games while moping into a beer.” The words were harsh, but his tone was not, worry coating its edges. And yeah, okay. Fine.
I reached for charcoal pants and a soft, forest-green sweater, then went to splash water on my face, running fingers through my hair until it looked like I’d made half an effort. When I came back out of the bathroom, Ronan was already in jeans and a plaid overshirt, keys in hand.
“Acceptable,” he said after a narrow-eyed look at me.
“Thanks. Means a lot from a man wearing construction-site chic.”
He flipped me off. Ah—brothers.
Naomi was already waiting for us, parked in a no-parking zone, hazard lights on. She was leaning against her car in a red coat that matched her lipstick, hair shiny, heels that might qualify as weapons of mass destruction in some countries.
“Hi, babe.” She kissed my cheek. “You scrub up all right.”
“Thank you. Going for the ‘almost alive’ look. I hear it’s all the rage.”
Her smile came a second late, as if she’d heard the scrape of truth under my joke and had decided not to poke at it. For now.
The three of us got in the car, Ronan taking the back and immediately leaning forward so he was half hanging between us. “Are we there yet?”
“Nope.” Naomi let the p pop like bubble gum and started the engine. “Have a candy, now there’s a good boy.”
Seattle slid by in nighttime flashes. Normal. Ronan bitched about some guy at work who kept measuring wrong and then blamed the tape, and Naomi said that sounded exhaustingly heterosexual. I made the right noises as familiar streets moved past. Then less familiar streets.
“Where are we going?” I eventually thought to ask.
Naomi didn’t answer.
Ronan leaned in enough to stare at the side of her face. “Naomi.”
The tick of the indicator and the hum of the tires. Then she exhaled softly through her nose. “Matt asked us to meet him somewhere. Stellan, mostly, but Ronan and me, too.”
That…
No.
My body turned heavy like stone.
“Absolutely not,” Ronan said, sharp like the crack of a whip.
Naomi kept her eyes on the road. “Relax, Ronan.”
“I am relaxed.” He sounded like he was about to climb out of his seat and wrestle the wheel from her. “This is me being incredibly fucking relaxed. Totally chill. Also, what the fuck?”
“Ronan,” I said softly. Old instinct, hardwired to manage the room above all else, even as my pulse veered strange and skittery, heart fluttering high in my throat.
Naomi turned down a side street, her voice calm. “Do you want to hear it, Stellan?”
No. Yes. I inhaled through my teeth. “Yeah, okay. Explain.”
“Matt wants us to meet him,” she repeated, the words careful, almost gentle. “You don’t owe him a yes. You don’t owe him anything, actually.” She let it sit for a second. “But I think you might want to see what he’s trying to do.”
“Sounds like bullshit,” Ronan put in.
“Then we leave,” Naomi said. “One word, Stellan, and I’ll turn the car around.”
Fuck. I stared at a dark row of houses sliding by, hope spreading hot under my skin. Four days of doing the right thing for myself, and a few words from Naomi were enough to light me up.
“What did he tell you?” I asked, voice rough.
She glanced at me. “Enough.”
“Which means?”
“That he knows he hurt you.” She took a corner. “And he wants to fix it in a way that’s not just about getting you back into bed. For the record, I also told him that if he fucked this up, I’d personally bury the body.”
“I’ll help,” Ronan muttered.
We stopped at a red light. The passenger window threw my own reflection back at me, blurry and shadowed, hollowed out. I stayed silent.
From just behind my shoulder, Ronan said, “You don’t have to do this. We can turn around right now.”
I angled my head to look at him. His jaw was set, eyes narrowed like he was tensing for a fight, and something about it made my chest a little lighter. People in my corner—Ronan, of course, but Naomi, too.
And she thought that Matt deserved a chance.
“What do you want to do?” she asked, voice low.
Me. Yeah, that was the thing, wasn’t it? This wasn’t her call. Wasn’t Ronan’s either.
I counted three breaths, staring out the window at winter dark and a sky that did its best impression of a bruise fading into the night. Yeah, same.
I’d left because I’d needed to. But if he’d heard me, if he really didn’t want to make me feel small…
“Okay,” I said.
Ronan leaned sharply forward. “Stellan—”
“No, seriously.” I kept my eyes on the road. “I’m not saying yes to anything. I’m just…” My voice went thin. “I’m willing to hear him out.”
Naomi nodded, hands steady on the wheel.
“Well.” Ronan’s tone said he meant business. “If he fucks up, just so we’re clear, I can totally take him.”
It cracked something in me—not open, not really, but enough for a weak smile. “You wish.”
“I’d try.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I know.”
He settled back into the seat, still radiating I object to everything about this, but quiet now. For a few minutes, no one spoke. Then Naomi turned onto a side street lined with trees and houses set apart and back from the road, the kind of area that whispered wealth.
So, okay. All right.
I took a breath and raised my head, nerves itching just under my skin. Four days of no contact, and now Matt wanted to talk somewhere that wasn’t his place, wasn’t anywhere I’d ever been to, really.
Fine. I’d listen. Then I’d decide.
I’d walked away once. I could do it again, even if it hurt like fucking hell.
Gravel crunched under the tires. The car slowed, then stopped.
A house. Low roof and mid-century lines, wood, warm light pouring through broad panes of glass, trees crowding close like they were standing guard. Movement inside—people, just a handful, maybe. No post-Thanksgiving holiday sprawl, then.
And Matt.
He was waiting by the entry path, outlined by the house behind him, posture straight as if he’d deliberately chosen it that way. Good coat posture. My own words echoing somewhere in my mind, almost comical, while my heart skittered ahead and I stayed safe inside the car. Silence settled.
“Go talk to him,” Naomi said quietly. “If you still want to.”
Behind me, Ronan made a noise to convey his take on that.
“I…” Ribs tight. Not enough air in the car. “I do.”
“Okay.” Naomi took her hands off the wheel and turned to face me, features shadowed in the dark interior of the car. “Ronan and I will stay here until you decide if we’re going in or leaving.”
Backup. Choice. An emergency exit if I needed it.
I squeezed half a breath into my lungs, watching Matt through the windshield. He made no move to approach, just stood there, wound a little tight with something that might be nerves. My call—that’s what it felt like.
I reached for the seat belt. “What is this place?”
“I’m just the driver,” Naomi said, which, bullshit.
“There’s nothing ‘just’ about you,” I told her, and she flashed me a smile.
“You got that right.”
Ronan wedged himself between the seats again, all wide shoulders and younger-brother energy. “You don’t have to do this. We can leave right the fuck now.”
I exhaled. “I know.”
“You can say no.”
“I know that, too.”
He held my gaze for another beat, then sat back with a muttered, “Good.”
I opened the door.