“Ronan?”
I blink at the sound of Kieran’s voice. “Huh?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Ciara. That’s what’s wrong.
“I need to go. Organize a meeting with Cormac and Brennan, and I’ll make sure to be there.”
I hang up the call and lean back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what the hell has happened to me.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I know I’ve been cold and selfish by keeping Ciara at arm's length when what I should be doing is pulling her closer, but it’s hard.
Max is dead, and I can’t stop thinking about the last time I saw him, covered in blood from the jealousy I couldn’t control. I let myself go that far, and I’m haunted by the fact that he’s likely dead because of me.
I stare down at the countless stacks of files and photos on the desk in front of me.
Nothing but dead ends and paranoid theories.
I slam my fist down on the desk. “Fuck.”
This can’t go on.
After exhaustingthe last of my leads, I finally leave the suffocating air of my office in the early afternoon. I’ve barely been able to focus, my thoughts too consumed by Ciara, so I decide it’s time to break the silence because it seems I’m not going to make any progress with Max’s killer until I’ve made up with my wife.
I find her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and sipping on a mug of tea as she stares out the window, seeming lost in thought.
Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing an old NYU sweatshirt over a pair of leggings. She’s a far cry from the woman who stormed out of the restaurant the night we signed our marriage contract, but if anything, I think this version of her is even more beautiful.
“Hey.”
She doesn’t even look my way as I walk over to the island and rest my forearms against the cold marble.
“We need to talk.”
She huffs a laugh before sipping on her tea, still choosing not to look at me. “Now you want to talk?”
I ignore the bite in her tone, knowing full well that I deserve it. “I think it’s time.”
“It was time two days ago.”
“Perhaps… But I was too angry to talk then.”
“You weren’t too angry to fuck me. Or was that just a ploy to soften me up so I’d roll over and submit to your demands like a good little wife?”
Her words cut like a knife, but I keep my expression neutral.
I knew Ciara was pissed, but this is another level entirely.
“That’s not it at all. I thought the sex would help.”
She shakes her head.
“Ciara… Please, can we talk?”
I think for a moment that she’s going to agree to hear me out, but then she sets down her mug on the counter and makes to leave.
“I’ve got things to do, Ronan?—”
