14-year-old Verity had had hope in her heart. Back then, I'd cautiously looked forward to the future. I had believed Thea when she said things would be OK. And for a while, thingswereOK. But life and trauma had slowly ground me down until that happy-go-lucky girl had faded away and became a shadow of her former self.
A small moth fluttered around the lamp, attracted to the bright light. Outside, daylight had faded into dusk. The moth beat its wings ineffectually, dashing its small furry body against the fabric shade.
I tried to sit up, hoping to catch it in my hand, but the moment I got close, it fluttered away. The stupid thing had a death wish. If Mrs. O'Mara saw it, she'd grab her trusty insecticide spray and kill it without remorse.
"Pixie," Ronan grumbled from the doorway. "You're supposed to be resting, not catching insects." He stalked over to the bed, frowning at me.
"There's a moth. It needs to go outside before it dies a horrible death at Mrs. O'Mara's hands."
Ronan cupped his much larger hands and waited until the moth fluttered around the light again, scooping it up with ease. I watched as he walked over to the French windows and released it.
For a violent man, he had a surprisingly soft side. I half-smiled as the moth disappeared into the night. When he turned, the sinking sun painted the profile of his face pink-gold, highlightinghis slightly crooked nose, sharp jaw, and the way his hair flopped over his eyes.
"I like it when you smile. Tell me what makes you smile, Pixie."
"Stop calling me pixie, for starters." What a dumb nickname. I regretted the day we'd made that stupid TikTok. Honestly, I regretted many things about TikTok, which was why I'd deleted it from my phone. "Where is my phone, anyway?" I'd not seen it since the accident.
"Pixies are cute. Just like you." He flashed me a smile and some of my irritation faded. As nicknames went, it wasn't the worst one in the world. Better than 'cunt-face', which had been Anton's pet name for me. "About your phone." Ronan plucked a brand-new red iPhone from his back pocket. "Declan wants you to have this. It's all set up for you with your apps, photos, and shit."
"Oh." I stared at the fancy phone. I kinda liked my old one. The screen had cracked, but it had a cute cat sticker on the back, and nobody would bother stealing it if I went out because it was several generations out of date. "Did my old one get too badly damaged?"
"Yeah."
"Well, thanks, I guess? I could have bought one, though. Thea sent me some money last week."
Ronan shrugged. "Declan has way too much money. Let him spend some of it on you." He watched as I unlocked the phone using my face. Someone must have set it up while I'd passed out earlier.
"It has a new number."
"Wait… why?" There was absolutely no reason for me to need a new number, except… Then the penny dropped. Conal had seen the messages from Anton. He'd stormed off with my phone and made a call.
"What did Conal tell you?" I appreciated their concern, but Anton was in Italy. He couldn't do a damn thing to hurt me other than fuck with my head. Ronan crossed the room and perched on the edge of the mattress.
"Why didn't you tell me about the messages?" Ronan gripped the cover so hard his knuckles turned white, his amiable smile long gone. "If I'd known that asshole was messaging you, I'd have—"
"What? Flown to Italy and beaten the crap out of him?" Violence was Ronan's answer to everything.
"No, I'd have gone there and cut his thumbs off." A feral grin slipped free while I frowned in confusion. "It's hard to text without thumbs."Gross.
"Even harder without hands," I pointed out without thinking.
"I like the way you think, Pixie!" The idiot leaned forward and planted a kiss on my mouth. "Like the way you taste, too."
The sudden sinking of my soft mattress made me wince in pain. The painkillers I'd taken earlier had worn off, but I had an hour to wait before the next dose.
He pulled back. "Are you in pain, Pixie?" Of course he'd taken no notice of my request to stop using the stupid nickname. I almost rolled my eyes, but decided it wasn't worth getting into an argument over.
"A little," I conceded, doing my best not to cry at the stabbing sensation in my back. Swallowing my pain and suffering had become the default from early childhood.
Before I could protest, Ronan scooped me up into his arms, ignoring my pleas that he put me back down.
"I have an idea that might help."
"When was this built?" I stared in wonder through the open doorway at the cedar-clad room with its soothing LED lights. The heat filtering out reminded me of my childhood home. Summers in Sicily could be intense - nothing like Ireland.
"Pa had it built for Ma when she got sick. She used it a few times, then it kinda got forgotten about. I come here when I want to relax." He fiddled with a control panel, raising the temperature.
I had to admit, using the sauna made sense. Heat would definitely help with my aches and pains, and it was a healthier option than popping high-strength painkillers like candy.
