Exposed on Ice

Chapter 5

Ronan Vale

There are a lot of things I expected tonight.

Public embarrassment? Yes.

Murdering my teammates? Still pending.

Regretting every life choice that led me to wearing this outfit? Absolutely.

What I did not expect…

Was Sienna Cross standing in my kitchen like she belongs here.

I close the door behind us, locking it automatically before turning back.

She’s already moved a few steps in, glancing around—not nosy, not judgmental… just taking it in. Like she’s quietly mapping the space.

Oliver is still in the carrier in my hands.

Very small.

Very fragile.

Very aware of my existence.

I look down at him.

He looks up at me.

We have a moment.

“…Don’t,” I mutter.

He blinks.

Unimpressed.

Right. Brilliant.

“I can take him,” Sienna says softly, stepping closer.

And yeah—this should be the part where I immediately hand him over.

Problem solved.

Responsibility transferred.

But instead, I hesitate.

Because I’ve got him.

He’s fine.

And for some reason… I don’t hate it.

“I’ve got it,” I say.

She pauses, watching me for a second.

Not arguing.

Just… noticing.

“Okay,” she says finally.

That shouldn’t feel like trust.

But it does.

I clear my throat, suddenly aware of the silence.

“Right. Uh—kitchen. Living room. Not exactly a grand tour, but… it’s something.”

“Very informative,” she says, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“I try.”

I walk further inside, setting the carrier gently on the couch like it contains something priceless.

Which—

It kind of does.

Oliver shifts slightly but doesn’t wake.

Good.

No pressure.

None at all.

“So,” I say, turning back to her. “Water? Tea? Something stronger? I feel like I’ve earned it.”

Her lips twitch. “Water is fine.”

“Water,” I repeat, nodding like this is a very serious task.

I head to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it, trying very hard not to feel… off.

Because something is off.

The flat feels different.

Quieter.

Fuller.

Like it’s aware that she’s here.

That sounds insane.

I know it sounds insane.

Still true.

I hand her the glass when I come back, our fingers brushing for half a second.

Not a big deal.

Shouldn’t be.

And yet—

There it is again.

That small, annoying shift.

She takes the glass, murmuring a soft “thanks,” and takes a sip.

I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms.

“So,” I say. “Car’s staying where it is tonight. I’ll sort a tow in the morning.”

Her shoulders relax slightly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep arguing.”

She exhales a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

“I’m not used to this.”

“To what?”

She hesitates.

Then—

“Help,” she says simply.

That hits harder than it should.

I study her for a second.

She’s not dramatic about it.

Not fishing for sympathy.

Just… honest.

“Get used to it,” I say, pushing off the counter. “At least for tonight.”

Her eyes flick up to mine.

Something unreadable there.

Then she looks away first.

“Right,” she murmurs.

Silence settles again.

But this time it’s different.

Heavier.

I glance toward the couch.

Oliver is still asleep.

Peaceful.

Completely unaware that he’s currently the calmest person in the room.

Lucky him.

“You can take the bedroom,” I say after a second.

Her head snaps back toward me. “No—no, I can’t take your room.”

“You can.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“I won’t.”

I stare at her.

She stares back.

There’s a beat.

Then—

“I’ll take the couch,” I say.

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

She crosses her arms now, clearly not backing down. “Ronan—”

“Sienna.”

We stop.

Both of us.

Because now we’re standing too close.

Arguing over something that doesn’t actually matter.

Except it does.

Because it’s not about the bed.

It’s about control.

About not owing anyone anything.

I get that.

Probably more than she thinks.

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair.

“Fine,” I say. “We’ll figure it out later.”

Her shoulders relax a fraction.

“Fine.”

Progress.

Sort of.

I glance down at myself.

At the shorts.

The legs.

The entire disaster.

“First,” I mutter, “I need to change before I lose what’s left of my dignity.”

That earns a small smile from her.

“Probably a good idea.”

“Understatement of the year.”

I turn toward the hallway, then pause.

Look back at her.

She’s standing there, in my space, holding a glass of water like she’s not entirely sure what to do with herself.

Like she’s trying not to take up too much room.

Something about that doesn’t sit right with me.

“You’re not a guest,” I say suddenly.

She blinks. “What?”

“You don’t have to stand there like you’re waiting for permission to exist.”

Her expression shifts.

Softens.

Just slightly.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” I cut in, not unkindly. “Stop it.”

She exhales quietly.

Then nods once.

“…Okay.”

I hold her gaze for a second longer than necessary.

Then turn and walk down the hall.

Because staying there?

Not a great idea.

Not when everything already feels like it’s shifting under my feet.

I change quickly—actual clothes, thank God—and run a hand through my hair before heading back out.

And the second I step into the living room—

I stop.

Because Sienna is sitting on the couch now.

Shoes off.

Oliver in her arms.

Softly humming something under her breath as she rocks him.

The light above them is low.

Warm.

Quiet.

And for a second—

Everything in me just…

Stills.

No noise.

No chaos.

No jokes.

Just—

This.

Something tight pulls in my chest.

Unfamiliar.

Uncomfortable.

Dangerous.

I lean against the wall, watching without thinking.

Without meaning to.

And then—

She looks up.

Catches me.

And just like that—

The moment breaks.

But not completely.

Because whatever that was?

It doesn’t disappear.

It lingers.

Right there.

Between us.

_________________________

ICEWIRE // LIVE DROP

Timestamp: 10:02 PM

Temporary becomes dangerous when it starts to feel permanent.

Careful, Vale.

You were never meant to play house.

#IceWire #WolvesExposed