Chapter 6
1041 Words
Sienna Cross
I don’t belong here.
That’s the first thought that settles in my mind as the quiet stretches around me, soft and unfamiliar.
Not in a dramatic way.
Not in a run for your life way.
Just… in a subtle, uncomfortable truth I can’t ignore.
This isn’t my space.
It’s his.
And somehow, that makes everything feel a little too close.
I shift slightly on the couch, adjusting Oliver in my arms as he stirs. My fingers trace gently along his back, instinctively soothing him before he fully wakes.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, more for myself than for him.
He settles again.
Of course he does.
He always does.
Lucky him.
I lean back, exhaling slowly, letting my head rest against the cushion for just a second.
Today has been—
A lot.
Too much.
Car breaking down.
Calling someone I barely know.
Ending up in his apartment.
And now…
This.
Quiet.
Warm.
Safe.
That last part is the problem.
Because I’m not used to safe.
Not like this.
Not from someone like him.
The soft sound of footsteps pulls me from my thoughts.
I straighten slightly, looking up just as Ronan walks back into the room.
And—
Okay.
This is worse.
Because now he’s changed.
Dark joggers. A simple t-shirt.
Normal.
Comfortable.
Dangerously easy to look at.
Which should not be allowed.
At all.
“That’s better,” I say before I can stop myself.
His brow lifts. “Better?”
“You look less like a… walking maritime disaster.”
His mouth twitches. “High praise.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
I shake my head, but there’s no real bite to it.
He moves further into the room, slower this time, like he’s not trying to startle anything.
Or anyone.
His gaze flicks briefly to Oliver.
Still asleep.
Then back to me.
“You okay?” he asks.
Simple question.
Too simple.
I nod automatically. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t respond right away.
Just… watches me.
And that’s when I realize—
He doesn’t believe me.
“Okay,” I amend quietly. “I’m… managing.”
“That’s closer,” he says.
I let out a small breath, glancing down at Oliver to avoid his eyes.
“I just… don’t like depending on people,” I admit.
The words slip out before I can stop them.
Great.
Fantastic.
Why am I saying this?
I don’t even know him.
There’s a pause.
Then—
“Yeah,” Ronan says.
Just that.
No judgment.
No teasing.
Just… understanding.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
Because now I feel seen.
I risk a glance up at him.
He’s leaning against the wall again, arms crossed loosely, expression quieter than I’ve seen before.
Not playful.
Not cocky.
Just… there.
“I mean it,” I add, like I need to justify myself. “This isn’t—normal for me.”
“I figured,” he says.
That surprises me.
“You did?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “You looked like you were about to apologize for existing when you walked in.”
I blink.
“I do not—”
“You do,” he cuts in, not unkindly. “It’s subtle. But it’s there.”
I open my mouth to argue.
Then close it again.
Because—
He’s not wrong.
And I hate that.
“I’m working on it,” I mutter.
“Good,” he says. “Because you don’t need to.”
I look up at that.
Really look at him this time.
And there’s no sarcasm there.
No teasing.
Just quiet certainty.
Something in my chest tightens.
I look away first.
Again.
“Where should I put him?” I ask, shifting Oliver slightly to change the subject.
Ronan pushes off the wall immediately.
“Uh—bedroom’s probably better. It’s quieter.”
“Okay.”
He gestures down the hall. “I’ll—uh—clear some space.”
“I can manage.”
“I know,” he says. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”
There it is again.
That steady, unshakable I’ve got it energy.
I don’t argue this time.
I follow him down the hallway instead, slower, careful with every step.
His apartment is… neat.
Not obsessively clean.
But organized.
Lived in.
There are little things I notice without meaning to.
A hockey stick leaning against the wall.
Shoes lined up by the door.
A framed photo on a shelf—him with the team, all grins and chaos.
He moves into the bedroom quickly, shifting a few things off the bed, clearing space like he said.
Efficient.
Focused.
I step inside a moment later, pausing just inside the doorway.
This feels even more personal.
More… intimate.
I don’t like how aware I am of that.
“It’s good,” he says, stepping back. “You can—”
He stops.
Because I’ve already moved forward, gently laying Oliver down on the bed, making sure he’s comfortable, secure.
He barely stirs.
Good.
I adjust the blanket slightly, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.
Then I straighten.
Turn.
And—
Ronan is right there.
Closer than I expected.
My breath catches slightly.
His gaze drops—just for a second—to my face.
Then back to my eyes.
Neither of us moves.
Not away.
Not closer.
Just—
Stuck.
In something neither of us is saying out loud.
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
“Thanks,” I say softly, because I need to say something.
Because if I don’t, this moment is going to stretch into something dangerous.
His jaw shifts slightly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Anytime.”
Anytime.
That word lingers.
Feels heavier than it should.
I nod once, stepping back.
Breaking it.
Finally.
“Right,” I murmur. “We should—”
“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Yeah.”
We both turn at the same time.
Walk out.
A little too fast.
A little too aware.
And just like that—
The air changes.
But not completely.
Because whatever that was?
It didn’t disappear.
It followed us out.
And something tells me…
That’s only the beginning.
- Writer
