Exposed on Ice

9

Ronan Vale POV

I don’t sleep.

Again.

Brilliant.

Absolutely fantastic.

I’m sitting on my couch at—what, three in the bloody morning?—staring at the ceiling like it personally offended me, replaying that moment in the kitchen on a loop.

Bad idea.

Very bad idea.

“Get a grip,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.

Because that?

That was a line.

A very clear, very obvious line.

And we both saw it.

Almost crossed it.

Didn’t.

Barely.

Which somehow makes it worse.

I exhale sharply, pushing myself up from the couch and heading toward the kitchen again, grabbing another bottle of water I don’t actually need.

Distraction.

That’s what I need.

Not standing in the dark thinking about how close she was.

How she looked at me.

How—

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Not doing that.”

I twist the cap open, taking a long drink.

Focus.

On literally anything else.

Like the fact that there’s a baby in my room.

Still wild.

Still not something I ever thought would be part of my night.

I shake my head slightly, leaning back against the counter.

This is temporary.

She said it herself.

Temporary.

Good.

Perfect.

Exactly what I want.

…Right?

“f**k,” I whisper.

Because that doesn’t feel entirely true.

And that’s a problem.

A big one.

Before I can spiral any further, my phone buzzes loudly on the counter.

I glance at it.

Groan immediately.

Zane Holloway (#19) 🤡

Of course.

I answer it anyway.

“Do you know what time it is?” I mutter.

“Do you know what you look like right now?” Zane fires back instantly.

I close my eyes. “I’m hanging up.”

“WAIT—did you wear the costume?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Unfortunately.”

A loud, dramatic gasp explodes through the phone.

“No f*****g way.”

“Yes f*****g way.”

“Pics or it didn’t happen.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’m serious, Vale. The group chat is losing its s**t. Jett says you chickened out.”

“Jett can piss off.”

“Send proof.”

I hesitate.

Then, against my better judgment, I flip the camera, snap a quick picture—face included, because why not ruin my reputation completely—and send it.

There’s a pause.

Then—

Zane starts laughing.

Not normal laughing.

No.

This is dying, choking, can’t-breathe laughter.

“You—oh my God—you actually wore it—”

“Shut up.”

“The legs, mate. THE LEGS—”

“I will end you.”

“I’m posting this.”

“You absolutely f*****g will not.”

“Oh, I absolutely f*****g will.”

“Zane—”

The call ends.

I stare at my phone.

Then at the ceiling.

Then back at my phone.

“f*****g i***t,” I mutter.

Two seconds later—

My phone buzzes again.

Jett Calder (#21):

HAHAHAHA WHAT THE HELL IS THAT 🤣

Darius Kane (#88):

Delete this immediately.

Milo Vance (#30):

Nah, keep it. This is history.

I groan, tossing my head back.

“Brilliant. Just brilliant.”

Another message pops up.

Caleb Cross (#9):

Why were you with my sister?

Right.

That.

I stare at the screen for a second.

Then type:

Ronan:

Her car broke down. I picked her up.

Three dots appear.

Stay.

Disappear.

Then—

Caleb:

She okay?

I glance toward the hallway.

Toward the closed door.

“…Yeah,” I mutter, even though he can’t hear me.

Then type it.

Ronan:

Yeah. She’s fine.

Another pause.

Then—

Caleb:

I’m coming over in the morning.

I let out a slow breath.

Of course he is.

“Fantastic,” I mutter.

Because that’s exactly what this situation needs.

Her overprotective brother.

In my flat.

After she spent the night here.

With a baby.

While I was dressed like a f*****g sailor.

Yeah.

This is going to go beautifully.

I drop the phone onto the counter and rub my face again.

“Temporary,” I remind myself. “This is temporary.”

Say it enough times, maybe it’ll stick.

Maybe it’ll feel true.

Maybe I’ll stop thinking about the way she looked at me in that kitchen.

Maybe I’ll—

A soft sound cuts through my thoughts.

Not Oliver.

Different.

I turn my head slightly.

Listen.

Footsteps.

Again.

But slower this time.

More hesitant.

I push off the counter, moving quietly toward the hallway.

The door to my bedroom is open now.

Just slightly.

And she’s standing there.

Sienna.

Half in the doorway.

Half out.

Like she couldn’t decide whether to come find me or go back inside.

Her eyes lift when she sees me.

Caught.

There’s a second of silence.

Then—

“I thought I heard voices,” she says softly.

“Zane,” I reply. “He’s an idiot.”

That earns a small, tired smile.

“Sounds like it.”

We stand there.

Again.

Same distance.

Same tension.

Different moment.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah. Oliver’s still asleep. I just—”

She stops.

Frowns slightly.

“I think I forgot his bottle in the car.”

I blink.

“Right.”

“That’s bad, right?” she asks, a hint of panic slipping in now.

“Hey,” I say quickly, stepping closer. “Relax. It’s fine.”

“I mean, he’ll wake up soon and—”

“Sienna.”

She stops.

Looks at me.

“It’s fine,” I repeat, softer this time. “We’ll figure it out.”

Her shoulders drop slightly.

“But—”

“I’ve got a car,” I say. “We’ll go get it in the morning. He’s not going to starve overnight.”

That pulls a quiet, slightly embarrassed laugh out of her.

“Okay. Yeah. That was a stupid panic.”

“Not stupid,” I say. “Just… tired.”

She exhales slowly.

“Yeah. That.”

There’s a pause.

Then she looks up at me again.

Closer now.

Not by much.

But enough.

“Sorry,” she says.

“For what?”

“For… all of this.”

I frown. “Stop apologizing.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Try harder.”

That earns me a look.

Slightly annoyed.

Slightly amused.

Good.

Better than anxious.

“Bossy,” she mutters.

“Correct.”

Silence again.

But softer this time.

Less sharp.

More…

Something else.

She shifts slightly, like she’s about to step back.

Then doesn’t.

And I—

Yeah.

I should probably not notice that.

Too late.

Already did.

“Go get some sleep,” I say quietly.

She studies me for a second.

Then nods.

“Yeah. You too.”

“Eventually.”

A small smile tugs at her lips.

Then she turns.

Slips back into the room.

Closes the door gently behind her.

And I just stand there.

In the hallway.

Again.

Staring at a closed door like it holds all the answers.

“Right,” I mutter.

Because this?

This is getting out of hand.

Fast.

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly.

“Temporary,” I say again.

But this time?

It sounds a hell of a lot less convincing.