Chapter Nine - The Knock That Waited
1242 Words
The hallway was still.
The only sound was the low hum of the compound settling in for the evening—distant voices, a bike engine revving somewhere in the back, the faint clink of a glass from the bar.
And then… a knock.
Soft. Controlled.
Not a demand. Not a threat.
Just a presence.
Evelyn sat curled on the bed, her knees tucked against her chest, arms wrapped tightly around her shins. She’d heard the footsteps long before the knock came. Heavy, measured… him.
Ronan.
Her heart clenched, not out of fear—but out of something else. Something she didn’t have a name for yet.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t move.
On the other side of the door, Ronan waited. He didn’t knock again. Just stood there, his knuckles resting against the wood, letting his voice fill the space between them.
“I know you don’t owe me anything,” he said, voice low and steady. “I’m not here to fix you. I’m not here to drag anything out of you.”
Evelyn stared at the door, unmoving, her throat tightening.
“You’ve got every right to take your time. To stay quiet. To figure this out your own way.”
There was a long pause.
Then, softer—
“But I want you to know something, Evelyn.”
Her breath caught.
“You’re not forgotten. You’re not a burden. And you’re not alone in that room unless you want to be.”
He stood there for another moment, as if giving her time to decide. Time to move. To open.
She didn’t.
Not yet.
But something shifted in her chest. Something that didn’t feel so frozen anymore.
On the other side, Ronan exhaled quietly.
“I’ll be out front,” he said. “If you want company. Or just someone who won’t ask for anything.”
Another pause.
Then his boots moved away.
Slow. Unhurried. Unbothered.
He wasn’t chasing her.
But he would wait.
And somehow… that meant more than anything else.
The desert wind was cool against Ronan’s forearms as he sat on the porch, elbows resting on his knees, cigarette smoldering between two fingers.
He didn’t usually smoke. Not often. Only when his thoughts turned too loud and he needed something to keep his hands busy.
The compound was calm now. A few voices inside. A couple bikes cooling off in the yard. That familiar hum of nightfall, when everything slowed just enough to make a man feel the weight of it all.
He stared out past the gates, past the gravel lot and the distant line of dusk where sky met sand.
Waiting.
The door creaked open behind him, and he didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Remy.
She stepped out and leaned against the post beside him, arms crossed, her eyes catching the glow of his cigarette.
“Didn’t peg you for the brooding-on-the-porch type,” she said softly.
He gave a low grunt. “I’ve got layers.”
Remy tilted her head. “What are you doing out here?”
Ronan tapped ash off the end of his cigarette and didn’t answer right away.
Then: “Waiting.”
She exhaled slowly. “For her?”
He nodded once.
Remy sighed and slid down to sit on the step beside him, stretching her legs out in front of her.
“She’s not coming out, you know.”
He didn’t move. “I know.”
“You’re the president,” Remy said, quieter now. “To her, that’s not comfort. That’s danger. Power. The kind of power that’s always been used against her.”
“I haven’t hurt her,” he said, voice low.
“You haven’t had to,” she replied. “She was raised to fear the patch. The title. What it means.”
Silence stretched between them.
Remy softened a little, glancing sideways at him. “Hell, even Maddox probably has a better shot of getting through to her than you.”
Ronan didn’t bristle.
Didn’t snap back.
He just nodded, lips tightening.
“Maybe,” he murmured.
But then he leaned forward again, resting his forearms on his knees.
“I’m not trying to force her out. I just want her to know someone’s here. Someone who doesn’t want something from her. Not power. Not obedience. Just… her. Breathing. Healing. Being.”
Remy looked at him then, really looked.
“You think she’ll believe that coming from a man like you?”
Ronan flicked the ash, then met her gaze.
“She will,” he said. “Eventually.”
Remy smirked, the edge of something like respect in her voice. “You really going to wait as long as it takes?”
He looked back out into the dark.
And without hesitation, said: “Yeah. I am.”
The room was dark.
Evelyn hadn’t turned on the light since the sun went down. She didn’t need it. Darkness was familiar. Safe.
She sat on the edge of the bed, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around herself, listening to the wind hum through the old window frame… and the sound of voices.
Just outside.
The porch.
She didn’t mean to eavesdrop—but the window was cracked open, and their voices carried in the still night air like a secret waiting to be heard.
Remy. And… him.
Ronan.
Her heart stuttered at the sound of his voice—deep, steady, patient. The way he spoke felt… honest. Not sharp, not cold. He didn’t sound like her father. Or her brothers. Or any man who had ever stood in a room and expected her to shrink.
He sounded tired. Thoughtful.
Waiting.
“I’m not trying to force her out…”
Her throat tightened.
“I just want her to know someone’s here. Someone who doesn’t want something from her… Just her. Breathing. Healing. Being.”
Evelyn blinked hard, tears threatening again, but she kept them at bay.
She pressed her forehead to her knees, closing her eyes, his voice still echoing inside her like a low fire—slow, steady, impossible to ignore.
She could hear Remy, too. Questioning him. Challenging him.
It didn’t scare her. It made her feel… seen. Like someone out there actually understood how heavy it all was. How even standing up—just standing up—felt like scaling a mountain.
And then she heard it:
“You really going to wait as long as it takes?”
A pause.
Then his answer. No hesitation.
“Yeah. I am.”
She bit her lip hard to stop the sound that almost broke free. Not a sob. Not a cry. Something else.
A wish.
God, she wished she could move.
Her fingers gripped the blanket beneath her. She willed her body to rise. To take just one step toward that door.
But her legs wouldn’t cooperate.
Her chest ached with the need to do something—say something—believe something.
But the fear was still there. Like a chain. Like hands she couldn’t see but still felt wrapped around her limbs.
She didn’t know how to be this girl yet.
The one who walked through a door into the unknown.
So instead, she curled tighter, listening as Ronan’s voice drifted off into silence.
And though her body didn’t move…
Her heart shifted.
Just slightly.
And in that quiet, her first real thought wasn’t about running or hiding.
It was this:
Maybe he meant it.
- Writer
