Obsessed

Chapter 56

The house was still exactly as Ronnie had left it—but it felt different. Warmer somehow. Lived in.

Maybe it was because of the faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla left from the plug-in air freshener by the entryway, or maybe it was the sound of Theo’s footsteps as he burst through the front door and flung off his shoes like he’d been gone for a decade.

“Home sweet home!” he yelled, spinning in the living room. “I’m never going on a plane again unless it has a pool and pizza buffet!”

Mark followed in behind them with some of Theos luggage, smirking quietly as he set the bags down and surveyed the house. His eyes lingered on the family photos, the bay window, and the faint glow of the Christmas tree Ronnie hadn’t had the heart to take down yet.

Theo ran up the stairs and called over his shoulder, “I’m checking if the teddy bears survived the apocalypse!”

Ronnie laughed softly, pulling off her coat and scarf.

She turned to Mark and said, “Thanks for coming with me to pick him up.”

Mark shrugged off his jacket and gave her a small smile. “Always.”

They stood in the entryway for a beat longer than necessary, neither quite sure what to say.

Theo's voice came thundering down from the second floor. “RONNIE! THE BEARS ARE SAFE. I REPEAT—THEY SURVIVED!”

She snorted. “Good to know.”

By 8:00 PM, they were all piled on the couch.

Theo had insisted on hot cocoa with “a million mini marshmallows,” so Ronnie made it from scratch—none of the packet stuff. Mark helped in the kitchen, handing her ingredients and stirring while she added cinnamon and a touch of vanilla.

Mark glanced at her over the stove. “Is this a family recipe?”

“Nope,” she said. “This is my own creation.”

He grinned. “Still tastes better than MREs.”

“Low bar, but I’ll take it.”

Back in the living room, they turned on the New Year’s Eve special and snuggled up under a blanket. Theo wedged himself in the middle, cocoa mug cupped in both hands like it was sacred.

“Do we get fireworks?” he asked.

“They show some on TV,” Ronnie replied. “But we’ll also hear some from the neighborhood, probably.”

Theo nodded seriously. “Cool. I wanna stay up until the ball drops.”

Ronnie raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure? That’s at midnight. You can barely stay awake past nine without turning into a pumpkin.”

“I promise. I’ll make it.”

Mark bit back a grin. “You sure you won’t crash?”

Theo put a hand over his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

Ten minutes later, he was fast asleep, head tilted back against Ronnie’s thigh, mouth wide open, cocoa forgotten on the coffee table.

Mark leaned over and whispered, “Guess the ball drop was too intense.”

Ronnie smiled, gently brushing back Theo’s bangs. “He tried.”

She stared down at him for a moment—her sweet, sensitive little brother who had seen more change in the last year than most kids did in a lifetime. Her eyes softened, and she smoothed her hand over his hair one more time before carefully standing.

“I’m going to carry him upstairs.”

Mark stood to help. “Want me to—?”

“I’ve got him.” Her voice was quiet but steady as she gently lifted Theo into her arms, careful not to wake him.

Mark watched as she disappeared up the stairs, the soft hum of the TV still playing in the background. The glow of the fireplace and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree made the room feel like something out of a snow globe—peaceful, frozen in time.

When Ronnie returned, she was barefoot, wearing shorts and one of Mark’s sweatshirts—she must’ve pulled it from the laundry basket. It hung off her frame like a cozy dress, sleeves swallowing her hands.

She didn’t sit next to him.

She curled up against him.

Mark hesitated for only a moment before draping an arm around her shoulders, and she tucked her feet beneath her.

Neither of them spoke as they watched the final hour of the countdown.

The hosts on the TV cracked jokes. Celebrities appeared in glitzy outfits. The crowd in Times Square waved signs and wore oversized hats.

But here, in the quiet of her living room, everything felt far away.

At 11:59, Ronnie turned her face toward Mark, her voice barely above a whisper. “Think next year will be better?”

Mark looked down at her, studied her features—the soft flush in her cheeks, the faint glimmer of anxiety still behind her eyes, the way she leaned into him like maybe, just maybe, he could protect her from everything that hurt.

“I think it will take some time. ” he said.

She nodded slowly.

“Ten… nine… eight…” The countdown echoed through the screen, the crowd roaring behind it.

“Seven… six… five…”

Ronnie reached for his hand and laced their fingers.

“Four… three…”

Mark glanced down at her, his chest tightening.

“Two… one…”

The crowd on screen exploded into cheers. Confetti flew. Fireworks burst in the sky. Music swelled in the background.

Ronnie didn’t look at the screen.

She looked at him.

Mark started to rise a minute later, reaching for his coat.

“I should head out,” he murmured. “Let you rest. Let Theo—”

“Stay,” Ronnie said quickly.

Mark stopped.

She stood up, took a slow breath, and stepped in front of him. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the hem of the sweatshirt she wore, then tugged the sleeves back over her palms.

He looked down at her—really looked at her.

And she at him.

There was no blood between them tonight. No gunfire. No sirens. Just the quiet gravity of something long overdue.

Ronnie swallowed. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Mark didn’t speak.

He nodded.

And followed her upstairs.

Since the cabin, they hadn’t touched each other—not like that.

Not because the desire wasn’t there.

It was—in the lingering glances, the pauses in conversation, the way Mark’s hand would hover near Ronnie’s lower back when they passed each other too closely. In the way Ronnie’s voice softened when she said his name.

But neither of them had tried.

They were both too weighed down by grief. By Jackson. By the images they couldn’t scrub from their minds—of Ronnie falling beneath the ice, of Mark fighting Victor with the taste of blood in his mouth.

Survivor’s guilt had a way of smothering even the deepest craving for connection. But tonight, something shifted.

Ronnie didn’t say a word as she stepped into her bedroom. The room was dimly lit—only the faint lavender hue of the LED lights under the bed and along the wall trim gave off a soft glow, casting her silhouette in ethereal shadow.

Mark paused at the threshold, unsure whether to speak.

She didn’t turn around.

Instead, she reached up slowly and pulled her hair tie loose, platinum strands spilling down her back like moonlight. Her fingers moved to the hem of the sweatshirt she wore—his sweatshirt—and she peeled it upward, revealing her bare back, smooth and pale in the soft light. She dropped the hoodie to the floor, leaving her in nothing but a pair of cotton shorts.

Mark’s breath hitched.

He had almost forgotten how beautiful she was.

Not just the shape of her—the slope of her spine decorated with her tattoo, the elegant curve of her neck—but the quiet strength she carried in every movement. The way her shoulders pulled back like she was reminding herself she wasn’t small. Not anymore. Not ever again.

He had seen her bloodied and trembling. He had seen her sobbing and silent, with her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white.

But this? This version of her—standing there, unguarded, inviting—stole the breath from his lungs.

She turned to face him, slowly.

There were dark circles beneath her eyes. A faint pink scar near her temple. She looked exhausted, but so alive.

Mark swallowed, barely able to find his voice.

“Ronnie…”

“I don’t want to pretend tonight,” she said softly, stepping toward him. “I don’t want to be brave or smart or put together. I just want to be… here. With you.”

His chest ached.

Mark didn’t answer with words.

He stepped toward her, reached out, and cupped her jaw gently, his thumb brushing just beneath her eye. She leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“I think about you all the time,” he murmured. “Even when I shouldn’t.”

“You never shouldn’t,” she whispered. “Not with me.”

He kissed her.

Not fiercely—not like the world was ending. Not like a man on fire.

But with aching tenderness.

It was soft, reverent—like they were both trying not to shatter each other. Like they knew exactly how fragile this moment was.

Ronnie’s hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as he deepened the kiss just slightly, his other arm wrapping around her waist to pull her closer.

She was warm. She was his.

And for once, it felt okay to want something. To need it.

When they finally pulled apart, her lips were parted, cheeks flushed.

Mark breathed out a soft laugh. “I missed that.”

Ronnie reached down, took his hand, and guided him toward the bed.

They didn’t rush.

Mark undressed slowly, watching her as if she might disappear. She climbed onto the mattress and pulled back the blankets, waiting for him with her knees tucked beneath her and a nervous little smile on her lips.

He joined her, lying beside her, and for a long time they just stared at each other—wrapped in the low hum of the LED lights and the soft sounds of the house settling around them.

“Will you stay all night?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I'll stay as long as you want.”

Ronnie reached for him, and Mark pulled her into his arms, their bodies fitting together like pieces of something long lost and finally reclaimed.

And when their mouths met again, there was no hesitation.

Only healing.

Only them.