Chapter 4 004

Sabrina’s POV

I shifted from one foot to the other and checked my watch again.

Third time in under a minute. Tenth time in five. I’d lost count after that.

The air outside the terminal was thick and sticky, heavy with heat and my own fraying nerves. I leaned against a concrete pillar, arms wrapped around myself, trying to stop the tremor in my hands.

The sun was sinking, painting the clouds gold, but none of it reached the tight knot in my stomach.

Mom and Dad were already on the plane. Logan was nowhere in sight.

“He forgot about me,” I whispered, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.

Regret slammed into me hard. I should have fought harder for the dorms. Should have faked a fever. Anything but this.

The automatic doors whooshed open behind me. Hurried footsteps slapped against the pavement.

“There she is.”

Logan’s voice. Relief hit so fast my knees almost gave out. I turned, and before I could fully face him he pulled me into one of his crushing big-brother hugs. The familiar mix of sweat and cologne wrapped around me.

He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, then pulled back with a sheepish grin.

“Sorry. Traffic was brutal.”

“It’s fine,” I lied.

He ruffled my hair the same way Ronan had earlier. I didn’t have time to protest before he grabbed my bag and started tugging me toward the exit.

“Hungry?” he asked as he tossed the bag into the trunk like it weighed nothing.

“Nope.”

He paused. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

Logan never pushed when he could sense I was simmering. Today I was grateful for that.

I slid into the back seat, backpack clutched on my lap, and buckled in without looking up—until the cold rush of awareness hit.

Ronan sat in the front passenger seat.

One hand rested on the gearshift, the other near his thigh. His profile was sharp in the fading light—dark brows, strong jaw, the mouth I’d been stupid enough to dream about kissing. He stared straight ahead. Didn’t glance at me. Didn’t speak.

I didn’t either.

Logan hummed along to the radio, completely oblivious to the storm thickening between the other two people in the car.

I kept my eyes on the passing buildings while my thoughts spun faster than the scenery.

Why did he have to be here? Why did I have to sit behind the guy who’d shattered me only four hours ago?

When the car finally stopped in front of the house I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

Logan carried my bags up the porch steps and led me inside like a tour guide.

“You remember the layout, right?”

I nodded, gripping my backpack tighter.

“Bathroom’s still between the rooms. Mine’s down the hall. You’re in the guest room—” He corrected himself. “—your room. Right next to Ronan’s.”

My stomach dropped.

“Come on.” He headed up the stairs. Every step felt like a countdown.

He opened the door to a clean room—fresh sheets, dresser, window overlooking the street.

“Home sweet home.” He pulled out his phone. “My team’s throwing a party for the season opener win. I promised I’d swing by. Won’t be long.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Don’t worry. Ronan’s here. He’ll keep you company.” He gave my shoulder a light squeeze and closed the door behind him.

I stood in the middle of the room, bag still clutched in my hands, heart racing.

Same house as Ronan. Alone with him.

I couldn’t breathe.

I tried pacing. Unpacking a few things. Scrolling aimlessly through my phone. Nothing worked.

Somewhere between the humiliation and the awkward silence, the unwanted desire refused to die. My body still remembered the closeness of earlier. The look in his eyes. The sound of his voice. I hated it.

Maybe I just needed to take the edge off.

I locked the door, climbed onto the bed, and pulled the blanket up around my waist. My breathing quickened as my hand slipped under the waistband of my shorts. I tried to picture someone else—anyone else—but every attempt collapsed into the same face.

Ronan.

My fingers moved faster. Heat coiled low and tight. I was right on the edge when the door swung open.

I gasped and scrambled to yank the blanket higher, heart slamming into my throat.

“Oh my God—”

Ronan stood in the doorway. Shoulders slightly slumped, hair messy, lips parted. He smelled faintly of whiskey and something darker. No shoes. Shirt wrinkled like he’d been lying down since we got back.

Not wasted. Just… loose.

“You should learn how to knock,” I snapped, clutching the blanket to my chin.

He didn’t answer. He stepped inside.

“Ronan?” My voice came out thin. Fear flickered, but my thoughts were too scrambled to form an escape plan.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he murmured.

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t hate me. Like you still want me.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

He was beside the bed now. His hand cupped the side of my face, and my body betrayed me completely.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he whispered, breath warm against my cheek.

Then he kissed me.

Not soft. Not polite. Deep, fevered, reckless. My hands fisted in the blanket while my heart hammered against my ribs. His mouth moved over mine like he’d been starving for exactly this.

When he finally pulled back we were both breathing hard.

Before I could collect myself, my palm connected with his face.