Page 71 of My Addiction
“What?”
He cocks his head. “I don’t think asking if you are okay is correct. Rule number one applies here, but I don’t know the proper question to ask.”
Just him bringing up my rules melts the coldness that has taken root in my chest. This is why I’m falling for him even more. Ronan doesn’t function like most people and isn’t familiar with social norms. It’s the fact that he is trying that means so much. He said that he was my darkness, but in truth, he is my light. He shines brighter than the sun in my world.
“I don’t know what the right question is either. I’ll be okay. I have to be, not just for me but for Ollie. I’m confused on how I should be reacting to everything right now.”
“There’s no way you should be reacting. From everything I’ve read about feelings and thinking processes, it’s an individual thing. That’s one reason it’s so confusing. You would think that it should be the same for everyone.”
A chuckle escapes me before I can stop it. I swear this man.
“You read about feelings and thought processes?”
“Yes. When I don’t understand something, I look it up. That’s how I know that I love you. You’re mine. I should have protected you better back there. I failed you.”
The shock on my face should be easy for him to read, but from the look he is giving me back, I don’t think it is. What is he talking about? He took care of me and got me answers, as shitty as they were. He put an end to the torment that had haunted my life. How does that mean he failed me?
“You didn’t fail me, Ronan. Why would you think that?”
“I should have protected your mental health better. You wanted to be there, but I should have known it wasn’t healthy for you.”
He’s watching me too closely, jaw tense, eyes searching my face for something. He gave me what I wanted, but everything about him looks like regret. He has nothing to be sorry for.
“That’s not true. What you did for me today, well, really since we met, has been what’s best for me. Even with the heavy-handed way you have gone about it, it’s been what I needed. And you’re right, there’s no cookie-cutter way to process what I should or shouldn’t feel. I think that it bothers me more that I’m not bothered more that they’re dead.”
I reached up and cupped the side of his face, my thumb dragging slowly over the roughness of his cheek. For a second, he just looks at me, all that tightness in his face easing into something softer, something that makes my chest ache. His eyes search mine like he doesn’t quite believe what I was saying, like he’s waiting for me to take it back. And somehow that look—careful, guilty, relieved all at once—makes something inside me swell so painfully big it barely fits behind my ribs.
I press my lips to his. The kiss is soft at first, almost careful, and the way he fits against me makes my stomach flip hard enough to steal my breath. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers curling there as he pulls me closer, deepening the kiss until I can’t think about anything except him. There is nothing hesitant in the way he kisses me now. It’s possession and reassurance all at once, like he is claiming me and asking me to stay. I melt into him, into the warmth of his mouth and the solid weight of his hand on me.
I try to catch my breath when he pulls back, resting his forehead to mine.
“Let’s go inside. We’ll get Ollie and go home.”
Getting out of the car, he hurries around the hood and opens my door.
“Did you read about how to be romantic, too?” I tease. Genuinely smiling for the first time.
“It was part of my research. How to be a good husband.”
That stops me in my tracks. My mouth falls open, and I know there is no way for my eyes to get any bigger. He turns to face me when he realizes I’ve stopped.
“What?” He shrugs. Actually shrugs like he hadn’t just knocked the air out of me with one word.
I stared at him, my mouth still hanging open, while he looked back at me like this was obvious, like we were discussing what to have for dinner.
“What?” he asks again, slower this time.
“You cannot just casually skip over boyfriend and land on husband.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Why not?”
“Because there are steps.”
“Seems inefficient.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh, my heart beating so hard it felt like it was trying to climb up my throat.
“Efficient,” I repeated. “You’re talking about marrying me like it’s a well-organized grocery list.”
