Page 14 of Tiny Fractures

“Okay, so you moved here from North Carolina? Just you and your mom?”

“Yep, just the two of us. I have a younger brother and sister, but they’re with my dad in North Carolina for now. It’s kind of… complicated,” I say, not wanting to go into detail and, even if I did, I wouldn’t really know how to explain.

Ronan studies me for a moment, his green eyes looking directly into my soul, and it’s all I can do to meet his intense gaze before he nods almost imperceptibly. “I can understand complicated,” he muses, his voice tight.

“So, how come I haven’t met you before?” I ask, feeling surprisingly comfortable in his presence, though I know that this feeling can be deceptive, can lead to a false sense of security, and I warn myself to keep my guard up.

He shrugs. “Uh, well, I guess Vada and I haven’t really had a chance to hang out lately, or at least when you were there, too. Things have been kind of… hectic,” he says with a small frown. “Alright, so you moved from North Carolina to NYC with your mom—complicated, got it. Do you play softball with Vada and Tori?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m a hitter,” I say proudly. “Do you play ice hockey like Shane, Steve, and Drew?”

Now it’s Ronan’s turn to nod. “First line center forward,” he says, and instantly smiles at my look of confusion.

“Sorry, I know absolutely nothing about hockey.”

“No need to apologize,” Ronan says reassuringly. “What does your mom do?”

“She’s a psychiatrist; works mostly in crisis intervention with combat vets. It definitely keeps her busy.”

“I bet it does. How about your dad?”

I laugh because the contrast between my parents’ careers is so stark. “He’s a high school math teacher.”

“Wow!” Ronan sighs. “Talk about pressure with a teacher dad and a psychiatrist mom.”

He’s got a point.

“I never thought of it that way,” I wonder out loud. “I don’t know, my parents are pretty cool. Sure, does my mom try to psychoanalyze my every mood? Absolutely. Does she regularly sit me down on our couch and ask me about my feelings? One hundred percent. Is my dad dismayed if I get an A- on a math exam? You bet. But other than that, it’s smooth sailing at home,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm, and Ronan laughs. It’s a great laugh, and I smile at him. “No, really—it’s not so bad. My dad is pretty strict, or I should say protective, but my mom makes up for it. She’s laid-back and pretty easygoing. Honestly, I wonder sometimes how they ended up together because they’re so different, but I guess that’s the way the world goes ’round, right?” I say to Ronan, who gives me a half smile and a shrug. “What about your parents? What do they do?”

“My dad does some kind of classified work for the military. He’s gone most of the time and has been for as long as I can remember. And my mother is an ER nurse at one of the hospitals in the city.”

“That’s got to be hard having your dad gone so much.”

Ronan shrugs again. “I honestly don’t know any different.”

“But having a nurse as a mom; I bet that comes in handy, especially with you and Steve playing hockey—such a physical sport.”

And there it is again—Ronan’s expression changes for the briefest moment, and again, I can’t decipher the emotion that appears in his eyes. Just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone. He doesn’t address my statement though; instead he asks if I’d like another drink, motioning to the empty cup in my hand.

“Thank you, I’m fine.” I’m very aware of the effects too much alcohol has on me, and I pull my legs to my chest because, despite the bonfire, I feel a bit chilled in my shorts and thin t-shirt. “I don’t know how they can still be in that water.” I nod in the direction of our mutual friends still splashing happily in the waves, illuminated only by the moon and the porch lights emanating from the house some feet above us.

“Well, the copious amounts of alcohol everyone has consumed probably help them not feel anything,” Ronan chuckles. “Here!”

Before I can stop him, Ronan pulls his hoodie up and over his head, exposing a few inches of bare skin where his shirt pulls up along with the sweater. I see the definition in his lower abdominal muscles, a perfect V-cut that leads down and disappears into the waistband of his boxers, which peek out from his jeans.

I blush and direct my gaze away from his body before he can catch me staring. “No, I’m fine, really! I don’t want you to get cold,” I protest as Ronan offers me his sweatshirt, though I bet it’s still nice and warm with his body heat.

“Cat, you’re shivering,” he says, amused. “Please.”

“Okay,” I say in mock defeat. I take Ronan’s hoodie from his hands, push my arms through the sleeves, and pull the sweater over my head. As I had suspected, Ronan’s body heat still lingers in the fibers of the fabric and I instantly cease to shiver as his warmth envelops me. As my face emerges, I catch Ronan’s scent again—that particular something unique to him. It’s intoxicating. I decide to leave the hood on my head for extra warmth and smile stupidly at Ronan, thankful for his thoughtfulness. He is so nice. Too nice, maybe.

“Better?” Ronan asks.

“Very much. Thank you! Are you sure you’re okay, though?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” he says.

I scan him for any sign of chill, but he does indeed seem comfortable. I wonder why he wore the sweater in the first place. Now his upper body is only covered by a perfectly fitted, crisp white t-shirt that hugs his shoulders, upper arms, and chest before the fit becomes slightly looser around his sculpted midsection. Even with the hoodie on, I could tell Ronan very obviously spends a good chunk of time at the gym, but I didn’t expect him to be quite this cut, his lean muscles well-defined underneath his shirt, the swell of his pecs and biceps most definitely tempting my eyes to wander like some silly, lustful girl.

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