Page 76 of Lost Hope

She turned on her heel and walked out. The room fell awkwardly silent.

“Real smooth, boss,” Griff commented dryly.

Victoria paused in her dumpling distribution, eyes sharp. “That young lady?—”

“Mom.” Ronan’s voice held a warning even he rarely used. “Don’t.”

She pressed her lips together, clearly holding back whatever maternal wisdom she’d been about to dispense. Lawrence placed a gentle hand on her arm, and she subsided, but her eyes spoke volumes.

Axel paused, fries halfway to his mouth. “You’re being an idiot,” he muttered, too low for anyone else to hear.

“Whatever. Just stay focused,” Ronan growled back.

“Oh, I am. Are you?”

Ronan ignored them all, gathering his papers with sharp movements. He needed air. Space. Distance. His future stretched out before him like a blank page—tattered, torn, and utterly empty. Just the way it had to be.

Just the way he’d chosen to make it.

“The burgers will get cold,” his mother called after him as he headed for the door.

He kept walking. Behind him, he heard Axel accept a container with excessive enthusiasm, heard Christian thank their mother with careful politeness, heard the normal sounds of people connecting, belonging, building something he couldn’t let himself have.

The door closed behind him with a final click.

Perfect. Now he had two women in his life he needed to avoid. At least his mother would keep trying. Maya was smart enough to know better.

37

RAW EDGES

The next morning,Ronan stared at his reflection in the bedroom window, hardly recognizing the man looking back at him. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, testament to another night of broken sleep. The nightmares had been worse than usual—Maya on that ledge, but this time she fell. Maya in that alley where her partner died, but this time he couldn’t reach her in time. Maya bleeding out while he watched, helpless, useless ...

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Even awake, he couldn’t escape her. Everything circled back to those moments of connection, that easy synchronization, the way she fit into his life like she’d always been there. And that was exactly the problem.

He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t watch her walk into danger day after day, knowing each mission could be her last. Her partner’s execution had only confirmed what he already knew—law enforcement, intelligence work, it was all a game of Russian roulette. Eventually, the chamber wouldn’t be empty.

A knock at his door interrupted his brooding. “Go away.”

Axel pushed in anyway, bearing coffee and what smelled like Victoria’s cinnamon rolls. “Thought you might need breakfast.”

“What I need is to be left alone.”

“Yeah, because that’s working out so well for you.” Axel set the offerings down with exaggerated care. “You look like hell, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Ronan’s tone could have frozen lava. “Anything else?”

“Just trying to help, man.”

“I don’t need?—”

Another knock cut him off. Christian this time, already dressed for working out. “Gym. Ten minutes.”

“Pass. Got a headache.”

Christian’s expression hardened into what Ronan privately thought of as his commander face. “That wasn’t a request, little brother. Team’s waiting. And check the attitude, dude.” He paused in the doorway, eyes glinting. “Make that five minutes, or I’m coming back to drag you down by that pretty hair of yours.”

Axel snorted into his coffee. “You heard him, dude. I’m gonna guess he’s not kidding.”

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