Page 73 of Knot Just A Fan

It’s amazing how someone’s real inner person can come out only when the person who fits them like a key enters the room.

At least—amidst the string of possible catastrophes circling my brain—that’s what I hope is happening.

CHAPTER 29

Ronan

The wedding reception’scarry-on up at the hotel overlooking the beach is so loud, I swear I could hear it if I stuck my head in this hole I’ve just dug in the sand. Some kid’s left their plastic shovel behind, and it’s kept me busy.

The sun’s turned the sky a bruised purple, but at least it didn’t rain today. Just weird clouds.

I’ve been sitting cross-legged here so long that my arse has gone numb. The flames crackle beside me in the tinfoil disposable BBQ. Open fires aren’t allowed on this stretch of beach, but barbecues are. Fucking beats me why when either can any fire can get out of control under the right circumstances.

A seaside wedding in January seems like a real twisted way to start a marriage, but who am I to say? Liam has never been the brightest. Still, at least I saw Kyren, for a whole half hour before he had to head back up to Glasgow.

The rest of them couldn’t be bothered to exchange more than two words with me, some just looks, some a cold embrace then right back to their other conversation. Some didn’t look at all.

Clearly every one of their mates knows they’re related to Arcadia Echo’s bassist. Under normal circumstances I’d be glad none seem to care. The other guests just stared, and a few smiledand watched me like I was about to produce a bass solo out of thin air. I couldn’t stand it any longer.

So here I am, with some seagulls, a small fire, and a few paired-off wedding guests taking their glasses of Champagne for a walk.

No one’s approached me. All the more surprising when I see a pair of Doc Martens stop on the other side of my pathetic fire.

“Hi Ronan,” says Briella.

I jump back on my haunches.

“Fuck me, don’t do that!”

She kneels down across the fire from me and suddenly I wish I’d never started it. A tingling makes its way up my legs to my gut and my chest, and my heart palpitates. Once. Twice.

Fuck.

“I hope you don’t mind. I mean, that’s stupid. I know you do,” she says, face solemn, but maybe a little pale. Her pink hair is pulled up in a short ponytail on top of her head, sticking up messily. She’s got a parka on, a scarf around her neck, and a nose piercing I haven’t seen her wear since we’ve been back on UK soil and reconnected with her. It suits her.

In fact, despite the sandy skirt and tights, the messy hair, and the slightly-smeared makeup, she seems more confident than I’ve ever seen.

Or maybe I have, years ago. And I ignored it.

I want to ignore it now.

“Ash told you where to find me.” It’s a statement, not a question, and I gaze into the flames as though I’ve built a glorious bonfire to brood beside instead of this dwindling mess that wouldn’t cook a single sausage.

She sinks into a kneeling position in the sand. Her legs must be cold, but her skirt meets her knees and she doesn’t complain.

“How was the wedding? Lots of happy noise up there.”

I run a hand across my jaw and the stubble there that’s quickly become a beard without me noticing. “Yeah, well, they seem to be.”

“Happy?”

“Yeah.”

“What about you?” she asks. Her dark eyes search mine. She seems to genuinely give a damn about the answer.

I laugh humorlessly as she picks up a shell and starts idly digging in the sand with it, her ring-covered fingers barely peeking out of the oversized parka. I do a double-take and realize this is Gray’s parka. I’ve seen him wear it a hundred times. Green, lots of pockets, a bit ratty. But somehow she’s making it look incredibly sexy.

They’ve fucked. That much is obvious. I should’ve realized the second she arrived.

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