Page 146 of Not Another Yesterday
He laughs quietly, pulling me closer. “I love you, too. What are you doing here?” He glances past me, eyes widening when he sees the table. “Oh shit, how long have you guys been here?”
“Ten minutes,” I say. “Your grandma told Shane not to tell you so she could spy on you first.”
He groans. “Of course she did.”
I grab his hand, linking our fingers, and guide him toward the table. I don’t even bother looking at the group of girls. I canfeeltheir disappointment. And it tastes… sweet.
“Hi, baby boy,” Saoirse chirps as she stands.
Ronan wraps her in a big, warm hug. “Hi, Morai,” he says, quiet with affection.
He hugs Perry next, then gives Frank, Penny, and my parents a polite wave before crouching to peer into the car seats secured atop two highchairs. His baby brothers are still sleeping, pink-cheeked and peaceful.
“They’re getting so big,” he whispers.
“They smile when they fart,” Penny says.
Ronan laughs, tired but full of love.
I slide into my chair, tugging at his sleeve. “Come sit,” I whisper. “Just for a few minutes.”
Ronan glances over his shoulder back at the bar.
Shane grins, then shouts, “Take a break! We got you, birthday boy.”
Ronan takes a seat in the chair next to me, our knees brushing, his arm draping across the back of my chair. I rest my hand on his thigh, grounding him.
He closes his eyes, and, for a moment, he’s still. Present. And I let myself soak it in.
He’s mine. And I’m keeping him.
Thursday, June 22nd
Ronan
“What the hell? Whose car are you driving?” Shane asks as we walk out of Murphy’s together.
It’s one of the rare nights we closed the place down together. Usually we tag-team it, switching off between shifts. I take most nights to accommodate my class schedule while Shane handles most day shifts. But tonight we were short on waiters. Summers are usually that way. People get flakey, want to spend the balmy evenings anywhere but at work. I get it. I’d much rather be at Shane’s mom’s beach house, hanging out with Cat, my friends and brother, than have some drunk assholes short me on tips or keep them from getting handsy with a girl. But I can’t afford to act like a nineteen-year-old, can’t afford to blow off my responsibilities to have a grand ole time. Time to buckle up.
But getting to work the night shift with Shane was a nice little treat. I still prefer it when we work together. He’s been my best friend since we were kids, and honestly, one of the only people I trust with my life.
“Mine,” I grumble as I unlock the driver’s side of the white RAV4 I picked up today.
Shane stops walking. “What the fuck are you talking about? Where’s your Mustang?”
“I sold it.” I keep my tone neutral, steady, even though something twists hard in my chest.
He stares at me like I’ve just confessed to murder. “What? Why? When?”
“Because Cat’s having a baby and I can’t exactly strap a car seat into the back of a two-door Mustang,” I say matter-of-factly. “So, here I am. Driving this… toaster.”
“Dude,” Shane breathes, moving around the car slowly like it might bite him. “You really sold the Mustang?”
I nod once.
“Fuck.” His voice drops. He gets it.
It was a decision I knew I had to make. The Mustang wasn’t built for hauling around an infant, and we needed something… practical—four doors, easy access, real trunk space. Still, selling it felt like ripping off my own skin. That car meant more to me than almost anything else I owned. It was mine. My escape. The first thing I’d ever fought for and earned outright. The one thing that didn’t come with strings attached or the expectation of pain.
