Page 93 of Top Shelf

I awoke sweaty and reaching for my vibrator in a bid to satiate the need between my legs, but it really only took the edge off.

“What’s put that bit of color in your cheeks?” Ronan asks, seemingly innocent, but there’s an amused glint in his eyes, like he already knows.

“You don’t have to do this every day,” I say instead, gesturing to the car behind him.

His mouth curves into something between a smirk and a grin. “We know.”

“I have my own car. I’m perfectly capable of making it to the arena by myself.”

“Has nothing to do with you being capable,” he retorts, pushing off the car. His sneakers crunch softly on the gravel as he approaches. “Believe me, we know howcapableyou are, Little Serpent.”

I narrow my eyes, arching a brow. As nice as it has been having them pick me up each morning, walking with me between classes, and sitting with me in the library, I don’t want their company if it isn’t for the right reasons.

“Are you doing this because of the other night?” There’s an edge to my words as I gesture toward the car. “You guys pity me now, is that it? Because if that’s what this is?—”

I don’t get the chance to finish that sentence.

Ronan closes the space between us in three long strides, his height casting a shadow across mine. His hands land on my hips like they belong there, easing me in against him, and I tilt my chin up instinctively, my breath catching.

He’sbig. Not just tall, butsolid. Broad shoulders, muscled arms, the kind of build that makes you feel small and breakable just by proximity.

And he is just this side of intimidating.

His eyes scan my face, lingering long enough to make my heart kick up a notch.

“We’re not here out of pity,” he states, voice low, barelymore than a rumble yet ripe with conviction. “We’re here because you matter. Because you’ve been fighting this thing on your own for too long, and whether you like it or not, that ends now.”

He lifts one hand, the movement slow and deliberate, as though giving me the opportunity to pull back before he curls two fingers beneath my chin.

“I told you that night,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to my lips and lingering there like he can’t quite bring himself to look away, “how badly I wanted to kiss you.”

His thumb brushes my jaw in a whisper of a caress, soft and reverent, like he’s savoring even that little bit of contact.

“That moment—that feeling?” His gaze holds mine, more emotion blazing in his mahogany depths than I’ve witnessed before. “That’swhy we’re here. That’s why I’m standing on your damn sidewalk at six in the morning like some lovesick idiot. Not because I feel sorry for you. But because Iseeyou, Wren. All of you. And what stands before me?”

His voice drops lower. Steadier.

“Is a goddamn warrior.”

My breath catches. His fingers are warm against my skin, but it’s the honesty in his eyes that scorches.

“I haven’t been through a trauma like you have,” he says, “Or Lucian. I haven’t had to endure a life as hard as Silas’s. On paper, my life has been comfortable. Charmed, even. But you and I both know that doesn’t mean easy.”

He glances down for a second, a faint crease forming between his brows. “Being born into a life that’s already mapped out for you…it can feel like a cage with velvet walls. You’re told who to be, how to act, and what your future should look like. And if you dare want something else? If you even think about coloring outside the lines…” He exhales, and it sounds like a burden he’s been carrying for too long.

“They make you feel like you’re the problem,” I finish, understanding exactly how that feels.

He meets my eyes again.

“I might not understand your pain the way they do, but I understand that fight. I know what it is to wrestle with the life you’ve been handed. To want more. To wantdifferent.”

I swallow, throat dry. “Except you won,” I gesture toward him. “You’re on your way to the NHL. You’re doing what you love. Meanwhile, my rebellion failed. I’m…stuck.” I sigh. “I’ve allowed myself to be pulled back into the fold. I’m trapped on a rollercoaster I never wanted to ride, and I don’t know how to get off.” I laugh, humorlessly. “Even if I did know how, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. At eighteen, I just wanted to get away, but now I have no idea where I’ve been running to all these years.” I sigh, defeatedly. “I’m so freaking lost.”

“Not knowing what you want? That doesn’t mean you’re lost. It’s not a sign of failure. That’s just the start of something new. It means you’re finally asking the right questions.”

His hand drops from my face, but I still feel the weight of it there. The lingering warmth.

“So ask yourself,” he urges. “Ask yourself what you want. What makes you feel alive? What makes you feel free?That’syour path.”