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The gate creaked as she pushed through, dragging her overnighter behind her. Her attention snagged on the man on the back deck. On the ease of him. On the fact that he was here. In her space. Waiting, too, for her return.

And the utter rightness of it all.

“Welcome home, Lissy-love.”

Something in her chest bloomed. Warm. Comforting.

He took the bag from her without asking, lifting it onto the deck like it weighed nothing.

She dropped onto the bottom step. The pugs swarmed her instantly, all snorts and warm, solid bodies.

“Maisie, hey—” Her voice softened as she hauled the dog into her arms, burying her face in the folds of doggie skin, breathing in. She stilled. “You bathed them.”

Ronan settled beside her. “Figured they’d want to cuddle with you tonight.” His shoulder nudged hers. “They missed you.”

Her fingers tightened slightly in Maisie’s fur. “I missed them, too.”

He smiled. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “It can wait. I made dinner for us. Cold beer in the fridge.”

She pushed Maisie off her lap, the dog landing with a soft huff at her feet. “Just tell me.”

He held her gaze this time. No smile. No deflection. “Raegan is back.”

Everything in her went still.

The noise of the dogs, the distant hum of the neighborhood — gone. Like someone had cut the sound.

Her lungs forgot what to do.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe.” His hands came up, cupping her face. “Come on, Liss. Take a breath.”

Air hit her all at once. It scraped down her throat, burned in her chest.

“Oh. Fuck.” She tore out of his hold, stumbling off the step and into the yard. Turning just in time, she braced a hand against the siding as vomit hit the ground.

Her throat burned. Tears blurred her vision, hot and relentless.

“Easy … I’ve got you.” A hand came to her hair, pulling her ponytail back, the other braced at her hip as her stomach heaved again. Ronan held her until it was over. He let her go for a second and dragged his T-shirt over his head, wiping her mouth, her chin, quick and unbothered.

He shifted, an arm anchoring around her. She leaned into him, eyes closing, grounding herself in the warmth of his bare skin, the familiar scent of him. She dragged in a breath. And another.

“Come on.” He scooped her up before she could protest.

The next thing she knew, she was sitting in the kitchen, a damp cloth wiping over her face.

“Small sips,” he said, pressing a cold can into her hand. Ginger ale.

She obeyed, barely thinking, taking a careful sip. It washed down, easing some of the burn, the bitter taste.

He crouched in front of her, steady and close, his hands warm where they rested lightly on her knees. “There you are.”

All she could think to say was, “You’re shirtless.”

A low laugh rumbled out of him. But it faded quickly, his expression tightening. “Should’ve done a better job of telling you the news.”