Page 91 of Tiny Fractures
Shane opens his mouth as if to respond, then closes it again. “I think he does it mostly to please his parents,” he finally says somewhat hesitantly.
I contemplate this. “His dad seems nice.” I recall my brief interaction with him yesterday morning, how warm and welcoming he was and how genuinely excited he became when he figured out that I’m his youngest son’s girlfriend. “But his mom…” I trail off.
“Is a bitch,” Shane finishes for me.
I blink at him, taken aback by his harsh words. “I mean, I don’t know, I’ve only met her a couple of times, but she seems kind of… cold with Ran.”
Shane nods. “That’s the understatement of the century.” He takes another long sip of his beer and I cock my head at him, waiting for further explanation that doesn’t come. “The point is that I think Ran trains so hard, works so hard, studies so hard to keep the peace at home, and that includes killing himself playing hockey.”
“What do you think he would like to be doing instead?” Curiosity ignites my mind as I learn these tidbits about Ronan. Why haven’t I ever asked him these things myself?
“Books and music,” Shane states, not a hint of doubt in his tone. “He loves to read, and we used to hang out and just play music. And he’d probably be getting a lot more sleep than he is nowadays.”
“I didn’t know he loves to read. And I’ve never actually seen him play,” I frown, feeling like maybe I don’t know Ronan at all.
“Because he doesn’t ever really get the chance,” Shane says. “He’s constantly doing other shit, like hockey, then school, and he works, too. Now he has you, so he’s obviously preoccupied. Don’t get down on your relationship with him.”
I smile at him. “I’m not,” I promise, and mean it. “But, why do you work him so much?” I ask, fake accusation in my voice.
“Because he asks to work this much, especially when you’re out of town.”
“But why?”
I wonder if I’m starting to annoy Shane, but he grins at me. “For the distraction, obviously. He was so restless this last week that you were gone.”
Shane gets up off his chair, stretching his legs before taking the few steps to me. He squeezes my shoulder as I look up at him. “You’re really fucking important to him, Cat; it’s like when he’s around you he comes to rest.”
He takes a seat next to Tori, pulling her into his arms.
Shane’s white Jeep Wrangler pulls up a few minutes later, and my heart rate elevates when Ronan gets out of the driver’s side. He walks around the back of the car to the trunk where he’s met by Steve and Zack. Together, the three of them retrieve their grocery haul and make their way back over to us, where they drop the bags and bottles of booze in the sand before storing everything in the coolers.
“You guys good?” Shane asks Ronan.
Ronan tosses Shane his car keys and then leans down to place a soft kiss on my lips. “Yeah, all good.” He moves his forearm across his forehead, wiping off small beads of sweat. He looks at me for a split second, then apparently decides that it’s too hot and pulls his gray shirt over his head. I let my eyes roam his body, trying to be inconspicuous as I drink him in: his lean muscles, the light sheen on his skin where it’s heated and damp. He must not be wearing anything underneath his jeans because I don’t see his boxer briefs peeking out, and my cheeks flush.
Tori stands up and meanders to the coolers to inspect the goods. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“Burgers,” Zack says. “And your man is cooking tonight,” he adds slyly, then wanders off to his tent.
“Well, I guess I better get started then.” Shane sighs and throws Ronan a look. “You wanna help?”
Ronan sits down next to me, draping his arm over my shoulder and pulling me toward his bare chest. “How about no? But I’d be happy to sit here and provide you with emotional support while you flip the burgers.”
Shane chuckles. “Alright, whatever. Extra-burned beef for Ran comin’ right up.”
Ronan shakes his head, “No beef, dude. Turkey, please,” he says, then places a soft kiss on my temple.
“Oh right, how did I suddenly forget about your aversion to beef?” Shane chuckles and pours some lighter fluid over the charcoal in the small barbeque grill he brought with him.
“You don’t eat beef?” I ask Ronan, interested in these small details, especially after having that little talk with Shane.
“He doesn’t,” Steve chimes in before Ronan can answer. “Ever since he witnessed our grandpa slaughter Ran’s favorite cow.”
My eyes are wide as I stare at Ronan. “You saw your granddad kill a cow?”
Ronan shakes his head, a slight smile on his face. “It wasn’t quite that dramatic,” he says, rolling his eyes at Steve. “My grandfather doesn’t actually do any of that himself; he just selects the cattle and hauls it off to be…” He trails off. “But yeah, he did take one of the cows that I, as a ten-year-old, felt was, for some reason, more like my pet. And then he explained to me that the meat we eat is actually from the animals on the ranch, and, yeah. So I don’t eat beef. I can handle turkey and chicken, but no beef and no pork.”
“Oh,” I say, finally comprehending. “That’s why you didn’t want to try my ribs when you took me to that barbeque place!”