Tiny fractures, p.15
Tiny Fractures, page 15
Ronan gives me a small smile, seeming uncomfortable as he says, “Hi.”
“Hi,” I say back, and Ronan starts to laugh. “What?” I say, becoming instinctively self-conscious.
“Sorry, I just feel really stupid stopping by like that. And this definitely wasn’t my smoothest opening line.” He still chuckles, and it’s so contagious that I join in.
“Alright, so what’s up?” I’m giddy, but try hard to appear unfazed by his presence.
“Well, I…” He breaks off as my mom saunters down the stairs, clearly eavesdropping.
“How about we step outside?” I suggest, sounding harsher than I intended, and Ronan looks as though he may be regretting his decision to come here. So I take his warm hand into mine and pull him out the front door. Once the door is closed behind me, I let go of his hand and turn back to him. He looks even more breathtaking in the sunlight. The sun makes his skin look golden and the rays dance in his eyes.
“Alright, you probably already think I’m crazy for just showing up like this… again, looking like a freaking mess, but, well, it’s my birthday, and Shane is ditching me to take care of some stuff for the party tonight, and Stevie and Vada are busy, and I’m hungry, and… I was thinking I really don’t want to wait until tonight to see you again,” he confesses, the words spilling out fast. He takes a deep breath and he looks like he’s fighting a silent battle inside his head as his jaw tenses for a fraction of a second. I wait patiently for him to continue. “So, do you feel like grabbing something to eat in, like, half an hour?” He flashes me a smile that makes me want to throw myself at him.
“Okay,” I say, attempting to be confident, but my voice is off pitch and my heart is doing somersaults.
Ronan flashes me another smile that I can imagine would cause every other girl’s panties to drop. “Great. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.” He gives me a small peck on my cheek that makes my face burn with heat. I stand there nodding as he turns and walks away, just like he did last night after he kissed me on my front stoop.
Of course, my mom is on my case as soon as I step back into the house, wanting to know anything and everything about Ronan. She has been pretty concerned about me ever since what happened with Adam, but I don’t have time to explain now. I race upstairs to my room where I stand in front of the mirror, braiding my long hair into a fishtail and letting some loose strands fall around my face. I have no idea where Ronan plans to take us, so I decide to wear a pair of jean shorts and a white tank top.
***
Ronan’s lips curl upward and his eyes sparkle when he picks me up less than half an hour later. The way he scans my body from head to toe makes me blush.
“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice velvety. I nod at him and wave to my mom, who closes the door behind us. Ronan leads the way to the passenger door of his car and opens it for me, waiting for me to get in before closing it behind me and walking around the front. He’s wearing a pair of dark-blue jeans that sit low on his hips. He also has on a gray-and-black three-quarter-sleeve baseball shirt and black chucks. It’s obvious he took a quick shower before returning to pick me up because his dark-blond hair is still damp and small strands fall onto his forehead. It’s the perfect kind of tousled. Judging by his relaxed outfit, whatever it is we’re going to be doing will be casual and I’m happy with my choice of attire.
Ronan gets in and smiles at me as he turns the key in the ignition and his car purrs to life.
“So, happy birthday,” I singsong at him. “I still need come up with something to give you because it just doesn’t seem right that it’s your birthday and I don’t even have a gift.”
“Thanks, but you don’t need to get me anything. Seriously, the fact that you haven’t called the cops on me yet is a pretty amazing gift in and of itself,” he chuckles. “Again, I’m sorry for showing up like a creep last night; I swear it wasn’t on purpose.”
“I’m not complaining.” I smile as he scans my face. “But speaking of being sorry, I’m sorry for kissing you,” I apologize again like I apologized last night, though I’m really not that sorry about it. Despite the fact that my inebriation almost got me into hot water and ended with me using Ronan to get out of an uncomfortable situation, I can’t say I’m not excited about where it’s led so far.
“I’m not,” Ronan says. “It was a nice kiss.”
I nod in agreement.
“And besides, we’re even now, remember? Since I stole that kiss back last night,” Ronan says with a mischievous smile.
“Were things… okay when you got home last night? Or did you have to crash on the couch again?” I ask cautiously, alluding to Vada staying at his house.
“No, no crashing on the couch,” he chuckles. “Actually, Vada confronted me about randomly showing up at your house last night. She said you had texted her.” He glances at me before turning his attention back to the road.
“I did,” I admit. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says. “She would have found out somehow anyway. Vada has a weird radar for things like that,” he adds with a rueful laugh. “She asked me what my intentions are with you.”
“She what?”
“Asked me what my intentions are with you,” he repeats with a smirk.
“Huh. And what are your intentions with me?” I lean on the center console.
He looks at me again, a smile tugging at his lips. “Right now, my intention is to feed you,” he laughs.
“And then?”
“I don’t really know. I think… I mean, I like spending time with you,” he admits, keeping his eyes focused on the road now.
“I like spending time with you, too,” I say, eliciting another smile from him.
“You know, I don’t usually do this,” he says.
I raise my eyebrows at him. “You don’t usually do what?”
“This,” he says, and motions around his car, which does nothing to help me understand what he’s talking about. “I don’t usually go on dates.”
“You don’t?” I ask, truly surprised. Ronan is exceptionally handsome and I have no doubt at all that he could get any girl to go out with him if he so much as hinted at it.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “In fact, I don’t usually even take a girl’s number, and I definitely don’t give out mine.”
“Huh, I must be special,” I say, wiping imaginary dust off my shoulder.
“You are,” he says with such sincerity that it throws me off.
I blush violently, not knowing how to respond. “So why don’t you go on dates?” I ask, studying him and forcing the heat to leave my face. “You’re not gay.”
Ronan laughs out loud. “No, definitely not gay.”
“You’re hot, so it can’t be that girls don’t want to go out with you.”
“You think I’m hot?”
“Does that surprise you?” I ask, my tone flirty, but he just laughs again. “Okay, so if you don’t go on dates, then you’re either a serial killer or you have some weird fetish or something.”
“Or maybe it’s both,” Ronan teases with a shrug.
“Oh god, why didn’t Vada warn me?”
“She’s scared of me,” Ronan says with a knowing nod.
“Yeah, she seems absolutely terrified,” I agree, then laugh.
“Actually, I should be scared of her. She has a total thing for sneaking up on me. She scared the crap out of me last night,” he tells me. “I have no doubt she would murder me in my sleep.”
I laugh out loud but shake my head. “I would say I could see that about Vada, but I’m pretty sure she cares too much about you to kill you.”
“Sheesh, I hope you’re right,” he sighs, making me laugh even more.
We drive for a while, though I don’t pay particular attention to where Ronan is taking us. I only realize we’re deep in the city when Ronan pulls into a small parking lot in front of a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant.
As soon as we step inside, it’s obvious that Ronan knows the owner because a short, round man with flour all over his turquoise apron walks around the counter and gives Ronan a bear-hug. He shouts something in Italian that neither I, nor apparently Ronan, understand. “I haven’t seen you in ages,” the short man says in a thick accent, repeatedly clapping Ronan on the back. “Sit, sit. I have a new creation you must try. Oh,” he says after he spots me, “and who is this?” he asks, not taking his eyes off me.
Ronan laughs, shaking his head. “This is Cat.” He introduces me to the short man, Benito, and I shake his hand. He has small, crinkly eyes and a strong handshake. His belly shakes when he laughs and he talks as though he’s attempting to have a conversation with a heavy metal band playing right next to him, and it makes me laugh.
“Si, Ronan, she's beautiful,” he says, clearly attempting to whisper but failing miserably. “Your girlfriend?”
Ronan’s eyes meet mine. “No, not my girlfriend, Benito. Just… Just a friend.” As if trying to challenge me, Ronan keeps his eyes locked on mine, but I’m forced to break eye contact when Benito turns to me.
“Say, bella señora, you need to have Ronan here as your boyfriend. He will take good care of you.”
I blush and look down.
“Alright, Benito. Why don’t you whip us up something good? Surprise us,” Ronan says, and I’m grateful for the subject change. Benito walks back behind the counter and shouts something in Italian again. Ronan is laughing as he leads me to a table and we sit down. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you about Benito. He’s very…”
“Friendly?”
He laughs again, nodding. “Yeah, you could say that.” Ronan’s eyes sparkle as he laughs, and I join in because it’s so contagious.
By the time Benito brings our pizza, Ronan and I are deep in conversation about growing up in a small town. I pick a piece of pizza off the tray and transfer it to my plate, grabbing my knife and fork, ready to start eating.
“What are you doing?” Ronan asks with amusement, scanning the silver utensils in my hands.
“Umm, I’m about to eat some pizza,” I reply with a confused look. Ronan bursts out laughing, and I look around for an answer. “Am I doing something wrong?”
“Is this how you always eat pizza?” he asks me, still grinning, eyes sparkling.
“No, but this piece is huge.” I poke a piece of artichoke with my fork. “And the crust is so thin.”
“You’ve never had New York-style pizza,” he observes as he pushes up the three-quarter sleeves of his shirt. He grabs a slice of pizza, slowly folds it in half, and takes a huge bite. His eyes are smiling at me. “There you go,” he says with his mouth full, and it makes me giggle.
“Okay, I got this,” I say, flexing my biceps at him, and he chuckles. I pick up a slice of pizza, imitating his way of eating, and take a giant bite. He nods at me proudly and I snort a laugh through my nose. I’m having a great time and I can’t believe how much I enjoy my time with Ronan.
We talk about our respective athletic endeavors, and Ronan wholeheartedly admits that he doesn’t know the first thing about baseball or, for that matter, softball. “It just seems… really slow,” he says, glancing at me as if he’s worried that his words have offended me, though I quickly assure him that I don’t have the slightest clue about hockey either. I find out that Ronan started playing ice hockey when he was seven, and I delightedly tell him that, coincidentally, I began playing softball at the same age. Then I spend some time explaining the rules of softball, and he enlightens me about hockey, which actually sounds like a really fun sport to play and watch. I make a mental note to try to make it to some games next season.
When we’re done eating, Ronan declines my offer to chip in for the pizza.
“But it’s your birthday! And you won’t even let me give you a gift,” I protest, amused.
“No way,” he says, shaking his head, “Benito would never let me live this down.” He hands me my ten-dollar bill back.
“Fine, but I will find a way to give you a birthday gift, sir. If it’s the last thing I do today!” I fold my arms over my chest and sit back in my chair, making Ronan laugh.
“You’re feisty. I like it,” he says, his voice gravelly, making me blush.
On our way home, my phone rings. “Hey, are you home?” Vada asks the moment I hit the speaker button.
I look at Ronan, at his handsome features and his hand shifting gears as we merge lanes, nearing my house.
“No. Actually, I’m running some errands. What’s up?”
I’m not really sure what this is about, but I don’t want to tell Vada that Ronan and I went out to eat. I don’t want to tell her about our kiss last night, and I don’t yet want to tell her that I think I’m falling really, really hard for him. I love Vada, but she gets so enthusiastic, and excited, and… pushy, and I just want to keep this little thing that’s developing between Ronan and me to myself for now because… because I just really don’t know how to feel about all of this. It feels so new and precious and fragile that I’m afraid if I move too fast it’ll disappear on me, that if I talk about it, if I tell Vada about how my heart flutters when I’m around Ronan, things will take a bad turn. As far as I’m concerned, I’m just testing the waters right now, carefully, gently dipping a toe into the dark, scary ocean full of sharks and monsters, to see what awaits me. If I keep this quiet, I can back out of it and nobody will be the wiser. At least it’s what I tell myself.
Ronan turns his head toward me, a small smile on his face as he gives me a minuscule nod, understanding.
“Oh, okay. I was just wondering if you think six is good for me and Steve to come get you so we can drive to Shane’s for Ran’s birthday tonight.”
“Yes, six is perfect!” I note, and Vada’s voice is chipper when I promise to ask my mom for a 2 a.m. curfew. I’m not completely convinced she’ll go for it.
Ronan
I drop Cat off at home and walk her all the way to her door, where she gives me a hug. I have the overwhelming urge to pull her into me and kiss her, and I think she feels the same charged energy—her eyes rest on my lips for a second—but before we can act on it, the front door swings open.
Cat’s mom steps outside to take out the trash, smiling at us knowingly, and the moment dissipates.
I remind Cat that I’ll see her later, and I leave her with a sort of tingling sensation in my stomach.
The first thing I do when I get home is get busy cleaning up. The house isn’t in huge disarray, but that doesn’t mean I don’t try like hell to make it even tidier. I start a load of laundry, fold and put away the clothes that have been sitting in the dryer for the last couple days, wipe down the kitchen counter, unload and reload the dishwasher, and sweep the kitchen, hallway, and living room. I look around, and though everything looks clean, I have no doubt that my mother will find something to complain about. But hopefully what I’ve done is enough to keep things civil.
I can’t explain what it is between my mother and me. We just don’t get along, and I have no idea why. It’s been like this for as long as I can remember. The thing is, she doesn’t treat Steve the way she treats me, and I’m glad about that. It’s enough that she gets pissed at me; I don’t want my brother to feel her rage. My mother knows not to lay a hand on me in front of Steve because he will step in. He’s done it in the past, so she changed her M.O. Things really only get bad when it’s just her and me, when there are no potential witnesses, when there’s no one there to stop her. So I’ve gotten good at avoiding her, but, since we live in the same house I can’t always escape her. And the reality is that, try as I might to be the perfect son, get good grades, clean the house, succeed at whatever it is she asks of me, it’s never enough.
But I’ve made it this far. Seventeen years of fear and violence, and I only have to endure one more year before I’m out of here. One more year before I’m free to go wherever, which will be far, far away from my mother. That thought sustains me.
But now there might be something else. Someone else, I should say. And this thing that’s happening between Cat and me is scaring the shit out of me. I’m afraid that if I let it go where my heart so badly wants it to go, she’s going to get hurt. I know that the longer this goes on, the harder and faster I’m going to fall for her because I can already feel it in every fiber of my being.
I’ve successfully rebuffed every attempt by any girl to get close to me ever since I moved back to New York, staying removed and closed-off. But it’s different with Cat. I’m so completely drawn to her. I think of her constantly, crave being around her, which is crazy because we only met each other mere weeks ago. It’s just so damn easy with her, like I can rest around her, which is an insane feeling. I’m never not on edge, never not on guard, never not anticipating, preparing for a battle because my life is a battle. I can’t drag Cat into this shit; I can’t expose her to the darkness; I can’t fucking ruin her like I do everything else.
But maybe Shane is right; maybe I need to let Cat be the judge and decide if being with me is something she would want. And maybe, if I try hard enough, I could keep her safe? Ugh, why does this shit have to be so confusing?
The house is quiet. Steve isn’t home, and it’s only half past one, meaning my mother should be sleeping for a while longer in preparation for her nightshift. I’m careful to be as noiseless as possible, lest I conjure up her wrath by waking her too soon. Honestly, I hate being at home when I know it’s just her and me; it puts me on high alert and it’s exhausting as hell.
I decide to wander into the small dining area where I open the sideboard and pull out a half-full bottle of Jack from the back, like I have so many times before. I take a second to make sure no sounds are coming from my parents’ bedroom upstairs, then unscrew the lid, put the brown bottle to my lips, and tip my head back. The liquid warms my throat and insides as I work it down.
“Happy seventeenth birthday, Ran,” I mutter. I don’t do this all the time, only when I feel particularly on edge, which for some reason I do today, even though I just got to spend a couple of really nice hours with Cat—or maybe it’s because of that.
