Chapter Nine #4
The drive home is a blur. I don’t remember the turns, don’t remember parking. I just find myself sitting outside my house, engine off, staring at nothing.
In a few hours, I’m supposed to pick up Alannah. Take her to lunch. Show her the house. Watch her face light up when she sees the home we’re going to share.
She’ll look at me like I’m everything.
And I’ll know what I did the night before.
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and close my eyes.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
***
I shower until the water runs cold, scrubbing at my skin like I can wash away what I’ve done.
It doesn’t help.
I dress in clean clothes, splash on aftershave, and check my watch. Eleven-thirty. I need to leave now if I’m going to pick her up on time.
I stare at myself in the mirror.
Same face. Same eyes. Nothing’s changed.
Except everything has.
I make my way downstairs, grab the Cadillac keys, and head for the door. When I open it, the car’s parked out front—blue paint gleaming, chrome catching the light.
I stop.
No. Not today.
I turn back, toss the keys onto the counter, and grab the set for the old Ford instead—the one I never got around to selling after I finished the Caddy. I’ll deal with moving it into the garage later.
Alannah’s waiting for me.
***
Alannah’s standing outside when I pull up. Her brows pull together slightly when she sees the car. I get out and walk up to her.
“Hi,” she says. A smile spreads across her face.
She looks beautiful. I don’t deserve that smile.
“Hi.”
“I haven’t seen this car in forever,” she says, glancing past me. “Everything okay?”
I kiss her on the cheek. We walk to the car, and I open the passenger door for her. She gets in, smoothing her dress over her knees. I move to the driver’s side and climb in.
“The Caddy was making a funny noise this morning,” I say as I start the engine. “Need to have a look at it later.”
She nods. Then her face lights up. “I barely slept last night. I kept thinking about the house.”
I pull away from the curb, nodding. “Yeah?”
“I hope the furniture looks good with the paint colours we chose,” she says, her voice bright with excitement. “And I hope the decorator remembered the lamp I wanted in the front room—the one with the brass base. I know it’s silly, but I keep picturing it there by the window.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I say.
She keeps talking—about the curtains, about whether the dining table will fit the way she imagined, about how she can’t wait to see it all put together. I nod, say the right things, but the words barely register.
All I can think about is last night. Kitty’s hands on my belt. The way the car rocked. The sound of her voice in my ear.
“Are you hungry?” Alannah asks, pulling me back.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Let’s grab something.”
We stop at a drive-in not far from the house. She orders a sandwich and a Coke, still talking, still excited. I order the same, though I know I won’t be able to eat it.
When the food comes, she takes a bite and keeps talking, too excited to slow down. I pick at my sandwich and force myself to take a bite. It tastes like nothing at all.
She doesn’t seem to notice.
***
The house looks perfect when we pull up.
The gardens have been freshened up, the hedges trimmed neat, the path swept clean. The wide windows catch the afternoon light, and beyond the back fence, I can see the water glinting.
Alannah sits forward in her seat, taking it all in. “Oh, Ronin,” she breathes.
I park and we get out. She walks ahead of me up the path, her steps quick and eager. I follow, pulling the keys from my pocket as I catch up to her at the door.
The door swings open, and she steps inside. “Oh my God,” she says, her voice soft with wonder.
We go room to room. She touches everything—the furniture, the curtains—pausing to admire the way the light falls across the floor. She comments on the colours, on how the decorator placed things, on how much better it looks than she imagined.
Her excitement is genuine. Pure.
If I hadn’t cheated on her, this would be perfect.
But I did.
And now I’m standing here, watching her fall in love with the home we’re supposed to share, knowing what I’ve done.
In the living room, she turns to me, her face glowing. “It’s perfect, Ronin,” she says. “I love it.”
She tilts her head at me, still smiling. “What about you?”
I look at her—really look at her—and the words rise up in my chest, sharp and desperate.
I love her.
Why would I do this?
I need to tell her. I need to tell her I love her, to make sure she knows. I’ve never said it before—not once—but I need to say it now.
The words are right there, on the tip of my tongue.
“I love you.”
It comes out quiet but urgent, pressed out of me because I need her to hear it.
Her eyes widen. For a second, she just stares at me. Then her breath catches, and her hands come up to frame my face. “I love you too,” she whispers, and there are tears in her eyes now. Happy ones.
She kisses me, and I hold her close, feeling the warmth of her against me, the way she fits perfectly in my arms.
She’s so happy.
And I’ve ruined it.
I’ve ruined everything.