Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
RONAN
I’ve been sitting in the kitchen since before dawn, staring at the tools laid out across the table. My hands aren’t steady enough for work. Not yet.
My head aches from lack of sleep. My eyes burn. I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, but my stomach rebels at the thought of food. Even my coffee tastes bitter on the tongue, making acid churn in my gut with every swallow.
I drag a hand down my face, two days worth of stubble rasping against my palm. My skin feels too tight, stretched over bones that ache with exhaustion. I need to get this feeling out of me before it drowns me.
And for some reason, my mind takes me back to that night.
Feldman’s.
The sickly glow of overhead lights, the hum of drink coolers, cold tile beneath my palms. The alarm shrieking, while I sat there waiting. Too tired to fight anymore.
I never broke in anywhere. I stole when stores were open, when I could blend into crowds, and the exits were easy to reach. But that night? That night, I had nothing left.
I was slowly dying, and I couldn’t do it anymore.
Fuck.
My chest is tight. My pulse erratic. My vision wavers in and out. I lurch to my feet, the chair scraping against the floor, too loud in the quiet house. I need to breathe different air, put space between myself and the walls that feel too close right now.
My fingers curl around the car keys before I can think better of it.
The drive to Feldman’s takes fifteen minutes.
My knuckles are white on the steering wheel the entire time.
Every red light takes an eternity to change to green.
Every turn brings me closer to a confrontation I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for.
Twice I almost turn around. Twice I force myself to keep going.
What the hell am I doing?
My heart is hammering against my ribs. Sweat prickles along my spine.
Through the windshield, I can see inside the floor-to-ceiling window—the same faded sign, the same drinks coolers lining the walls, the same fluorescent lights washing everything in sickly yellow.
The parking lot is empty except for one other car.
I force myself out of the car before I can change my mind.
The walk to the door seems to be miles long. The handle is cold under my palm when I pull the door open. The bell chimes, and the sound makes me flinch.
He’s behind the counter when I walk in, reading a newspaper. The image stops me in my tracks. It’s so familiar, it hurts.
How many times did I stand in this exact spot, counting out coins with shaking hands, head down, trying to be invisible?
He looks up, recognition dawning slowly across his face. I don’t speak. I couldn’t if I wanted to. My throat has closed up tight. He folds the paper carefully, and sets it aside. There’s no fear in his movements, but there’s no anger either.
I clear my throat. “Figured we should talk.”
“About that night?” There’s something in his tone that I can’t quite read. “Or about what came after?”
“Both … maybe?” My fingers curl into fists at my sides, as I fight against the urge to back away and leave. “If you’ve got time, that is.”
“Still take your coffee black?”
The question catches me off guard. He remembers that?
“You don’t have to—”
“Just made a fresh pot.” He moves around the counter. “Might as well be comfortable while we talk.”
I stay where I am, thrown by his casual tone. “You’re not—”
“Not what?” One eyebrow lifts. “Scared? Angry?” He fills two cups, steam rising between us. “Sit down, Ronan. Terry will be here to start his shift in twenty minutes. We’ve got time.”
My legs are a little unsteady when I walk over to one of the tables near the window. He sets a cup in front of me, then takes the chair opposite.
“Were you expecting a different kind of reception maybe?” There’s no heat in his voice. “Because I’ve had a long time to think about that night, and the things that should have been done differently.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who—”
“You were sleeping rough. Starving.” He takes a slow sip of coffee. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. Don’t think others didn’t either. We just … didn’t know how to help, I guess. Or maybe, we convinced ourselves it wasn’t what we thought.”
The coffee burns going down. It’s something to focus on, instead of the guilt chewing up my insides.
“You couldn’t have helped anyway. I wouldn’t have accepted it.” I have to force the words out.
He sighs. “No. Probably not. You had that look. The one that says accepting help is more dangerous than going hungry.”
He’s not wrong. Help always came with strings attached. It meant owing someone, and giving them power over you.
Except for Lily.
I shut that thought down as fast as it forms.
“You’re looking better now, though. Than that night, I mean. But I guess that’s what happens with time.”
“It does.”
“You know what I remember most about that night?” His gaze is steady on mine. He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “How damn quiet you were. You didn’t run. You just sat there, waiting for the cops.”
He sets his mug down.
“You shouldn’t have been given that sentence.
” His voice is quiet. “Five years for a first offense … especially one where there was nothing stolen, and no one hurt …” He shakes his head.
“I didn’t want to press charges. I told them that.
You needed help, not a prison cell. But they went ahead with their own investigation, and turned you into their poster boy for why drugs were bad. ”
“In a way, it was the best thing to happen to me.” I take another sip of coffee, and allow myself to share the truth I learned. “They made sure I got clean. I had a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in. I received three meals a day … and I was warm. It’s more than I had before.”
“You should have come to me, instead of breaking in. If you’d asked for help, it would never have gone that far.”
“It wasn’t your problem to solve.”
“No, but store owners notice things, you know.” He takes another mouthful of coffee, then sets down his cup.
“It’s hard to miss when someone is falling apart right in front of you.
And we all watched it happen. I saw you getting thinner, the shakes getting worse.
I watched you fading away. And I let it happen because I kept telling myself you must have a family member who would help you. ”
“I was good at hiding how bad it was.”
“Not as good as you think you were.” A small smile tips his lips up. “That girl who came in with you sometimes. Lily Gladwin. She saw it too.”
Lily saw everything. That’s why I had to push her away. So she didn’t get dragged even further into my downfall.
I stare down at my coffee. The surface is dark, reflecting nothing. I don’t know what to say.
“Why are you being so …” I wave one hand, unable to find the right words.
“Understanding?” His lips quirk up. “Because I’ve seen enough kids pass through here. Some make it. Some don’t. The ones who do usually learn to stop punishing themselves for doing what they had to so they could survive.”
“You know what your real problem is right now?” Feldman leans forward slightly.
“You’re still that kid who’s too scared to ask for help.
Inside, you’re convinced you don’t deserve a second chance.
” He reaches across and pats my hand. “Son, listen to me. You can’t change what happened.
But you can choose who you want to be now. ”
The bell over the door chimes before I can reply. Which I’m glad about because I have no idea what to say.
“Here’s Terry. Right on time.” Feldman stands, picking up our empty cups.
I push to my feet, feeling steadier than I was when I arrived. “I really am sorry.” The words feel inadequate, too small for what I’m trying to convey. “About that night.”
“I know.” He moves toward the counter, then pauses. “Make me one promise, though. Next time you’re hungry, come in through the front door. It works better than breaking windows.”
A laugh breaks free, surprising me. “Yeah. I figured that out.”
When I walk outside, the sun has been hidden by rain clouds. The air is cold and damp against my face, but everything feels fresher somehow. Feldman’s words follow me to the car, mixing with memories of Lily.
I can’t change what I did to her back then, or the words I threw at her last night.
And I still don’t think I can let her close enough to matter again.
But maybe I can stop choosing to be the weapon that years of neglect and homelessness forged.
I can stop trying to prove that I’m exactly what everyone in this town expects me to be, and figure out who I want to be instead.