Chapter 9 Sunday, January 1st #2
“How about you? What are you up to? Sounds like you actually are at a party?”
“No, I’m working tonight. I’m just making sure the people inside get to have their party?”
“I’m sorry,” Miranda says earnestly.
“Don’t be. I still get to be with the people I care about and I make great bank tonight. It’s a win-win.”
“You sound tired, though.”
“It’s been a long day, but it’s fine. Any news about your truck?”
Miranda sighs loudly. “Nothing. I doubt I’ll ever see it again. It’s probably burned out or disassembled for parts or…”
“I’m sorry, Randi.” I know how much that truck meant to her.
Another loud exhale travels through the phone. “It’s alright. I’m going to save up to get myself another truck. In the meantime, I’m making good use of yours,” she cackles. “How’s your feline?”
The smile on my lips is immediate, as always. “She’s good. I think… I don’t know, I’ve been misstepping lately.”
It feels safer to say it like that—to admit to something vague, instead of the things I actually can’t face.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I think maybe I’m not communicating right with her, or—”
“Uh, duh,” Miranda huffs. “You’re definitely not communicating right with her, Rony. I mean, you haven’t been really talking to her about the stuff in your head, right? You’re not letting her in!”
“Right, yeah,” I say, even though that’s not what I was talking about. But she’s not wrong. That’s the part that stings.
The slam of the door crashes through the quiet, jarring me like a punch. For a second, I forget where I am. Shane steps out, all business.
My heart gallops in my chest. “Fuck, are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack?”
“Sorry, dude. I just need you back inside.” He disappears again.
“I gotta let you go, Randi.”
“Back to the grind?”
I chuckle. “Yeah. Happy New Year, Randi.”
“Happy New Year, Rony. Oh, and you know what a good resolution might be?”
I chuckle quietly. “What?”
“Talking.”
I shove my phone back into my pocket, thinking about how only Miranda finds a way through my armor. And how that might be the whole problem.
***
At ten minutes until three in the morning, Vada is passed out with her head resting on her arms on the table, while Summer’s asleep with her head in Zack’s lap, her legs tucked onto the leather seat of the booth. Shane locks the front doors behind Jack, closing Murphy’s for the night.
I groan when I pull a chair up next to Cat’s seat in the booth, then fall gratefully onto it. Holy hell, my entire body aches. I better not allow my eyes to shut or I’ll pass out like Vada and Summer.
“Damn good night.” Shane pulls up his own chair next to Steve, whose expression is sleepy, body relaxed.
Shane is amped, even hyper, but that’s nothing new.
He’s always like this. Crowds and noise don’t wear him down like they do me—they invigorate him, which is probably why he misses throwing parties so much.
I grin at his exuberance while draping my arm over Cat’s shoulder to pull her toward me.
Even though she leans into me, her body feels stiff, unconforming. I angle my face to look into her eyes. “Everything okay, baby?”
“I’m fine,” she says, her words cool. My eyes bounce between hers.
I haven’t had a chance to stop by her table again after the ball drop, after I got off the phone with Miranda and went back to work.
She was fine when I kissed her at midnight.
What the hell happened in the last three hours to cause her to be this short with me?
“How much did you make in cash tips?” Shane asks, pulling a long, rolled-up receipt from the pocket of his apron.
“For the entire day?” I ask.
Shane just nods, his eyes on the receipts.
“Seven hundred and forty-seven,” I say, suddenly aware of the thick wad of bills in my jeans pocket. “Brunch was kind of slow today.”
Shane grumbles, “Damn.”
“You?”
“Six hundred and ninety-six,” he says with a note of defeat.
“At least it’s a sexy number, baby,” Tori says, her eyes bloodshot and glossy. I’m surprised she’s not asleep, too.
Shane grins at her. “Very sexy. Okay, well, Jack made nine hundred and fourteen in cash tips.”
“Holy shit,” Steve says, his eyes wide. “You guys make that much in tips? Why didn’t I know about this?”
“And that’s only the cash,” Shane says with a nod at the paper in front of him.
“Alright, so Ran, you got an additional eight hundred and eighty-seven in electronic tips. I got nine hundred and one. And Jack got…” Shane’s face falls.
“Eight hundred and thirteen. Without doing the exact math, I think Jack won this one.”
I shut my eyes and crack my neck. God, I need sleep. “Yep. But to be fair, he ran the bar. On New Year’s Eve. Drunk people tip more than sober people. It’s all good. It’s still a great fucking night.”
“Yep, that’s rent right here.” Shane nods and taps his index finger on the paper receipt on the table.
I kiss Cat’s temple, inhaling her. She hasn’t moved out of my arms, but she still feels rigid. Like I’m holding a statue instead of a person. I tell myself it’s just fatigue, but I’ve known Cat long enough to know the difference between tired and tense.
I kiss her temple again, trying to smooth whatever tension there is, but she stays still. And I start counting the seconds of silence between us.
Cat
Yes, I’m aware. I’m aware that I should tell Ronan how much it bothers me that he walks away whenever Miranda calls him, how much it bothers me that he obviously doesn’t want me to hear what they talk about.
Heck, that it bothers me that she calls him in the first place—after trying to convince him to cheat on me, then abandoning him while he was at his most vulnerable.
But the words feel petty in my mouth. So I swallow them. Again.
The rational, unemotional part of my brain constantly reminds me that I don’t have anything to worry about.
Each time Miranda called Ronan it was noisy, and I’m sure the only reason Ronan walked away was to be able to hear her.
I also just don’t want to get into it with him right now.
I will tell him eventually, but not tonight, not when we’re surrounded by our friends, when this is a night to celebrate.
“Is something wrong?” Ronan asks me for the second time since sitting down with me.
I look into his beautiful green eyes and force my body to relax against him. I love him. I’ve always loved him. But I’m also irritated.
“Nothing’s wrong. Just getting sleepy.” I force a smile.
“Ran, I wanted to ask you something,” Zack says, hesitation prominent on his face as he leans forward and rests his elbows on the table, careful not to jostle Summer in her slumber.
Ronan diverts his attention to Zack. “What’s up?”
“So, I have this opportunity to submit a film of mine for a national competition,” Zack says. “My film professor at UCLA has been mentoring me. I’m trying to come up with a concept and then work on it this next semester. I’m hoping to get it finished by June or July and submit it for judging.”
“Okay?” Ronan says. “And how do I play into this?”
“Well, if you’d be okay with it, I was hoping to make a film about you,” Zack says hesitantly.
Ronan’s brow creases. “What do you mean?”
“Okay, Ran, please just hear me out, okay?” Zack says raising his hands.
“Sure,” Ronan says calmly.
“I have all this footage, like of all of us and stuff, and, obviously, a lot of you. And… I mean, I still have that footage from… from when… when everything hap—”
“Yep,” Ronan says with a nod, urging Zack to move past that point.
“Your story, it’s super compelling, Ran. And I mean…”
I feel the tension in Ronan’s body, and I wrap my arm around his waist, scooting a little closer still.
Ronan shakes his head. “Zack, I don’t think—”
Zack moves his hands as if to rebuff Ronan’s reluctance.
“Hold on, okay? The documentary won’t focus on like, specifically what happened to you.
It’s more about how you came out of it on the other side, you know?
Like, how you overcame it and where you are now and stuff.
You don’t have to really do anything,” Zack says, ignoring the rather harsh look Shane’s throwing his way.
“I’d just keep doing what I’m doing. Like, just film stuff and put it all together. ”
Ronan inhales and exhales deeply. “I don’t want to be an asshole, man. I don’t want to tell you not to do this because, I mean, I know this is your passion and stuff, but… I don’t really want… I can’t…” Ronan trails off.
Zack deflates, sitting back in his seat. “It’s okay, Ran. I figured you’d say that,” he says warmly, though the disappointment is visible on his face. “I just wanted to ask because, well, I really think that your story would touch a lot of lives, you know?”
“I’m sorry,” Ronan says with a guilty look. “I just don’t think I’m ready for this.”
Shane shakes his head. “You don’t have anything to feel bad about, Ran. You’re not fucking obligated to talk to anyone about anything, okay? Not some investigative journalist, not even one of your best friends. You don’t owe anyone anything,”
Ronan’s face blanches. “What?”
“You don’t owe anyone anything—not Zack, not that investigative journalist chick.”
Ronan’s eyes flare for the briefest of moments. “What investigative journalist chick?”
“The one who…” Shane trails off, realization dawning, and levels a dismayed look at me. “You haven’t fucking told him?”
I shake my head at Shane.
“Why the fuck not, Cat? It’s been like two weeks!”
I shift out of Ronan’s hold, creating some distance between us as shame, guilt, and anger clash in my chest, each fighting for pole position. I know how this looks. Like I’m the one who kept a secret. I’m the one who made Shane raise his voice.
“What are you guys talking about?” Ronan asks, his gaze moving from Shane to me, then back again. I think I recognize fear flaring in his emerald-green eyes, and the guilt inside me takes the lead.
Shane squares his shoulders and crosses his arms in front of his puffed-out chest, his jaw ticking twice while he waits.
And now I know, without a shadow of doubt, where Shane’s loyalty lies.
Not with me. Never with me. Always and forever with his best friend, no matter how unreasonable, how obstinate, how stubborn Ronan may be.
Shane has his back, and nothing and no one will change that. Not even me.
I hold Shane’s eye contact for a moment longer before he raises his eyebrows at me, and I turn my attention to Ronan.
“When were you going to tell me about Rashana Yates?”
Ronan pales even more, his full lips losing their soft pink coloring and I see the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows what I imagine must be akin to ash.
To his credit, he holds eye contact. But his breathing is noticeably elevated as he works to maintain his outward composure, just like he’s been conditioned all his life.
“I wasn’t,” Ronan finally says, his tone even. “I wasn’t going to tell you or Shane or anyone.”
“I’m sorry, I missed something,” Steve says. “Who in the world are we talking about?”
Ronan exhales deeply, then directs his gaze at his brother.
“Rashana Yates. She’s in the investigative journalism program at Columbia.
She’s been… She reached out to me about a story on…
on…” The words get stuck in Ronan’s throat.
He looks back at me. “But you’re right, I should have told you.
I’m sorry. I had thought about it when Rashana first talked to me, but I got sidetracked when my grandmother showed up, and…
I don’t know how to explain it, but… I’m trying to be careful with what I give my energy to.
Telling you guys about Rashana when I have absolutely zero intention of talking with her is not where I want to put my energy.
” He shuts his eyes. “It’s just that there’s so much damn noise, and if I give a voice to all of it…
” He trails off. The anguish on his face completely desiccates the anger in me.
It crumbles, leaving only the guilt and shame in its wake.
Of course Ronan hasn’t told me about her—wasn’t going to tell me about her—because it’s all still so raw, so painful, so fresh for him. He’s nowhere near done purging his past. While a year without violence may seem like a long time to me, it’s probably nothing to Ronan.
“Ran,” I say softly. He opens his eyes. “I love you. I love you so much, but you need to talk to me. I’m trying to be patient.
I’m trying to be understanding, but I need you to talk to me.
Don’t leave me in the dark. It’s not fair!
It’s not fair for me to find out about Rashana from anyone but you.
She just showed up at Murphy’s and started asking about you and… it’s not fair!”
He nods. “Yeah, I know.”
His voice is even, but the words are heavy. Like he’s said all he can say without promising change.