Willow
willow
S omething was ringing—no, not ringing. It was blaring. It was screeching. It was an incessant, annoying sound, and it was bouncing off every edge of my skull. Maybe, if I didn’t feel like I was dying, the sound would’ve been pretty. But the tinkling ding, ding, ding echoed in my head, and, since I was dying, I wanted to rip my eardrums out just so I could have some silence.
Why wouldn’t it just stop?
The entire world spun as I sat up, a raspy groan ripping from my throat. I reached up and cradled my pounding head, silently cursing myself for whatever the hell I’d been thinking last night.
I slapped my hand blindly on the nightstand at my side, sending stuff flying to the floor. Lip balm, earrings, a hairbrush, a full glass of water.
My eyes widened as I stared at the glass lying on its side, the water leaking out and soaking into my carpet.
A full glass of water!
I leapt from bed, bracing my hand on the wall as a surge of bile rose in my throat. Okay, that was it—I was never drinking again. Ever. I wouldn’t survive it.
Thank god that sound finally stopped.
I shuffled to my tiny bathroom and snatched a towel from the rack. It would have to do. Placing it over the water, I weakly smashed my foot on it, grimacing when the water soaked through the fabric and into my sock.
My sock ?
Why was I wearing a sock? I never wore socks to bed. I wasn’t a psychopath.
But here I was, hungover—maybe still a little drunk—and I was wearing a sock.
A now wet sock.
I didn’t have the energy to peel it off, so I decided to just suffer and finish cleaning the water mess before trudging to the kitchen to return the glass. I leaned against the counter, my hands braced tightly on it as I breathed through my rolling nausea.
The sound started up again, and I tipped my head back, staring up at the ceiling. “What did I do to deserve this?” I muttered. “What kind of karma have I inherited?”
A knocking sound accompanied the dinging, and I was positive that someone had cursed me. They’d made a voodoo doll of me and were now torturing me with it. That was the only reasonable explanation as to why I was being punished this cruelly.
My socked feet slid against the carpet as I shuffled to my bedroom, grabbed my ringing phone, then headed toward the door where someone was pounding on it.
Cruel.
Unusual.
Punishment.
Sliding my thumb along the screen, I answered and pressed it to my ear. “Hello?” I croaked, my voice raw.
“Good morning to you, too.” My mother laughed, her voice far too loud and cheery. “Well, it’s actually afternoon.”
I squinted at the sunlight pouring in through the cream-colored curtains. “Is it?” I muttered. “One sec. Someone is at my door.”
My breath was lost the second my eyes met Ronan’s. For one, they were far too bright and full of life for my liking. And two—Ronan was at my freaking door when I looked like this . When I smelled like this!
“Oh god,” I breathed. “This isn’t happening. I’m in a dream. A nightmare. An actual Lucifer-induced hellscape terror.”
“I come bearing gifts,” Ronan said, lifting the bag in his hand. His eyes swept over my face, and a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Did you just wake up?”
“What gave it away?” I grumbled, turning toward the couch. “Come in. Or put the goodies by the door and leave. Either way, close it. It’s too bright.”
He chuckled as I threw myself onto my sofa, draping my arm over my eyes. My mother cleared her throat, and it took all the strength I possessed to lift my phone back to my ear.
“Mom?”
“I’ll call you back later,” she said, amusement clear in her voice. “It seems you have company.” All I could do was grunt. It was too much work to move my mouth or use my vocal cords. I’d spent all my energy cleaning up the water mess and walking around the house.
I thought I said bye, but I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was she wasn’t talking anymore, and the silence was welcomed. But also kind of eerie. Did Ronan leave? I thought he came in. Maybe I was wrong.
Lifting my arm, I peeked around the room. His massive body was wedged in the corner by the front door, his eyes wide as he looked around. The muscle in his jaw rippled like he was clenching and unclenching at a record pace.
“Ro?” I muttered, and his eyes slid to me.
“Your place is…” His voice was tight, like he was straining to say every word. Maybe he was as hungover as I was, but after his second beer he switched to water. “ Nice .”
I glanced at the living room and snorted. It was a total mess. Clothes were strewn everywhere, the plants were dying, and I was pretty sure I tried to make instant ramen and gave up last night.
“Sorry for the mess.”
“It’s okay.” His fingers tapped against the plastic bag. He paused, then began tapping again. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
I tilted my head to the side. “You alright, big guy?” I asked softly. Was he a neat freak or something? I didn’t think it was that bad. I’d cleaned the other day—or maybe it was a couple weeks ago. Either way, it was somewhat recently.
“You need a clear path to the door,” he finally said. “It’s dangerous if you can’t get out if there’s an emergency.”
My brows crashed together. “I’ll…keep that in mind.”
“You could trip and fall,” he continued, like he hadn’t even heard me. “And I think those…things…are a fire hazard.” He pointed at the macrame on the wall. “If the fringe catches on fire—” He snapped his fingers. “This whole place will be up in flames.”
“Okay, you’re freaking me out,” I said, sitting all the way up. I looked around my place with fresh eyes.
It was kind of dangerous, wasn’t it? I needed to at least pick up the clothes on the floor. But he could pry my macrame from my cold, dead hands. I was not taking that off the wall.
I’d worry about cleaning up later, though. Right now, I needed to focus on not dying. Finally, Ronan peeled himself away from the wall and dropped the plastic bag on the other couch. He glanced at the door before his gaze returned to mine.
“You can go,” I offered. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“I thought we could hang out today,” he said, his gaze flitting around the room again, lingering on the piles of clothes. They were all clean— mostly clean. I’d put them on before work, decided I hated them, and tossed them to the floor as I rushed to my closet to find another outfit.
I didn’t think explaining that to him would make him feel better, though.
“Hang out?” I repeated, and he nodded.
“We need to go over…everything.” He cleared his throat, his fingers still tapping together.
Everything. Right.
All the lies.
“Give me an hour,” I grumbled. “Let me shower and find some pain killers?—”
“I brought you some medicine, a sports drink, and a Coke.”
“A Coke?”
He shrugged. “I swore by it when I was younger,” he laughed. “It used to be the only thing to help my hangovers. That, and a giant greasy burger.”
“God,” I moaned. “That sounds so damn good.”
“Hurry up,” he said, tapping his hand against the couch. “Get dressed, and we’ll grab a bite.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice.
“I’ll be at my place,” he said, hustling to the front door. “Come by when you’re done.”
Before I could get a word out, he was gone. He didn’t even give my pigsty a backward glance.
I smoothed my hand over my teal babydoll dress. It was the comfiest thing I owned—it was oversized and flowed out around me, not clingy or tight anywhere. It was perfect for a hangover day. I’d slipped a knit cream cardigan over my arms on the way out, but it was oversized and pooled around my elbows. A pair of booties and some gold jewelry finished off the look, and as casual and effortless as it appeared, it wasn’t.
I’d spent the better part of an hour picking everything out. I swiped mascara over my lashes until they were long and thick, and the lipstick on my mouth was new and perfectly applied. It was ridiculous, but I couldn’t squash the butterflies fluttering in my belly. I was excited to see Ronan again— excited to go on a…date? If that’s what grabbing a bite with my fake boyfriend meant.
The notebook slid against my sweaty palm as I tapped the knuckles of my other hand on his door. I held my breath as I waited, straining to hear his footsteps. For a moment, I thought he hadn’t heard the knock, but then the door opened, and there he was.
He was in the same white shirt and blue jeans from earlier, but he’d pulled a hat on, his dark hair flipping out under the edges. His smile was genuine, and when his gaze slid down the rest of my body, warmth pooled in my lower stomach.
“You look nice,” he said, his voice low. He glanced down at himself, his mouth twisting. “Should I change? I look ridiculously underdressed next to you.”
A breathy laugh I didn’t recognize escaped me. “You look perfect.”
Pink tinged the tips of his ears as he fought back a smile. Roughly, he cleared his throat as he stepped outside. “Thanks,” he said gruffly, shutting the door behind him. He locked and unlocked it a few times, his shoulders rising with his deep breath. “I’m starving.”
“Me too.”
He turned and stared down at me for another beat before he gave me a firm nod. “From this second on, you’re my girlfriend,” he said, and my heart soared into my throat.
“What?”
“I told you I was all in, so we have to live the lie to make your family believe it,” he explained. “I’m a terrible actor. They’ll know I’m faking it if I don’t believe you’re my girl.”
God, did he have to say my girl like that? Didn’t he know what that did to a woman? It made me stupid and turned me to mush. It made me want to wrap my legs around his waist…or my lips around his cock.
I nearly choked at the thought. Where the hell had that come from?
“Okay,” I croaked. “When we leave our houses, we’re dating.” He dipped his chin in a firm nod. “And when we get home, we’re back to being neighbors.”
“Yep.” He held his elbow out for me, and I stared at it like I’d never seen one before. A chuckle left him, breathy and low. “Wrap your hand around my arm, sweetheart.”
My pupils dilated. He had to know what he was doing to me, right? He was messing with me in the cruelest way.
I did as instructed and wrapped my trembling hand around the crook of his elbow. He led us down the creaky stairs to his truck. When we got to it, I dropped my hand away, ignoring the way it felt to leave his warmth behind. I gripped the notebook tighter in my other hand, needing something to hold onto.
Shock rendered me momentarily speechless as he pulled open my door and gestured for me to come to him. “Thanks,” I rasped, but he didn’t say anything. He just watched me grab the handle at the top of his truck. His warm hand settled on my lower back and my foot nearly slipped off the ledge. “What are you?—”
“Helping you up,” he muttered. “I can lift you in if that’s easier.”
“It’s okay,” I squeaked, pulling myself into his truck. His hand was a heavy weight helping me inside. He dragged his fingers along my lower back before pulling completely away. My breathing was shallow and harsh, and my heart was battering against my ribcage. Sweat had gathered along my palms, and I tightened my grip on the notebook, feeling it slipping from my grasp.
“You look very pretty,” he murmured, his words barely registering. “I like that color on you.”
I was about to die. Or maybe I already died. Maybe this was a dream? A really, really good dream. A dream where Ronan was staring at me like he wanted to eat me alive. A dream where I was seconds away from wrapping my hand around his shirt and pulling him to me, pressing my lips to his?—
“Thank you,” I whispered, my gaze dropping to my feet. I couldn’t look at him, not when he was like… that.
He hesitated, his hand tightening around the door. Our eyes met, and the golden haze of light around him made him look otherworldly. My breath caught in my lungs. His lips parted, and I waited to hear what he had to say.
But nothing.
Not a sound, not a breath.
A strange pang of disappointment stabbed through my chest as he shut the door. I watched as he rounded the front of the car, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes. Suddenly, the foliage outside was incredibly interesting, and I stared at it as he got in and started the truck.
It rumbled to life under us, and rocks crunched under his tires as he backed out. Trees and houses passed—the same trees and houses I’d passed a million times before, but they looked different. They felt different.
Maybe it was me who was different.
Silence filled the cab of the truck as we drove through town. People walked along the sidewalks, the brightly colored storefronts and homes nothing but a blur of color. Tension rippled off Ronan in thick waves, but I didn’t understand why. I didn’t know what to say or do to make it better.
I twisted my hands in my lap, the notebook resting on my thighs. The leather-bound book held all my secrets and lies, all the stories I’d told, all my inner secrets and demons. It mocked me—every word, every letter.
Finally, the truck stopped, and I realized I’d spent the last ten minutes staring at the book, my lip between my teeth. Blood pooled in my mouth, and the tangy taste of it grounded me, bringing me back to reality. My lip slipped free, and I lifted my gaze, but Ronan was already staring at me.
“I thought we could eat here,” he said, gesturing to the diner. I nodded a few times, my throat dry.
“Sounds good.”
“Or we can go somewhere else?—”
“This is perfect,” I said, pressing my lips into a smile. His gaze dropped to the notebook, and I tapped my fingers against it. “It’s everything you need to know.”
His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t seem surprised. I couldn’t get a clear read on how he was feeling, and that made me shift uncomfortably.
Not knowing how someone felt was dangerous. I learned a long time ago that judging someone’s moods was the best way to keep the peace, to not say the wrong thing and upset them. I knew how my father felt by the weight of his footsteps, or the tick of his jaw. No one else would notice those things—but I did.
I did the same thing with Daniel, always anticipating what kind of mood he’d be in when he got home from work. A good mood meant laughter and gentle touches, but a bad mood…I trembled.
It wasn’t that I thought Ronan would ever hurt me, but my mind kept screaming at me that something was wrong. That I needed to fix it—whatever it was—before it spiraled out of control.
“Ready to go in?” he asked, his voice soft. Air filled my lungs as I took a deep breath, turning my attention toward the diner. My fingers wrapped around the edge of the notebook as I nodded. “You can leave that in here.”
I shook my head. “It’ll be easier to go over everything right now,” I said. “It’s a lot of information.”
He was silent for a long moment before he cleared his throat. “Let’s do this then.”