Willow
willow
I spent too long trying to find the perfect thing to cook for Ronan. He’d looked so devastated that I hadn’t invited him to stay for dinner last night, so I decided I wanted to do something nice for him.
He felt like a comfort food kind of man, and I’d spent hours trying to find the perfect recipe for homemade chicken pot pie. Gracie ended up giving me a family recipe that sounded incredible. I stopped by the store after work to pick everything up, and was now covered in flour and burns while I cleaned the kitchen.
The pie was in the oven, so I had about an hour to make myself look decent before Ronan got home.
I’d been too nervous to text him earlier, but now that I was in the homestretch, I pulled my phone out and sent him a quick message.
ME:
Do you have plans for dinner?
My stomach twisted with each passing minute that he didn’t reply. I knew he was always busy during work, but he also always made a point of replying quickly, even if it was just to tell me that he couldn’t talk right then.
I busied myself around the house, picking up random things that had somehow fallen on the floor since I’d tidied up last night. It felt never-ending. Things always seemed to find their way to the ground, and I was starting to think that maybe that was just where they wanted to live. And who was I to deprive them of their comfort?
My lip slid between my teeth as I braced my hands on my hips. Still no text.
I slowly crept toward my phone like I was sneaking up on it. Maybe I hadn’t heard it go off? But when I opened my messages, only my most recent one stared back at me.
With a deep breath, I sent another.
ME:
Hopefully not. I made pot pie and have extra. Want me to bring you some?
My phone clattered against the countertop as I dropped it. I didn’t want to see his response—what if he rejected me? What if I’d been reading too much into his expression last night? What if he’d been in a hurry to get the hell out of here?
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him to help me. Maybe that was a line I blurred and made him feel uncomfortable?
I groaned as I scrubbed my hands over my face. This was so hard to navigate, so hard to know what the right thing to do was. I’d never had to do anything like this before. Even when I was young and had situationships, I still knew what the boundaries were. But with Ronan, everything was so messy and blurred.
And my feelings for him were the same.
It would be stupid to not acknowledge I’d had a crush on him the entire time we’d been neighbors, but he was always so grumpy. We bickered, yeah, but we were cordial. He wasn’t a total asshole all the time, but he certainly wasn’t as kind or attentive as he had been the last few days.
And with the way he’d been acting, my walls were dropping. Maybe it was just pure loneliness riding me, telling me I was desperate for any kind of connection. Or maybe he truly made me feel safe enough to let them fall.
But I had to remind myself that in two short weeks, we were going back to what we were before .
I shoved the thought from my mind as I moved through my small house, pulling a clip out of my hair. My hair tumbled down my back in loose waves, and I ran my fingers into the roots, jostling the strands.
The next hour was a blur of makeup and hairspray, of dresses flying through the air, and jewelry glittering in the light. I wanted to look good for him. I paused and stared at my reflection in the floor-length mirror.
Was this all a big mistake?
My hands trembled as I ran them over my jeans. Everything would be so much easier if I could read his mind. Sometimes he acted like he really liked me, but sometimes it felt like we were too awkward around each other for anything genuine to ever bloom.
Yet a part of me clung to the hope that maybe he’d want to turn this into something real in a couple weeks. He’d sit me down and admit that he had feelings for me, too.
Or maybe that was a pipe dream.
I sighed as I shook my hair out again, then made my way into the kitchen. Heat from the oven enveloped me as I pulled the pot pie out and set it on the stove. The warm, savory scent wafted through the air as I grabbed my phone.
Leaning against the counter, I stared at my messages. He still hadn’t replied. Maybe he hadn’t seen them?
I chewed on my bottom lip as I glanced at the daisy-shaped wall clock. He should be home in just a few minutes. What if he stopped at the diner? This meal would’ve been for nothing if he already ate.
Without giving myself time to really think about it, I pressed the call button and brought the phone to my ear. It rang and rang, and my stomach twisted painfully. The food no longer smelled appetizing, and the nervous excitement I’d felt all day melted into pure anxiety.
“Hello?” His voice was deep and gruff and didn’t have any of the gentleness it held last night.
“Um, hey.” A tense laugh left me as I began pacing. Why did it feel like my blood was vibrating? “Did you get my texts?”
“Yeah. I’ve been busy.”
“For an hour?”
A harsh sigh pushed through the phone, and dread pooled in my stomach. I was pushing too much—I was being too much .
Don’t rock the boat.
Don’t upset him.
“I mean, you’ve been busy for an hour? That really sucks. I bet you’re exhausted.” I searched for anything to smooth his mood out, to make him happy. “You work so hard, so that’s why I was asking if you’d like to have dinner tonight. But it’s totally not a big deal if you don’t want to. I made too much?—”
“I don’t know what time I’ll be home,” he said. “Are you okay? I really have to go.”
I twisted my hand into my stomach. “Yeah. I’m good. I’m fine.”
My makeup suddenly felt too heavy on my face, the mascara too itchy and the lip gloss too sticky. The cooling pot pie mocked me on the stove as I stared at it.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yep,” I said as cheerfully as I could. “See you later.”
I hung up before he could say anything else. A ragged breath escaped my lungs as I braced my hands on the counter and dropped my head forward.
He was mad at me.
I did something wrong.
I ruined everything .
My mind spiraled further and further down into that familiar pit I hadn’t felt in a long time. I dragged in another breath, my fingertips digging into the unforgiving counter.
What did I do wrong? What changed from yesterday to today?
My past and present blurred together, old feelings rearing up and reminding me I could never outrun the years of trauma that made up my tattered soul. I searched for something to ground me, a solid point in the room to plant me firmly in this moment.
Ronan wasn’t Daniel.
Ronan wasn’t my dad.
He wasn’t mad at me just because he was busy at work.
I didn’t do anything wrong.
I didn’t ruin anything.
But as I repeated those words to myself, I didn’t believe them. They rang hollow and untrue, and the more I said them, the more they started sounding like a masochistic mantra than affirmations.
What if he really was already tired of me? What if this was him pulling away? What if he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore? What if I was being too clingy?
He’s going to leave you, just like everyone else .
Tears blurred my vision, but I shook the thought away. Of course he was going to leave. That was what the agreement had been.
It wasn’t until that moment I realized how much I didn’t want that to happen. I didn’t want to lose him. I didn’t want him to be just another man who was a drifter in my life. I wanted him to stick around, and that thought scared the shit out of me.
It was nearly eleven, and Ronan still wasn’t home. After cleaning the kitchen, I padded around the house, but nothing kept my attention. Movies, a TV show, music…my mind just stayed on my last conversation with him. So I went to bed early, and I’d been tossing and turning for the last three hours.
I flipped onto my back and stared at the dark ceiling. My hands rested on my belly, and I chewed on my lip as I contemplated texting him. But after our phone call earlier, I couldn’t bring myself to contact him again.
I went through a maelstrom of emotions tonight. Reminders of feeling abandoned emerged out of nowhere, and I found myself remembering every path that had led me to this point.
The scar my father left on my soul would never truly heal, and every piece pried from me by the men I searched for love in were there, too. Daniel’s wounds were there, scabbed over and raw, but healed—at least, I thought they were healed until Ronan blew me off.
He didn’t blow you off , I reminded myself.
He was busy . It was different.
But that distinction was hard to remember when the feelings were the same.
I rolled onto my side, tucking my hands under my cheek, and stared out the window. Through the sheer curtains, I could see my car sitting in the driveway alone.
Where was he?
When Daniel didn’t come home at night, he was with other women. And even if Ronan and I weren’t exclusive, the thought of someone else curled up in his arms made me feel sick. Something thick lodged in my throat as I stared ahead, my vision blurring. All I wanted was to see his headlights turn down the road. I could almost hear the repeated honk, honk, honk as he trudged through the yard to his front door.
Busy, not leaving.
Busy, not leaving.
Busy, not leaving.
The words were on repeat in my mind, playing over and over until I had no choice but to consider that they were true.
Time passed like water through honey, slow and resistant. My eyelids grew heavy as I fought my sleep, the mantra still playing on a loop. I had to stay awake until he made it home. Just so I knew he was safe.
But slowly, I was dragged under, floating somewhere between consciousness and sleep. Images of Ronan flashed through my mind—a golden halo of sunlight framed his face as he smiled down at me, his eyes like sapphires. I swore I could feel his rough, warm palm slide against my cheek, cupping it with a gentleness I’d never experienced from a man before. His face lowered to mine, and my eyes fluttered shut. The rays of sun heated my cheeks as his soft, full lips brushed against mine, teasing.
There was a sound in the distance, but I ignored it, sinking deeper into the dream.
Ronan’s body pressed against mine, his arm anchored around my waist as he held me to him. He smiled against my mouth, but I couldn’t feel his lips. They were nothing but a barely-there whisper, a phantom promise of a kiss. I was desperate for them, for the taste of him.
I reached out desperately. My palms should’ve grazed his firm chest, but he was yanked away from me. The world around us shifted, and the cold, wet stone walls of the lighthouse surrounded me. Darkness replaced the sunlight, and panic crawled up my chest when I couldn’t find him.
“Ronan?” I called. No answer. “Where are you?”
I spun in a circle, my gaze flitting around the small room. It was too dark, too cold. I couldn’t find him. He was gone.
But then I stopped twirling, and my gaze lifted to the top of the stairs. There he stood, his hand outstretched like an invitation. My feet carried me up the winding staircase. Around and around I went, my breath sawing in and out of my lungs. But with every step up, the further away he got.
There was a squeal somewhere, and my mind clawed to wake up. A muffled thud, then another creak.
My dreary eyes fluttered open, but darkness was the only thing that greeted me. My heart pounded against my ribcage as the dream lingered in the periphery of my mind. Was it from the dream, or was it real?
A faint creak sounded outside my bedroom door, and my body went rigid. My mind became fully alert as I sat up in bed and looked around the room. Shadows clung to every corner, but I couldn’t see anything.
I strained to hear, but when there were no other sounds, I shook myself. It was just my imagination. Or maybe it was the house settling. Old pipes made sounds like that too, right?
I fell onto my back and took a deep breath to calm my racing heart. I was jumpy and shaky from that dream, and from feeling weird about how things were left with Ronan. That was all it was.
My imagination. The dream. Ronan.
But then another sound came from the other side of the closed bedroom door, and I knew my mind wasn’t making it up. It was too deliberate, too human, to be the house or the pipes, and there was a charge in the air that hadn’t been there before.
My limbs shook as I pulled the blankets back. I scooted to the edge of my bed, the tips of my toes scraping the rug as I stared at the door. Should I go out there and check? I didn’t know what the right thing to do was.
I grabbed my phone as I stood, my knees wobbly. Quickly, I tapped a text to Ronan. At this point, I didn’t care about being annoying. With every creak, every muffled sound, I was starting to get really freaked out, and I needed him, or someone, to calm me down. To tell me it was all in my head.
ME:
I’m sorry to bother you again, but I keep hearing weird sounds at my house. Could you come by to check it out?
The phone stayed clutched in my hand as I tiptoed across the room. My palm rested flat against the door, and slowly, I pressed my ear against it. My ears strained, and for a moment, there was nothing. No sound. No thickness in the air. Nothing.
I felt foolish thinking someone had broken in. Who would want to break into my little place, anyway? I didn’t have anything worth stealing.
But then I felt the vibrations of the floorboards groaning as someone walked around on the other side of the door.
I inhaled sharply, my breath getting lost in my lungs.
Someone’s out there.
I scrambled back as silently as I could, still not breathing. The doorknob of my closet was too cold as I pulled it open and sank to the floor, sitting on top of a pile of clothes and shoes. I left it open just a crack as I unlocked my phone again.
My thumbs shook as I tapped on Ronan’s name. I didn’t know what else to do, who else to call. There was another sound, a soft thud , and fear burned the back of my nose. I pressed the phone to my ear, my breathing too loud and too ragged in the darkness.
They continued wandering the living room and kitchen. Cabinet doors opened and closed, and the sound of drawers sliding on their hinges filled my ears. I could barely breathe. I could barely do anything but focus on staying silent.
As they searched my house, an unsettling thought filled me—it didn’t sound like they were searching for anything. It almost felt like their movements were deliberate, like they knew what they were looking for.
I chewed on my lip, ignoring the stings of pain as I ripped the skin off. The line rang and rang, and I tapped my fingers against my knees.
Pick up.
Pick up.
Please pick up.
Ronan’s voicemail answered, and tears finally fell. Fuck. Fuck . What was I supposed to do? Who did I call now?
I clamped my hand over my mouth to stifle the sobs wanting to break free. Icy tendrils of fear snaked around my throat, sank into my lungs. A million thoughts soared through my mind.
What if they came into the room? What was I supposed to do? I couldn't fight. I didn’t have a weapon.
Everything was happening quickly, but also in slow motion.
I could call Gracie, but I didn’t want to put her in danger. Maybe Trinity was with Ronan? If I called her, could she tell him what was going on?
That would take too long, and what if the intruder got to me before he did? What if no one answered?
My thumbs hovered over the numbers on my screen. Fuck it.
I dialed 911, and when the dispatcher answered, I nearly sobbed.
“911, what’s your emergency?” Her voice was gentle and coaxing. It was calm, and I clung to that calmness.
“Someone is in my house,” I whispered.
There was a pause. “Someone you know? Or a stranger?”
“A stranger, I think. I don’t know. I’m hiding.”
“Can you give me your address?”
I whispered the address, and there was another pause. “Stay on the line with me, ma’am.” I could hear clicking in the background like she was typing. “Are you in a safe place?”
“I’m in my bedroom closet.”
“Alright. And when did you suspect someone was inside?”
I smoothed my hand over my bare legs. “I can hear them walking around my living room.” My words came out in a barely-there whisper. I didn’t know how she could even hear me.
“I have deputies en route,” she said gently. “Just a little bit longer. What’s your name?”
“.”
“Alright, . I need you to be quiet for me. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Good. I need you to stay on the line, okay? Don’t hang up. Just listen to my voice and do everything I tell you to.”
There was a soft scraping sound, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Whoever it was, they weren’t in a hurry.
“You’re sure they’re coming?” I rasped, my voice shaky and breathless.
“They’re on the way, . When they get there, don’t come out of the closet. Wait for them to come to you.”
Something crashed, rattling the entire house, and my body jolted. My heart soared into my throat, and I let out a soft whimper.
Then the noises stopped—everything stopped. I counted the seconds in my head, each one an eternity.
“You’re doing great. Just stay quiet. You’re being very brave.”
I nearly laughed.
I didn't feel brave. I felt weak. I felt pathetic.
I felt scared.
“They’re almost there, ,” she said. “Just a little bit longer.”
I could barely hear her as my bedroom door squeaked open. I pressed my palm over my mouth as a shadow emerged from the doorway. A black hood covered his face as he looked around the room.
I watched as he stepped forward. The rug muffled his footsteps as he wandered toward my dresser. His hands were steady as he grabbed my trinket box and opened it. He rummaged through it, tossing seashells and sea glass onto the floor like they were nothing.
Tears silently streamed down my face. My lungs ached from keeping my breathing steady and quiet. All I could hear was my heartbeat thudding in my ears, my blood vibrating in my veins.
He’s right there .
“?” the dispatcher said, her voice just as calm. “Are you there?”
He turned toward the bed, his head tilting to the side. Slowly, he moved toward it and ran his hand over the sheets. My teeth sank into my lip as I watched him bring the sheet to his nose. Slowly, he looked around, and I moved farther back in the closet.
Suddenly, he stiffened, and I held my breath. Did he know I was here?
But then he looked out the window and he dropped the sheets to the bed before running from the room.
The hinges squealed as the back door slid shut. Relief flooded my chest for half a second, but then another door opened, and the floor groaned again. My pulse spiked as I realized it wasn’t over.
He was still inside.
I held myself tighter as I listened to him walk around the house again. The footsteps were quicker, more deliberate. Why was he still here? Where were the cops?
“?” the dispatcher said softly, but I could barely hear her past the roaring in my ears.
Finally, my bedroom door opened wider, and my body began shaking even harder. Had he gone to get a weapon? Was he coming back to kill me?
A bright light shone around the room as a giant figure stepped inside. He was somehow bigger than he’d been just a few moments ago, or maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me. Slowly, he made his way around the room, his footsteps slow and confident. Finally, he stopped before the closet door.
I held my breath. He was right there.
Right there.
Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.
I was about to die. Someone broke into my house, and I was about to fucking die.
Was it better to fight or just let him do what he wanted? I didn’t know what the best course of action was. What would be the least likely thing to get me killed?
The closet door slowly opened. White light shone in my eyes, blinding me, and a raw scream ripped from my throat. I kicked my foot out, connecting with a hard leg.
“—”
I was screaming. I was kicking. I was punching.
The only thing I could focus on was fighting, staying alive.
The shadow dropped to his knees. The flashlight tumbled from his hand and landed on the floor with a muffled thud .
“Baby, it’s me. It’s me .”
His words, his voice, barely registered. He reached for me, but I smacked his hand away.
“Don’t hurt me!” I cried, my nails raking down his arm. “Don’t touch me!”
I reared back to hit him again, hoping to hit something more vital than his forearm.
“It’s me, . It’s Ronan.”
My breath hitched.
I blinked.
There was enough light for me to see his face—it was full of worry and fear, but there was something else, something I couldn't place.
“Ronan?” I breathed. My voice was raspy from screaming, but he heard me.
He was here .
“Yeah, baby. It’s me.”
I glanced behind him at the window, seeing red and blue lights soaring down the street. My gaze shifted to the bedroom door.
“No one’s out there,” he said, and my eyes snapped back to him.
“Yes.” I lifted my shaky hand and pointed at the place the man had been standing. “He was there. He was right there.”
Ronan looked over his shoulder at the spot, his face twisting. “He’s gone now,” he murmured.
“He was there.”
It was all I could say. All I could think about.
“He was there ,” I sobbed. Ronan reached for me again, and this time, I let him pull me to his chest. My hands tangled in his uniform shirt as he held me tightly. “He was there. He was there. I saw him. He could’ve—” The rest of the words wouldn’t come out. Because what could he have done? Anything. He could’ve raped me, hurt me, left me for dead.
Every scenario flashed through my mind. I wanted it to stop. I wanted it out.
I banged the heel of my palm against my temple, wanting to dislodge every image. “He was right there!” I cried, sounding hysterical.
Ronan’s hand wrapped around my wrist, stopping me from hitting myself again. He rocked me gently back and forth, his arms never leaving.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His nose was buried in my hair, his lips pressed against my head. “You’re safe, baby. I’m here. I’m here.” I hadn’t realized I was still shaking, still sobbing.
A herd of footsteps thundered through the house, beams of light flitting around every corner. Men popped into the bedroom, and another scream erupted from me.
“It’s okay,” Ronan soothed. “I’m here. They’re just checking the place out.”
They left, but I could still hear them walking—I could still hear him walking.
“I was so scared,” I cried. Ronan’s arms tightened until I could barely breathe. “I called you.”
He tensed. “I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I’m sorry.”
“I called you!” I pulled away from him. I felt the glare overtake my face. “I called you!”
The words wouldn’t stop. The accusation wouldn’t stop.
“You didn’t answer!” I was fully sobbing, my words nearly incoherent, but I knew he could understand me. I knew he heard me.
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”
When he looked at me again, his eyes were full of pain. There was something else in his gaze, though. Something haunted.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. A tear gathered on his dark lashes, and when he blinked, it fell down his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know what to do,” I sobbed, and the sound was so broken. “I was so scared.”
I threw myself at him again, needing to feel the safety of his arms wrapped around me. He buried his face in my neck, and I let myself sink into him.
“I needed you,” I whispered. “I wanted only you.”
His hold on me tightened again, like he was scared to let me go. “I’m here,” he said, but it was more of a promise. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”
He was shaking. I was shaking. We were crying and clinging to each other like we’d be ripped apart at any moment.
I didn’t know how long we stayed like that. But soon, someone came into the room. My eyes lifted to him, and the image of the other man standing in my doorway flashed through my mind. An involuntary whimper escaped me, and Ronan’s arms tightened. Roughly, the cop cleared his throat, but Ronan didn’t pull away.
“Boss? We need to talk to her?—”
“She’ll talk when she’s ready to talk.”
“We need to?—”
“Toby, get the fuck out.”
To my utter shock, Toby actually stepped out of the bedroom and shut the door behind him. Ronan didn’t move. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t do anything but hold me and promise me I was safe.