Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
CIARA
Ronan’s not coming back.
I sit at the table in the middle of one of the fanciest restaurants in Vegas, trying not to bawl my eyes out as I stare at his empty seat.
Thirty minutes have passed since he went out for ‘some air,’ and that’s precisely how long it takes for it to fully sink in that he’s actually left me here.
I stare at the open menu in front of me, my hands balled into fists in my lap, as I try to drown out the sound of the laughter coming from the surrounding tables.
I can feel the eyes of the other diners on me, judging the girl in the fancy dress whose date just got up and walked out without so much as a backward glance.
My vision blurs, and I blink hard to try to stop the tears from falling.
Don’t cry. Not here. Not where they can see you.
But my reality is hard to ignore when Ronan’s seat remains empty, which only makes my eyes sting even more.
How did it all go so wrong so fast?
I press my lips together, trying to swallow the lump forming in my throat as the waiter approaches the table like it’s a bomb that could explode at any moment.
“Ma’am, would you like to order—?”
“I’m sorry.” I push back my chair and get to my feet. “I need to go.”
He offers me a polite nod and steps aside, though I don’t miss the pitying look he gives me as I pass him.
I keep my head down, letting my hair cover my face as I hurry out of the restaurant.
The dry night air is almost suffocating as I step outside, and I glance around, searching the sea of strangers for any sign of Ronan, but he’s nowhere in sight.
My chest feels like it’s been cracked open, and a sob builds in my throat as I stand outside the restaurant.
He really left me.
I hastily wipe at my eyes as I just start walking. It would be easier to take a cab back to the hotel, but my feet move of their own accord, and the sound of my heels clicking against the sidewalk gives me something to focus on.
So, I walk. And walk. And walk. But even the busy strip isn’t enough to drown out the sound of Ronan’s words playing on repeat in my mind.
You have no idea who he really was.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Is there something about my father that I don’t know? Some piece of his life that he kept from me? That Ronan has been keeping from me?
The thought sends a fresh wave of nausea rolling through me, and I have to stop walking for a moment and bend over as I fight the urge to throw up.
Don’t let him do this.
I won’t let Ronan ruin the memories I have of my father.
He was a good and loving man who made no secret of the fact I was his world. He showed me what it was like to feel loved, and he made me promise I’d never settle for less than that.
Ronan Sullivan, on the other hand, is none of those things.
He’s cruel and cold and confusing.
One minute, he’s kissing me like I’m the only thing keeping air in his lungs, and the next, he’s storming out of a restaurant and abandoning me like I’m a piece of trash on the sidewalk.
“That’s not enough,” I whisper to myself as I wipe the tears from my cheeks.
He might know how to manipulate my body, but I won’t let him manipulate my heart any longer.
I can’t stay in this city for another second. Not when the suite is tainted with the memory of him pressing up against me as he brings me pleasure.
I swallow the bile in my throat and straighten, pushing my hair out of my face and wiping at my eyes before continuing on until I reach the hotel.
Once I get back to the room, I throw my suitcase open and start shoving my things inside without bothering to fold them.
I change out of the dress I picked out specially for tonight because I knew it brought out the color of my eyes and throw on a fresh pair of leggings and a sweater, all while trying to ignore the sight of Ronan’s carry-on that lies open on the bed.
He has to come back to the room at some point, but I refuse to be here when he does.
Once I’m packed and ready to leave, I open up the travel app on my phone and start searching for a flight back to New York.
“Wonderful…” The next flight out of Vegas isn’t for another four hours, and the only seat left is in first class, but I don’t care. I click book, using the emergency credit card that Ronan loaded onto my phone, before someone else snatches it up.
It feels like a betrayal to use his money, but I need to get the hell out of here, and I don’t have time to weigh the moral implications of my decision right now.
The moment the flight confirmation appears in my inbox, I take the elevator to the foyer and ask the concierge to get me a cab.
As I’m waiting for my ride, I open up my messages and send Mila a quick text. It’s past midnight back in New York, but she always keeps her phone on in case of emergencies.
And this definitely constitutes an emergency.
Me
Are you awake?
She replies within seconds.
Mila
This better not be a booty call…
Me
I need you to pick me up from JFK
My phone instantly rings, and my throat grows thick with tears as I answer the call and press the phone to my ear.
“Ciara? What’s going on?”
“I need a ride from the airport.” I try to keep my voice steady.
“Wait, what? Are you okay? What happened?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat as I look around the grand foyer of the hotel where I was meant to spend a romantic weekend with my husband.
But once again, I’m left broken and alone.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, Ciara…”
“I just… I can’t be here anymore. I need space from him, from all of it.”
“Of course. I’ll be there. Just tell me when to pick you up.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry, I know it’s late—”
“Shut up. You don’t apologize to me for needing help. This is the moment our friendship has been leading up to.”
“What moment?”
“The moment where I drive the getaway car as we escape your emotionally constipated husband.”
Despite the gut-wrenching pain in my chest, I manage to smile. “You always know how to cheer me up.”
“Speaking of cheering you up, do you want to hear how I locked myself out of my apartment in my underwear?”
I blink. “You what?”
“Oh, yeah, and I’m not talking about a cute Victoria Secret matching set either.”
“Oh, no…”
“Let me set the scene. Faded striped boy shorts, ripped college tee, and Christmas socks.”
“Mila.” I cover my mouth to stifle a giggle.
“I was just going to grab my food delivery from the hallway and then bam! The door slams shut, and I’m locked out with no phone and no keys.”
I laugh as the image forms of Mila standing in her hallway, carrying a bag of takeout while wearing nothing but her ugly underwear.
“Please tell me you didn’t have to call the fire department.”
She groans. “Worse. I had to knock on my hot neighbor’s door.”
“Oh, no!”
“Uh huh, it was mortifying. But that’s still not the worst part.”
“How does it get worse?”
“Not only is he married, he’s gay. The universe clearly hates me.”
“It really does.” I chuckle.
When our laughter finally fades and the silence sets in, the kind only best friends can share without it feeling awkward, Mila lets out a long breath.
“You’re going to be okay. Whatever is going on with you and Ronan… You can survive it, Ciara. You’ve survived a hell of a lot worse.”
“I know.” I wrap an arm around myself.
“Do you want to tell me what happened? You don’t have to, but sometimes, it helps to talk through it.”
I take a deep breath before filling her in on everything, from the way Ronan helped calm me on the flight, to the moment we shared in the hotel room, to the disaster of a dinner date.
“I just don’t get it. Why does he push me away like that? Why can’t he always be the guy on the plane? The one who is sweet and caring and…”
And acts like he loves me.
“Because he’s clearly broken,” she says matter-of-factly. “And it’s not your job to fix him.”
The words weigh heavy on my chest, but I’ll do well to remember them if I have any chance of piecing myself back together.
After I hang up the call, I check out of the hotel and catch a cab to the airport, the knot in my stomach growing tighter with every second that passes.
I sit in the back seat with my arms crossed over my chest, staring out the window at the blur of lights that pass by.
Vegas feels like a fever dream now, a place I never should have come to with Ronan.
By the time I get to the airport and check in, it’s nearly eleven, and the first-class lounge is almost completely empty.
I settle into a seat at one of the tables hidden away in a corner and pull my phone out of my purse, checking it once again to see if Ronan has called or at least messaged to apologize for abandoning me at the restaurant.
But he’s radio silent.
I sip on some complimentary champagne in the hopes that it will dull the ache in my chest, but the alcohol only spikes my anxiety. I’m tempted to call Mila back just to try to distract myself, but I also don’t want to be the friend who’s constantly complaining.
This is my mess, and I need to fix it.
Though how I’m going to do that, I have no idea.
I might be leaving Ronan behind in Vegas, but when I get back to New York, I can’t run from my reality. He’s still my husband, unless Callum manages to get me out of it…
Twenty-four hours ago, I considered talking my brother out of his stupid plans, but after the stunt Ronan pulled in the restaurant, I don’t want to be caught in his web any longer.
I glance out of the window at the runway below, but it’s so dark outside that my reflection stares back at me.
The girl in the glass looks like a stranger, with smudged mascara and messy hair, and a heart that has been shattered into a million tiny pieces.
I want to cling to the memory of the Ronan who slid his hand into mine on the plane when he could tell I was panicking. The one who made me laugh when I needed it most.
Then I think about the way he left without a second thought, and the illusion I’ve created of him in my mind shatters.
I’m done.
I’m done waiting around for a man to decide whether or not he wants me.
From now on, I’m going to put myself first because it’s clear nobody else is going to.