Chapter 11
RONAN
With every second that passes without Angel answering my text, I feel even worse.
Why did I give her a story about not feeling well?
Why didn’t I just ask her about Garrett instead of jumping to conclusions?
I should have gone over to Angel’s house, like she asked me to. We could have talked. Maybe she would have reassured me that nothing was going on with Garrett, and I would have realized my worries were only in my head.
Or maybe she would have admitted she had feelings for him.
My gut clenches at the thought, just as it has every other time I’ve considered it. My fingers tighten around the mostly-full can of beer I’ve been nursing for the last hour.
I never used to be an insecure guy. In most circumstances, I’m still not. On the slopes and working cases for GMG, I’m always confident in my skills. When I’m talking to women in town, I never give a second thought to what they think about me.
But as soon as the idea of Angel and Garrett took root, I couldn’t get rid of it.
Garrett would be a better match for Angel, I reasoned. He has a daughter Haley’s age. He knows all about raising kids. He’s wealthy. Successful. He has a brand-new house in town, which I know is nice because Knox’s company helped build it. And he’s a good guy, which I hate to admit, but he is.
Back home, while I stood in the backyard, halfheartedly waving the laser pointer around for Murphy, I kept stewing about it.
I kept seeing stupid Garrett Ryan hugging Angel. Touching her. Smiling at her.
My Angel.
Then I wondered if she’d turned to Garrett because I wasn’t giving her enough. Because I wasn’t enough.
That’s what Gwen said, after all. That I couldn’t give her what she needed. That I wasn’t enough.
What if Angel feels the same? I asked myself. What if, now that she’s gotten to know me, she’s found me lacking?
What if she wants someone younger? Smarter? Richer? Someone established? Someone who isn’t afraid of commitment and comes right out and tells Angel what he wants?
But as the hours dragged on, jealousy and self-doubt made way for regret.
Every time I’d close my eyes, I’d see Angel’s disappointed face—in the park when I told her I couldn’t come over after all, by the food trucks when she tried to touch me and I shifted away, at her doorstep when I knew damn well she was waiting for me to kiss her, and I didn’t—and feel shittier and shittier about it.
By eight-thirty, I’d almost called Angel at least half-a-dozen times. But something kept stopping me.
It was fear.
What if she tells me it’s over? What if I discover I was right about Garrett Ryan, and now I’m going to have to see Angel with him? What if I have to see the four of them around town—this perfect little family—and once again, I’m left with nothing?
So when Max texted asking for company, it seemed like a good solution. Get out of the house for a while, hopefully away from my twisted-up thoughts, get some much-needed perspective, and tomorrow I would talk to Angel about everything.
It seemed like a good solution. Except it hasn’t been.
In the hour or so I’ve been here, I haven’t stopped thinking about Angel.
I haven’t stopped being pissed at myself.
The game we’re supposed to be watching—it’s called Bossaball, which is apparently a combination of volleyball, soccer, and some sort of acrobatics—isn’t the distraction I’d hoped it would be.
All it’s done is make me think about how it would make Haley laugh.
She might even want to come up with a version of it herself.
The few sips of beer I’ve taken have been sour in my mouth.
My chest feels heavy, like there’s a tremendous weight sitting on it.
Max hasn’t told me what’s bothering him, and I haven’t told him about Angel, either. We’ve just been sitting here, barely talking aside from random comments like, “Weird sport,” and “You need a beer?” and “Why the fuck are they on trampolines?”
“Need anything?” Max asks as he hauls himself off the couch. He looks at the can of beer in his hand with a frown. “This one’s piss warm. I’m going to get a new one.”
“Nah, I’m good.” I set my can down on the coffee table.
“Still got most of it left.” And I’m not planning on drinking it, either.
I think I’m going to give it another ten, fifteen minutes to be polite, and then I’m going to head home.
Get ready for a long night of stewing and berating myself and wishing that Angel would answer my text.
Halfway to the kitchen, Max turns. “You okay?” It’s the first time he’s asked it since I got here. He hesitates before adding, “You want to talk or anything?”
“I’m good,” I reply automatically. “What about you?”
Max’s gaze slides to the right. “I’m good. Just thought I’d ask.”
Once he disappears into the kitchen, I look down at my phone again. The screen is black, which I know damn well means Angel hasn’t texted me back. But I tap the screen to wake it, anyway.
I’m not surprised she hasn’t responded. Not after how I acted.
And as I’ve been sitting here, stewing, I’ve realized that if I want to fix things, I’ve got a lot of work to do.
I need to apologize, to start. I need to be honest about why I was such a jerk. And I need to man up and tell Angel the reason I’ve been single for so long and why I’ve been so adamantly against dating.
And if she tells me she prefers Garrett, I need to accept it.
But I’m already shaking my head at the thought. I don’t want to accept it. I want Angel for myself.
Maybe it’s selfish. Fuck, I know it is. But Angel makes me feel things I’d given up on. Things I didn’t think I wanted anymore. She makes me happy. And seeing her smile because of something I’ve done…
It’s not just Angel, though. It’s Haley. Haley and her silly jokes and her boundless enthusiasm and her obsession with Christmas movies. It’s how thrilled Haley was when she completed her first run down one of the grown-up trails, and how she hugged me after and told me how great she thought I was.
Shit.
Shit.
I really fucked up.
I’m just about to text Angel again—maybe she didn’t see my first message, maybe she was in the shower, maybe she somehow missed it—when her reply appears on my screen.
I’m still up.
My heart jumps.
Can we talk?
Three dots blink for a few seconds.
It’s kind of late. What do you want to talk about?
What, indeed? Me being a jerk? Overreacting? Being a coward? Making her feel bad? All of the above?
I settle on something simple, but the truth.
I was a jerk earlier today. I want to apologize. And explain.
Several torturous seconds pass before she replies.
Okay. We can talk.
Not wanting to give her a chance to change her mind, I immediately dial her number.
As the first ring sounds in my ear, I get up from the couch and cross the room to the window.
Since Max lives in town, rather than outside it, like me, I can see the lights from downtown glowing faintly through the trees.
On the third ring, Angel picks up. Her voice is soft. Almost uncertain. “Hello?”
“Angel.” Just hearing her voice makes me ache to see her. “How are you?”
A little sigh floats across the line. “I’m okay.” But she’s not. I can tell. “How are you feeling?”
Guilt swamps me. Even though I wasn’t technically lying when I told her I wasn’t feeling well—I wasn’t, I felt nauseous and a headache was building—I know damn well that wasn’t why I said it. But maybe jumping straight into that isn’t the best strategy.
“Not great,” I reply truthfully. “I’m sorry. And…”
Shit. How do I say this?
“Sorry about what?” she asks.
“Sorry about how I acted.”
“What do you mean, how you acted?”
Lowering my voice so Max can’t hear me, I say, “I was a jerk, Angel. Something happened, and it messed with my head. It’s not an excuse. But I want to explain. And apologize. I know I wasn’t acting like myself, and I feel shitty about it.”
Angel sighs softly again. “You were acting a little off. At first, I thought it was just because you weren’t feeling well. But… I don’t know.” She hesitates before asking quietly, “Did I do something wrong?”
Her question is a punch to my chest.
“No. You didn’t. It… was in my head.” And the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’m realizing it was the truth. I saw something that could have been completely innocent—one friend greeting another—and let my insecurities run away with it.
“What do you mean?” she asks. “What happened?”
To give myself more distance from Max, I walk over to the front door and lean an arm against it.
“It’s a lot to explain over the phone. Because it ties back to some shit from my past. Shit I need to tell you about.
I know it’s late, but maybe I could come over first thing in the morning? So we could talk?”
Angel hesitates. “Are you okay?”
The concern in her voice makes me feel like shit.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I mean. I’m not happy with what happened today. I’m pissed at myself for how I acted. And I know I owe you an apology. But technically, I’m okay.”
As I wait for her response, I hold my breath.
“Alright,” she finally says. “I have to pick up Haley around eleven. But if you want to come over before that, maybe nine or ten—”
Another pang of regret stabs at me. Haley’s sleepover. If I hadn’t been such a paranoid asshole, I could have been at Angel’s right now, enjoying some private, adults-only time. But instead, I’ve been sitting at Max’s, feeling miserable.
“I’m sorry,” I interrupt. “I’m really sorry, Angel. I… Shit.”
“Ronan.” Her tone softens slightly. “I’m sure it’s not that bad—” She stops. “Oh. Hang on.”
A beat later, she sucks in a sharp breath.
I tense instinctively. “Is everything okay?”
“Um.” Though it’s soft, I hear her breath quicken. “I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure?” My fingers tighten around the phone. “What do you mean you’re not sure? What’s going on?”
“The motion detector out back went off. It might be an animal, but…”