Chapter 9Ronan
9
Ronan
E den and Ronan sat on a thick falsa blanket, watching the sun dip behind the ocean. The sky lit up with fiery oranges and soft pinks, while the waves crashed steadily on the shore. Ronan stretched his long legs out in front of him, feeling a sense of calm wash over him with each wave.
Eden recounted the events of "Pushgate" as she had deemed it, while they ate take-out Chinese food on the beach. Eden told the story with the energy of a small child, her hands waving while her eyes were dramatically wide. He was on the edge of his seat, gasping at the proper moments. His enthusiasm seemed to excite her more, and she eventually acted out the scene on the sand. Ronan couldn't help but laugh at the display, Eden demonstrating the exact trajectory that her ass ricocheted off the sticky floor of the club. Eventually, Eden came back to her lo mein, and they ate in compatible silence for a few minutes.
The last remnants of the sun were dipping behind the shoreline. Eden was cast in golden light, with the cotton candy blue and pink sky swirling above her, her golden skin illuminated in the dusk light.
"Tell me about your last relationship since you know so much about mine," Eden asked as she chewed her lo mein from a pair of chopsticks.
"Well, there isn't much to know. I was in a relationship with my ex, Melanie, for the better part of two years. She ended things around 10 months ago." As he spoke, the memory of her breakup email resurfaced. She had sent it to him while he was overseas on an assignment. It had been a moment of painful clarity for him.
"It was challenging to maintain the relationship, especially with the nature of my job. I was often away for months at a time, and she wasn't happy with that." Melanie's decision to end things hadn't come as a complete shock to him. He was almost relieved in a way that she had called it quits first. He did care about her, but being away for such long periods of time made it difficult to progress their relationship. Melanie's email made him reflect on how little effort he had invested in their relationship, and he had been wracked with guilt.
He had offered a heartfelt apology in response, and to his surprise, Melanie had been understanding but had called him emotionally unavailable. To be fair, she wasn't wrong. His work had always been all-consuming, a reality he had become accustomed to over the years. He recently realized that he was ready for a change. That was partially the reason he wanted to do this documentary. He needed a change from the consuming nature of war reporting, and this seemed like as good a way as any to change the pace.
"What was she like?" Eden asked, her eyes fixed on him.
"Melanie," he began, his voice softening, "she's a children's author—very sweet and gentle. We crossed paths at the BNN office," Ronan continued. "I had just started my career as a war correspondent back then, and I bumped into her at the water cooler." The memory brought a faint smile to his lips. In those early days at BNN, Ronan had been confined to a cubicle, working his way up the ladder.
"Then came the international assignment," he explained. "I was offered a position stationed in Egypt six months into our relationship. My job was to film interviews with local people and government officials. It often meant weeks without an internet connection, isolating me from my family and Melanie. I was embedded with a counter-terrorism group, and they had pretty strict rules on when and where we could have electronics." His chopsticks absently picked at the chicken fried rice.
"I can see why she wasn't happy," he admitted. Who would be happy with a long-distance relationship with no communication? "I was so consumed with excelling in my career and securing the best interviews that everything else, including my relationship, was thrown to the back burner."
Eden contemplated Ronan's response, her gaze drifting out toward the endless expanse of the ocean. Her arms wrapped gently around her legs, hugging them close.
"So you wouldn't change careers for your partner?" she asked curiously.
"At that point in my life, no. I wasn't willing to give up my career. I loved my career, but it has changed my life in good and bad ways." He had grappled with this thought recently.
"I feel my career has made me defeatist, which also took a toll on her. She couldn't absorb that darkness inside of me, and I wouldn't want her to. I wouldn't want to dim that light inside of her." Ronan's tone remained matter-of-fact.
Despite the challenges his career posed to his relationships, he took pride in his chosen career. Embracing his career as a journalist defined him and, in a way, gave him a shield that protected him from his own emotions at times. This shield had kept him at a distance from others, and he'd done it on purpose. Keeping that mindset was important to avoid getting caught up in situations that could quickly get out of hand, especially when it came to his career.
Eden, still gazing at the horizon, nodded thoughtfully.
"I think we all have darkness inside of us. It takes the right person to traverse that part of us. I think the right person has a light that complements our darkness." Ronan considered her words; maybe she was right.
Everybody carried their own past, their own wounds and traumas. Maybe it takes finding the right person whose light could dispel the darkness within us. He thought about his parents' relationship and how well they complimented each other. The intricate dance of give and take, how they embraced light and darkness in each other. It had always been the standard he'd held in his previous relationships.
"I think I always compare my relationships to my parent's marriage. They are high school sweethearts who got married the summer they graduated. My dad used to say that he met my mom and knew she was the one. They've been together for 32 years and still have so much fun together. Growing up, our house was filled with laughter, pranks, and endless banter. It felt like an impossible standard to measure up to." Ronan thought back to his few romantic relationships. They were fine for the most part. But he had never found a best friend in his partner. He always maintained a certain distance to avoid getting too close.
"Why do you think that is?" Eden asked as she tilted her head at him, her shimmering sapphire eyes capturing the fading evening light. Ronan paused for a moment, his gaze drifting to the horizon.
"I guess it's because I never really allow myself to fully open up," he admitted with a hint of vulnerability. "I've always been the type to protect myself from potential hurt. I've always lived a logical life, always making sure not to put myself in situations where I might get hurt." As he spoke, he realized it was a relatively sad way to live, but it had become second nature.
"It's not that I haven't had opportunities for love," he continued, "or that I don't yearn for it. It's something deeper, I think. A skeptic, maybe. I've been controlled by carefully calculated decisions, the kind of person who weighs the pros and cons and overanalyzes every situation. Love..well, love is a precarious thing, a gamble with no guaranteed return." His words hung in the air.
"Have you been in love before?" Eden asked softly.
"Is it sad to say no?" Ronan asked, placing his almost empty Chinese take-out container on the blanket. He turned his head to look at Eden, who was still watching him with interest. Eden shook her head gently.
"No, it isn't," she reassured him. "I don’t know if I’ve ever truly been in love. Liam was probably the closest I’ve come to it. But looking back, I don’t think I was actually in love with him. And he definitely wasn’t in love with me. You can’t do what he did to me and call that love. I think he loved the attention he got from being with me."
Ronan’s hands balled into fists, the blanket beneath them bunching up as his anger flared. Liam’s actions were unforgivable, especially when it was clear the beautiful woman beside him had been the one to bear the brunt of it.
"I never got into music to get famous or become one of the 'greats'; I did it because I love creating it. But Liam, all he talked about was fame, the money we could make." She shook her head, drawing her legs closer to her chest as if to shield herself from the memory.
He couldn’t hold back his admiration, and the words came out fast, eager to make sure she knew how he felt.
"I honestly think you're one of the greats. I've seen you perform, and it’s not just a one-off thing. The way the crowd reacts to you—I’ve never seen anything like it. And it’s not just your stage presence, it’s your songwriting. Your music really connects with people... you connect with people." He meant every word. In his eyes, Eden had it all: a voice that could move mountains, the ability to produce, and the talent to write her own songs. Her charm wasn’t just in her looks; it was in how real she was, and that authenticity drew people in.
"It was definitely a one-off. Usually, I just recite my cult manifesto, then pass around a sign-up sheet and see if I get any takers." Her infectious grin lit up the darkness, coaxing a smile from Ronan in response. He was thankful for a break from all the vulnerability they were sharing. He noticed he was getting a bit too engrossed in their conversation. Into her . Ronan forced himself back into his well-worn journalist mindset.
"How long have you been interested in music?" he asked.
"Since I developed fine motor skills, I think," she replied, her tone wistful. "Singing was easier than breathing for me. I would sing instead of talking most of the time growing up. I only picked up the guitar later in my teen years."
Nodding as she spoke, Ronan followed up by asking, "Who were your biggest music inspirations when you were young?"
"I would listen to anything," she began. "I had a little FM radio and would listen to the Oldies station. My first obsession was rock and roll — the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix. Then the Sex Pistols once I was old enough to understand rage, which was pretty young," she added humorlessly. He couldn't help but wonder what she meant by that.
"The list goes on and on. If there was a beat, I would listen and most likely appreciate it." Ronan's fascination grew as he asked, "Did you always want to perform?" A genuine smile curved on Eden's lips.
"Yes, I honestly didn't think I could make a living doing it. But it didn't stop me from picturing myself on stage since I was old enough to know that music could be a career. It was an escape, a way to communicate my feelings to the world when no one was listening," Eden said as she toed the sand in front of her. Had she really felt no one listened to her growing up? It was hard to imagine. Who could have possibly not been captivated by her? She was like a woven tapestry, threads of creativity interwoven with charisma that made her an absolute enigma, drawing people in without trying.
"Well, now there are millions of people listening." He said as he bumped his shoulder with hers. She turned her gaze up to meet his, a subtle warmth lighting up her eyes at his words.
"How did you know you wanted to be a journalist?"
"Well, my Grandad and my Gran were from Northern Ireland," he started, his voice reflecting. "They immigrated to the U.S. in the 1960s. Violence was at an all-time high back then, and my Grandad lost his sister in a bombing. He was devastated and left to make a better life for them." He paused for a moment.
"He used to talk about that to me when I was a kid," Ronan continued. "My mom would always chide him for it, but it was his reality. He was a kid living in conflict, probably around the same age as me. It has always stuck with me and made me interested in war journalism. I wanted to be able to give a voice to those kids who were just trying to live out their life but had conflict forced upon them."
"Wow, I can't imagine going through war as a child. And I thought my childhood was bad enough." Ronan opened his mouth to inquire about it. He was intent on knowing every detail she would tell him, and her childhood had so far eluded him. He was eager to learn more about her and get the most accurate telling of her story into the documentary, but he respected her boundaries and chose not to pry further, letting her share at her own pace.
"Come on, I want to feel the water on my toes," Eden said as she stood up. She brushed the sand off her jeans. Turning around, she reached out and took Ronan's hands, pulling him up from the blanket. The feeling of her skin against his sent a shiver through him. He quickly released her hands once he was steady on the sand.
He stood there momentarily, watching as Eden sprinted toward the crashing waves. Her laughter carried in the evening breeze, her figure a fleeting blur in the fading light. Eden shrieked when the ocean waves lapped at her toes, and she ran like a flash in the dimness of the evening.