Chapter 42Ronan
42
Ronan
T he ceremony wrapped up the same way it started—full of the usual self-congratulation. It felt like one big performance, where everyone acted like they cared, but it was all surface-level. The fake smiles, rehearsed speeches, and the way people sized each other up left him feeling more than a little disillusioned.
Ronan watched it all unfold—the sparkly gowns, tuxedos, and everyone scrambling for attention and validation. It was everything he hated about the industry: the phoniness, the constant need for approval, and how shallow it all was. The speeches were full of empty thanks, smiles that didn’t quite reach the eyes, and applause that seemed more like a formality than real appreciation.
He purposely avoided looking in Eden's direction throughout the show, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep his emotions in check if he did. Just thinking about her made his heart race, and the memory of her lips only made it harder to keep his distance. Trying to stay composed, he focused his attention on the stage, doing his best to hide what he was feeling.
After three excruciating hours, the show was finally over. Ronan wasted no time heading for the exit. As he powered his phone back on, an onslaught of text messages flooded the screen, causing his stomach to plummet with anxiety. There were a bunch of unread messages from Sadie. Did something happen to Mom? His heart raced as he began scrolling through the notifications.
His trembling finger navigated to Sadie's messages. She had sent him a TMZ article link and a barrage of text messages.
SADIE: HOLY COW, I AM DISGUSTED BUT ALSO IMPRESSED?
SADIE: A brOOM CLOSET? A NEW LOW.
SADIE: Gross. Closets will be tainted from now on. I will never sweep again without revulsion.
SADIE: THIS WILL 1000% BE A MEME, I will bet 100 dollars on it.
10/15 9:13 PM PT
EDEN PERCY AND RONAN MURPHY'S SECRET brOOM CLOSET ROMP
Eden Percy and journalist Ronan Murphy have been filming a documentary about Eden’s life for months ... the flirting, we're told, is strictly professional. The internet broke when a clip of Eden and Ronan getting handsy at karaoke went viral. The pair had denied dating rumors, but now they seem to have sealed their relationship with a secret kiss tonight at the American Movie Awards. Eden was seen leaving a broom closet (yes, you read that correctly) in a stunning red gown, with smeared lipstick and a pleased smile. Ronan exited the closet shortly after her, looking even more disheveled, wearing Eden's red lipstick like the cat that caught the canary. Spoiler: the canary is Eden Percy's lips and heart. The pair continue to deny a relationship, but the proof is in the lipstick. Eden should definitely invest in a smudge-proof tube next time. If only brooms could talk... we would have a lot of questions!
Ronan winced at the article, his eyes scanning the damning photos. The picture of Eden caught his attention first—her lipstick, once perfectly applied, was smeared slightly below her bottom lip. It wouldn’t have been that bad if not for her eyes, hazy with a lingering excitement, and the messy strands of hair framing her face. Those details were the final nails in the coffin.
Then came the photo of him. The bold burgundy lipstick smeared across his face like a brushstroke, a clear mark of a kiss. The color stood out against his complexion, and the self-satisfied grin tugging at the corners of his lips told the whole story. His fingers rested on his mouth as if in disbelief, savoring the kiss. It was as though he couldn't believe that she had given him the privilege of kissing her.
Cursing under his breath, Ronan braced himself for the inevitable backlash from BNN. He knew a reprimand was coming, but oddly, he didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. In his heart, Eden’s well-being meant more than anything else. As long as she was okay, nothing else mattered.
The photos were beautiful, and for a brief second, he allowed himself a small smile as he admired them. But then his phone lit up with Mr. Lopez's name, and a heavy dread settled in his stomach.
He ignored the call, swung the exit door open, and stepped outside where his car was waiting. But as soon as he emerged, a blitz of camera flashes blinded him, accompanied by a chorus of frenzied voices. "Ronan! How was the kiss?" one voice screamed, while another chimed in with, "Is Eden your girlfriend?" He pushed his way past the crowd of cameras, yanked open the car door, and slammed it shut behind him.. Shit .
Panic surged within him as he ignored calls from his boss and repeatedly dialed Eden's number. Ring after ring passed with no answer. Why wasn't Eden answering her phone? Was she okay? He knew that she was being hounded by paparazzi, too.
Worry gnawed at him as the car sped toward her address, the twenty-minute drive feeling endless. As they approached her gate, he saw a line of cars had already formed outside, and the paparazzi appeared to be setting up camp. Frustration boiled within him as he watched the circus outside her house, reporters pacing impatiently. He wanted nothing more than to storm out and scare them away, but he knew it wouldn't help the situation.
Instead, he sent Eden a quick text with his address, suggesting they meet at his apartment in Silver Lake, far from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. He gripped his phone tightly, hoping for a response as he gave the driver directions to his place.
Ronan dialed Mr. Lopez's number, his frustration simmering as the call connected. How did their personal lives have any impact on the documentary? He had tried to argue his point during the call, but the BNN executives seemed uninterested in anything beyond their own anger. Any attempt at reason had been drowned out.
Mr. Lopez said the network was considering pulling the documentary altogether. Ronan clenched his jaw, listening to the list of demands. The whole thing was infuriating. BNN wanted to regroup, and figure out a way to spin this in their favor. To them, his relationship with Eden was a major roadblock. They told him to stop filming for the remaining week and wrap up the project using whatever footage he had left.
Ronan bit down on his tongue, suppressing the burning desire to tell them to go to hell. He couldn't risk jeopardizing all the hard work and dedication Eden had poured into the documentary. The conversation ended with a stern warning from the network executives, and Ronan reluctantly agreed to send them the second part of the edited footage the following day. In truth, he had nearly finished editing it earlier.
His initial plans for the next week had involved spending time with Eden, maybe capturing a few last shots of her recording the final songs. Those shots weren't necessary for the documentary; he just wanted to be with her and watch her create amazing music. Now, that seemed like a distant dream.
He was satisfied with the almost-finished edit. The film gave a raw look at Eden’s life—her career, the highs and lows, and her creative process. He inserted clips of her performance from the first night they met and footage of her developing songs in her bedroom. It went into her struggles, vulnerabilities, and the complexities of being a musician while navigating the harsh spotlight of the music industry. There was unflinching honesty in the interviews. He knew that people would connect with it, with her.
He had kept his own presence in the film to a minimum, cutting himself out as much as possible. He was more than okay with that decision - it was Eden’s story to tell. If he wanted to capture their relationship, he’d have to make a whole new film.
As the driver dropped off Ronan at his apartment complex, he was surprised to find Eden sitting in front of his door. She sat with her back against his door, a pool of red satin contrasting with the dirty sidewalk. Her high heels lay discarded near a bush, and her head was buried in her hands, shiny brown hair spilling over her shoulders. When Ronan's footsteps reached her, her head jerked up, and her eyes were brimming with tears.
"Oh, Eden," Ronan murmured as he walked over, sat beside her, and pulled her into his arms. "It's okay. We will figure it all out."
"My manager called me. BNN threatened to pull the documentary. They want us to stop filming. Don't you see what happens w—" Her words abruptly cut off as she grabbed the doorknob for leverage to stand up on her bare feet. Fear flared in his chest at her sudden motion.
"Don't you see? I want the entire world to know that I’m yours," he said, his voice thick with urgency. Her eyes widened slightly at his words.“I would sacrifice all of that for you. I don't give a fuck about what BNN has to say." He would work anywhere. Nothing mattered in comparison to her. She was his world now. Didn't she see that? Her eyes were clouded with doubt, he could tell by the narrowing of her eyes and the set of her mouth.
"I don't want you to sacrifice your career for me!" Eden exclaimed, her voice filled with concern and a touch of anguish. Her eyes locked onto his, pleading for understanding. "You will resent me for the rest of your life."
Ronan knew deep down that he could never resent her. If he decided to step away from journalism, it would be his choice, his own path. Relationships were about making joint decisions, finding common ground, and compromising. But at this moment, it felt like Eden was making a choice for him.
"I can make that decision for myself," he asserted firmly, his voice edged with frustration.
"Listen," Eden began, her voice gentle. She reached out to take his hand, her fingers trembling slightly. "You know how much I care about you." Ronan's heart plummeted as he sensed the gravity of the situation. It felt eerily like a break-up conversation, and he struggled to accept that she might choose to end it.
"Don't do this," he pleaded, his voice laced with desperation. Her eyes flickered to the ground briefly before locking into his again. Eden's eyes shimmered with tears, her face a mask of determination. He had always admired her strength, but now it felt like that fortitude was tearing everything apart.
"I think it's best if we stop whatever this is," she whispered, her words hanging in the air, leaving his mind whirling with shock. His brain was trying to catch up with what she was saying.
"Whatever this is?" His voice trembled with uncertainty. It hit him like a sharp twist of the knife—the thought that maybe she never felt for him the way he did for her. Maybe to her, this had just been a fling, and now she was ready to move on.
"You don't mean that," he protested, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"The documentary is over. You can still salvage your reputation as a journalist. I know you have plans, I—" she stopped herself. Plans? Ronan didn't have any concrete plans. He'd received an offer from Mr. Lopez, who mentioned a possible temporary assignment in Iran for a month but declined it. He was seriously considering Jackson's offer to work behind the scenes on his prime-time show based in the Los Angeles office. Ronan knew his extensive overseas contacts could bring a fresh perspective to the show.
"These past few weeks have been the best of my life, and I want to be with you," he pleaded, his voice a mixture of longing and desperation. Eden swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the ground as tears welled in her eyes, teetering on the edge of falling. An unbearable ache twisted in his chest, a pressing need to break through to her somehow.
"Ronan, please," Eden implored, her voice quivering with unease. Everything felt fragile as if it could crumble with a single wrong move. Ronan knew he was pushing her but couldn't hold back the whirlwind of emotions that had engulfed him.
"Eden," he said softly, closing the distance between them until barely an inch separated them. His hands gently cradled her face, his thumbs wiping away the fallen stray tears.
"Listen to me," he begged, his voice tender but urgent. "I need to know, Eden. Do you want to be with me?" The question hung in the air, waiting for her response.
Eden's breath caught in her throat as she struggled to form the words. Her wide blue eyes held a mix of fear and longing, torn between the past and the possibility of something beautiful.
"I—" she began, her voice trembling. Ronan could feel her heart pounding against his chest, and he knew he had to be patient. He leaned in closer, their lips almost touching, a silent plea in his gaze. He felt an overwhelming urge to shake some sense into her, to make her see that what they shared was incomparable to anything she had experienced before, distinct and far removed from the shadows of her past.
Taking a deep breath to steady his racing emotions, Ronan reached out his fingers to caress her cheek with a light touch. His fingertips grazed her skin cautiously as though afraid she might shatter into a thousand pieces with a wrong move.
"You can be scared, Eden," he said softly, pausing to search her eyes for any sign of understanding. His gaze was steady, unwavering as he looked into her teary eyes.
"You can lean on me until you aren't scared anymore. I want to be the one you can trust without a doubt," Ronan whispered, his voice tender. His hand trembled slightly against her tear-stained cheek. He could see the deep-seated distrust in her eyes, the result of so many people abandoning her throughout her life. Ronan wanted desperately to show her that he wasn't like them.
"You were never asking for too much," he continued, his voice wavering with emotion. "You were asking the wrong people. The answer is easy when you ask the right person." Ronan's gaze bore into hers with an intensity that mirrored the fervor of his words. "And being with you feels as easy as breathing to me."
As she registered his words, he watched as something seemed to break behind her eyes, a glimmer of hope or realization that flickered and then faded. Ronan's eyes glistened with unshed tears, but he blinked them away, determined to be strong for her. His fingertips gently wiped away the tears that had streaked down her cheeks.
"Eden," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "please don't do this."
She slowly withdrew from his touch, her steps carrying her backward the road. It was as if the world had shifted, and he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with despair as he watched her move away. The idea of her distancing herself felt unbearable to him. The pain in his chest tightened, each step she took amplifying the ache inside him.
"Eden, please," he called out, desperation lacing his voice.
"Don't push me away," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "We can face this together. Just give us a chance."
Eden paused for a brief moment, her shoulders tense and her head slightly bowed. For a fleeting second, he thought she might step forward, might come back to him. But then she took another step back, and the distance between them felt insurmountable.
"It's too much, Ronan," she whispered, her words carried away by the night breeze. "I can't do it right now." Eden whispered, her voice trembling under the weight of her emotions. Tears streamed down her face, smearing her mascara and leaving dark streaks on her cheeks.
A heavy weight pressed on his chest, an ache deep within that hurt with each breath. The words hit Ronan like a sledgehammer as his heart had shattered into a million pieces. The world seemed to close in around him, and he struggled to catch his breath as the gravity of her decision settled over him like a suffocating blanket.
It was a pain he couldn't put into words, a deep emptiness that threatened to consume him. The prospect of losing Eden, of a future without her, was a torment that felt impossible. But he couldn't force her to stay, couldn't make her choose something she wasn't ready for. All he could do was respect her decision, even though it felt like the world was crumbling around him.
"I am so sorry," she whispered through tears, her voice cracking. He nodded numbly, his throat constricting and burning with emotion. He wanted to reach out, hold her close, and tell her he understood. He knew that accepting their relationship meant confronting her deepest fears. It meant choosing hope over fear, vulnerability over solitude. But the words caught in his throat, and he could only watch as the woman he loved began to slip through his fingers like sand.
She turned her body abruptly, the flowing crimson train of her dress billowing behind her as she walked down the dimly lit sidewalk. Ronan's gaze remained fixed on that train of satin until it gradually dissolved into the darkness of the night.
He thought it couldn't be real, a sense of disbelief clutching at him. She couldn't genuinely mean what she had just said, could she? He found himself rooted to the spot as if his feet had taken on their own life. Time seemed to blur, seconds melting into minutes, and he stood there, unable to tell just how long he had remained standing in that spot.
Despite the numbness and heartache threatening to crush him, something kept Ronan from falling apart. He had seen the conflict in her eyes, the flicker of uncertainty as she walked away. She had said she couldn't do it right now. That foolish glimmer of hope, however faint, was what held him upright, preventing his body from caving in beneath the weight of anguish.