Page 19 of Thanks for Coming Along
"Good catching up, but I've got a grouchy old man to attend to," Ronan said.
"So, yourself? Talk soon, Murphy, and think about my offer," Jackson replied.
"Is it an offer I can't refuse, Godfather?"
"You're a dick. Seriously, think about it, fool." Jackson said with a snort and hung up the call. Ronan slipped the phone into his pocket and saw his Grandad slowly making his way over to the bench, a half loaf of white bread in hand. Internally, Ronan groaned at the sight. He didn't have the heart to tell his soft old Grandad that bread was terrible for ducks and provided no nutritional value. He made a mental note to start bringing seeds along next time.
"Hey, Grandad," Ronan greeted as he rose from the bench. Colm waved him down in response.
"Don't hurt yourself, wean," Colm mumbled in his thick Irish accent, adjusting his signature tweed cap as he settled onto the bench beside Ronan.
"What's new?" Ronan asked casually.
"Whole lotta nothin'. My hydrangea's bein' stubborn as a mule and ain't bloomin'." Colm replied as he ripped pieces of the bread from the loaf and threw it to the ducks wading in the nearby pond. Ronan watched as the ducks scooped up the bread with their orange beaks, quaking happily. He couldn't interfere, even though he was tempted to pull the loaf from his Grandad's wrinkled hands and toss it in the nearby trash can.
"Well, what's the story, horse?" Colm asked briskly, his green eyes twinkling in the morning light. Ronan's lips curled into a slight smile. It was a familiar question, one that often led to genuine conversations between the two.
"I've been working on a new project, Grandad," Ronan replied, his voice tinged with cautious optimism. "I've been getting my head right, and I've been doing better."
"Aye, I was worried about ya for a while there." Colm's eyes held genuine concern as he reached over and patted Ronan's hand.
Ronan nodded, his gaze turning distant for a moment. "It hasn't been easy. You know my job has never been easy. I've seen people die right in front of me. I've interviewed amazing people, and then I found out they were killed that same day. But 8 months ago... that was another level of difficulty." His voice strained with a weight of unspoken emotions, the toll his career had taken on his spirit.
Colm leaned in, his hand finding its place behind Ronan's neck. His faded green eyes reflected a resoluteness. "C'mere to me," he began in a gentle yet firm voice, "My father always said to me, 'You've got to do your own growin', no matter how tall your father was.' You are strong, and you'll get through it on ya own time. Don't let any eejit tell ya otherwise." Colm emphasized his words with a reassuring pat on the back of Ronan's neck. Ronan nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"I'm trying my best. Therapy has definitely helped. Talking about it has made a difference." He took comfort in his grandfather's words, knowing he had a strong support system to help him heal.
"Faoi fhoscadh a chéile, maireann daoine," Ronan looked at his Grandad expectantly. He knew some Irish, but this particular phrase was unfamiliar to him. With a hint of pride, his grandfather translated, "Under the shelter of each other, people survive." Ronan felt his heart swell with emotion at the words. He couldn't help but feel an overwhelming gratitude for this wise, caring man.
"Thank you, Grandad." Ronan's voice quivered slightly as he put his arm around Colm, pulling him into a quick hug.
"Aye," Colm patted Ronan's back affectionately before he pulled away. He looked at the ducks, watching them paddle on the pond.
"Still got my fiddle?" he asked with a hint of concern, lacing his words.
"Yes, she's still being fixed at the violin shop." Colm's eyebrows furrowed slightly at the mention of the shop. "By Maura, don't worry," Ronan added quickly. The memory of one of the shop's workers,Todd, mishandling the strings had been an unforgivable offense in Colm's eyes, a fact not forgotten by him.
"So what's the plan for these uncooperative hydrangeas?" Ronan inquired, a note of amusement in his voice.
"Ah, sure, look, I'm getting a wee bit old for a pass in the soil, and I might end up doing it arseways," Colm said with a playful spark in his eye. Looked like Ronan had just added hydrangea rescue to his growing to-do list—right alongside finding proper feed for malnourished ducks.
12
Eden
The trailer door creaked open, and a sleek Prada heel came into view, followed by a long, perfectly toned leg in a cream-colored, fitted ankle-length skirt. The rest of her stepped out, wearing a matching high-neck, sleeveless top that practically screamed quiet luxury. Ingrid moved with the kind of grace that could shut down a runway, looking every bit the part. Eden couldn’t help but think this dingy trailer—serving as their makeshift green room before the festival—had never seen anything quite so glamorous.
"What's up, losers?" Ingrid's low, sultry voice filled the room as she stood before Eden and her band.Jeez. Ingrid was a visual shock, her beauty almost painfully striking. Her long, glossy blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders as she flicked off small black sunglasses from her face.
Eden couldn't help but notice Beck stiffening next to her on the couch, his fist clenching until his knuckles were white. Maybe Eden should have given him a heads-up about Ingrid's impending arrival. It had been four years since he had seen her, but the unfolding scene was simply too entertaining to pass up.
Eden had successfully persuaded Ingrid to join them in the green room before the festival performance. Eden had fed Ingrid so much lo mein that she had slipped into a semi-conscious food coma. Then, while they lazed on the couch, Eden had gently floated the idea of Ingrid coming to the green room, and much to her shock and awe, Ingrid had casually said, "Fine." The bottom line was that it had somehow worked, and that was all that mattered.
Having Ingrid step into the green room felt like tempting fate, maybe even risking a tear in the space-time continuum but Eden was willing to take the chance. She cared deeply for both Beck and Ingrid and just wanted them to find some kind of closure, something to help them finally move forward.
It was clear they were both stuck in the past—Ingrid couldn’t seem to hold down a steady relationship, and Beck seemed to avoid dating entirely. Eden couldn’t remember a single time he’d brought a girl backstage. While Finn and Reef engaged invariousand diverse romantic pursuits, Beck remained noticeably uninvolved. The sound of Finn and Reef barreling toward Ingrid like a couple of overexcited puppies snapped Eden out of her thoughts.
"You look like a hot therapist, all put together and shit! Psychoanalyze me, baby!" Finn exclaimed, hugging Ingrid.
