Page 69 of Thanks for Coming Along
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.
