Page 73 of Thanks for Coming Along
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Ronan
It had been one week since he had seen, touched, or spoken to Eden. Days bled into nights, but time seemed to stand still for him. Every memory, every moment, now felt like fragile fragments of a dream. He questioned their reality as if he had dreamt them or conjured them in his mind. He couldn’t shake the sound of her laughter, the feel of her touch, or the way her eyes used to light up when she would see him.
He used to think her eyes reflected the love he felt for her, but now doubt crept in more and more each day. The pain settled into a dull, constant ache—a hollow feeling that refused to go away. In his chest, that void stood open like a black hole, devoid of light or signs of life.
After Eden ended things, he was a wreck and found himself on his parents’ doorstep without even realizing how he got there. Sadie was the one who found him, slumped over on the front steps. She didn’t say a word—just pulled him into a hug, comforting him the way he’d always done for her.
Now, a week later, he was back at his parents’ house because Sadie insisted he come over for a family dinner. It had been seven days since everything fell apart, and he’d spent every single one of them tormenting himself by watching the documentary footage over and over. He could see it so clearly—the connection between him and Eden.
He was prepared to be patient, to wait for her to come to terms with her own feelings. Maybe she never would be ready, but he was willing to wait, for however long it took.
Ronan raised his hand to knock on the front door, but it swung open to reveal his little sister sporting a huge grin. He raised his eyebrows at her, and Sadie schooled her face, but her lips were twitching with a smile. Why was she so chipper? Did Target have a sale on candles or something?
“Come in!” Sadie's voice came out unreasonably loud; she grimaced slightly at the volume. Ronan chose to ignore her awkwardness and stepped into the living room. His Dad and Mom were sitting on the couch with a huge bowl of popcorn between them.
“Where’s Grandad?” Ronan asked, glancing around the room.
“Uh... dentist appointment,” his mom said, her voice a little too high-pitched. She cleared her throat quickly, her fingers fiddling with the TV remote.
"At eight o'clock on a Friday night?" Ronan arched an eyebrow, his skepticism growing.
“Yup.” Her voice came out even higher pitched, almost a squeak. She settled her body further into the couch cushions, seeming to hide. Why were they being so weird?
"Come sit, Son," his father's gruff voice called out from the couch.
"Sit? What about beef stew?" Ronan was starving, his stomach grumbling. He had skipped dinner expecting a home-cooked meal.
"Come on, Ronan, hush and join us," his father said, raising the volume of the TV.
"This had better not be 'The Bachelor' again," he grumbled, reluctantly settling onto the soft sectional couch.
"Oh, please. You always get sucked in when I watch it," his mother said, shooting him a playful look.
Ronan sat in a state of numbness, his gaze fixed on the commercials playing on the TV. As he turned to his left, he noticed his parents sitting stiffly, not a single joke or snarky comment. It was weird. Then, shifting his attention to the right, he saw Sadie practically vibrating with excitement next to him.What on earth was going on?
After a few more minutes of commercials, a talk show host introduced the next segment: a musical performance by a surprise guest. The camera cut to a shadow-shrouded figure, her silhouette instantly recognizable to him.
Eden.
His stomach dropped the moment he saw her, his palms instantly clammy. His heart thundered in his chest as his eyes locked onto the screen. Eden was there, holding her guitar—the same one he’d watched her play so many times over the past few weeks. The lighting was low, except for the spotlight that bathed her in a warm glow, the camera zoomed in like the world revolved around her.
She looked otherworldly, almost unreal, under the stage lights. Her glossy chestnut hair shimmered, and her lashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks as she gazed down at the strings.
It felt like someone had ripped his heart out of his chest. Seven days. Seven days since he’d last seen her, and now here she was, but only on a screen. The distance, the inability to reach out, to touch her, to hear her voice—it was pure agony. And yet, he couldn’t look away. There was something almost euphoric about seeing her alive, breathing, and making music, just as she always had.
The audience quieted. The melody began to unfold, soft and haunting, her electric guitar carrying a clean, crisp sound with just a hint of reverb.
It was a song he didn’t recognize, one she must have written after their time together. It was different from anything he’d heard her play before—slower, with intricate, layered chords. Her fingers glided over the strings with precision, adding a faint vibrato that sent a shiver down his spine.
She started singing:
Many ships are lost within sight of the harbor
Love dampened under the depths of midnight waves
Millstone around my neck
