Page 31 of Yesterday I Cared
I want to fight back, argue that he somehow deliberately kept this information from me, but he’s right. I was the one who forced him to keep stuff like this from me. I was the one who wouldn’t answer his texts or social media messages. I was the one who, for the remainder of that trip to Indianapolis, would walk the other way whenever I saw him approaching.
If I had talked to him all those years ago, maybe things would be different between us now. Maybe I wouldn’t be finding out about an accident that almost took his life years after the fact. Maybe I would have been there to support him throughout the recovery instead of seeing the effects that still linger.
And maybe…maybe the two of us would have been something more. Maybe we’d at least be friends. There are a whole bunch of maybes in there that I will never know the answer to and the only person to blame for that is myself.
“I need to focus on Emmie.” Ronan’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. When I look at him, he’s still not looking at me. “We can talk about this some other time, if you want, but not today.”
Another dismissal.
“Yeah, right, of course.”
This time, I listen and turn to walk back down the length of the pool to head out. I peek back at him over my shoulder, but he’s pointedly not looking at me each time. Clenched jaw, narrowed eyes, and stiff posture all focus in on the pool. Guilt rises from the pitof my stomach. I shouldn’t have pushed him to share something he obviously wasn’t ready to share.
This information doesn’t magically fix what happened between us back in Indianapolis, but it does answer a lot of my questions. Questions I probably don’t deserve to know the answer to after the way I’ve treated him.
Mostly, I’m angry at myself for letting one bad experience cloud my judgment to this extent. Just because I knew we’d never work out doesn’t mean I should have immediately assumed he was cheating based solely on rumors and his silence. I have to do something to make things at least a little right between us.
I’m standing in front of Ronan’s condo the next afternoon. It’s exactly what I thought it’d look like; all natural colors and sleek, clean lines before I even step through the door. It screams rich bachelor pad. It’s some place I would normally feel completely out of place in, but my own guilt, and kindness had won out. I need to make things right between us—at least in terms of his retirement and my feelings around that.
Yesterday I caught a glimpse of the Ronan I knew, and I want to acknowledge that man and all the things he’s gone through. Part of me knows that, deep down, he’s still the guy everyone warned me about, and that’s the side I can stay mad at.
Because there’s still this huge thing between us. Although we’re ignoring it. Our relationship will never be the same—but the reaction to his sudden retirement is on me. I could have asked Bryce or Carter for further information. I never took the time to reach out to him, either, too worried the past would be brought up. I’m thereason I didn’t know about the accident because he didn’t owe me an explanation.
I let everyone else get inside my head. Let a reputation replace a part of him I knew in my heart—
The door swings open to reveal Ronan standing in the doorway, a wave of shock running straight down my spine. Suddenly, I’m back in Charlotte, North Carolina ten years ago and this man had caught me in his arms. He looks so much like the Ronan I knew back then—shirtless, Olympic rings tattoo visible on his forearm, sweats low on his hips, dark hair a damp mess, and green eyes that look straight into my soul.
“What are you doing here?”
It’s not asked in a harsh or unwelcoming tone, which I deserve. Instead, it shows his surprise. While he’s not mad to see me on his doorstep, he’s hesitant about why I am.
My eyes flick from the tattoo that flexes as his grip on the door shifts and focus on those eyes. The eyes that make me feel like I’m floating in a calm pool every time I—Focus, Mia. “I made you bread.”
His brow arches as I awkwardly hold the pan out to him. He presses his lips into a thin line, like he’s fighting to keep in a laugh. My cheeks are aflame; he makes no move to take it. “Glad to see the baking stuck.”
Yet again, Ronan is blowing my mind by remembering the smallest detail about me. Baking has always been an outlet, but I never had the chance to actually share that with him. We’d talked on the phone several times while I was baking and told him my favorite recipes, but this is different. And I think we both know it.
I grin smugly up at him. “And I’ve gotten better. Trust me, you don’t want to turn this down.”
“And you didn’t poison it?”
Now it’s my turn to laugh, which seems to help him relax slightly. “Do you think I’d tell you if I did?”
“Good point.” He stares down at me, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to figure me out. I wonder if he’s trying to find the girl he knew, the one who hadn’t been hardened with heartbreak and disappointment. Does he miss that girl? Sometimes I do. He opens the door wider. “Well, come in. Someone has to help me eat it and it can’t be Lezak.”
He doesn’t wait for a response before turning and heading back into the condo, leaving the door open behind him. I only hesitate for a second before I follow him, shutting the door with a soft click, and toeing my sandals off right inside the entryway. Ronan’s 6’6” height allows him to move much quicker than me. I manage to catch up quickly and step into a large, open concept kitchen.
My jaw drops open.
This kitchen is wasted on someone like Ronan, at least the version of him I knew. I would kill for a space like this, even if the overall slick, shiny bachelor style is not something I’m into. Still, it’d only take a couple of cosmetic upgrades to make this the kitchen of my dreams. Before I know it, I’m lost in the daydream of all the dishes I could create here—baking or cooking. I can envision the house parties I could host and the holidays a space like this would allow for. Except, this will never be my space and the man in the room with me will never be the one I share such memories with.
“What kind of bread is it?”
I startle at his voice, having momentarily forgotten he was there. I set the pan down on the spacious island. “Cinnamon swirl.”
He sets two small plates on the counter before handing me a knife. “You should do the honor of cutting it. Can I get you something to drink? I can do iced coffee.”
Icedcoffee. He remembers my hatred for hot drinks and is willing to make me something specific. At least there’s hope we can talk through this part. The rest of it, though, will take longer. I smile at him. “I’d appreciate that.”
