Page 58 of Thanks for Coming Along

"How else should I scare the living daylights out of myself? And deal, Vegas, with an Elvis impersonator," she agreed, her arms raised above her head. He quickly slipped the oversized sweatshirt over her head. It swallowed her, the arms hanging way too long, covering her hands, and the sweatshirt's body falling to her mid-thigh. She was swimming in it, and he couldn't help but marvel at how adorable she looked.

"You could always stay another night at the clown motel if you need a good fright," Ronan suggested with a shrug of his shoulders. "I heard Bozo misses you."

She shivered at the thought of the clown-infested motel.

"The eyes looked so real," she muttered softly, her gaze distant as she was absorbed in memories of the clowns.

He swung his leg over the window ledge and slid sideways on the sill, leaning his back against the sturdy window frame. "Don't worry, I'll protect you from the clowns," Ronan assured her in a soft, reassuring tone as he extended his hand towards her.

"My sweet prince," she said, playfully patting his cheek. With a smile, she accepted his hand.

Turning her gaze towards the window, she looked out at the flat roof covered in terracotta shingles. Ronan's other hand found its place on her hip over the oversized sweatshirt.

"Be careful," he whispered, his voice a gentle murmur, "the shingles might be slippery." In response, she squeezed his hand.

He supported her as she climbed over the ledge onto the roof. She took a few small steps and settled down in the middle of the roof. Ronan swung his other leg over the ledge and carefully made his way over to where she sat. The darkness enveloped them, broken only by the twinkling stars above and the distant sound of chirping crickets. He settled down beside her on the warm terracotta shingles, feeling the heat retained from the day's sun.

"I used to sit out here almost every night as a kid," he reminisced, "It's just so peaceful. I would sit and listen to the crickets." The backyard was still the same as it was ten years ago. The surrounding trees stood tall, their branches casting shadows on the roof. Leaves rustled with a soft breeze, and the air carried a subtle smell of salt from the nearby ocean.

"Yeah, I had a place like that as a kid," Eden responded with a wistful smile, her eyes scanning the stars in the sky. "I used to walk to Summit Rock in Central Park. It's one of the highest points in Central Park, so I'd climb to the top and sit up there for hours. It's one of the few quiet places in the city." As she spoke, the moonlight projected a soft, silvery light in her eyes. Ronan reached for his backpack, unzipped it, and revealed a bottle of white wine he'd taken from his parents' bar cart while she was in the shower.

"Look what I found,” Ronan said, presenting the bottle to Eden in a Vanna White fashion, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Wow, I feel like we're back in high school. Did you swipe it from your parents' liquor cabinet?" Eden asked with a playful glint in her eyes.

Ronan chuckled as he cracked open the screw top of the wine bottle. "My high school self would be over the moon to havethecool girl over at my house. My 'mathlete' crew wouldn't believe me."

"A toast," Ronan said with a small smile, continuing their tradition of toasting before every drink. He handed the bottle to Eden, who accepted it with a smile of her own. "Here's to cheating, fighting, stealing, and drinking. If you cheat, may you cheat death. If you fight, may you fight for a sister. If you steal, may you steal a heart." He recited the words, his gaze fixed on Eden's eyes as he handed the bottle to her. "And if you drink, may you drink with me."

"Cheers," she said, her voice soft with emotion. Her eyes locked onto his for a moment before she raised the bottle to her lips and took a sip. With a gentle hand, she passed the bottle back to him.

"Your family is beautiful, by the way," Eden murmured, her head tilted to the side, resting on her bent knees. The sleeves of his oversized sweatshirt hung over her hands, making her seem even smaller in the dim moonlight. Her gaze lifted to Ronan. "They're so welcoming, Ronan. I can see both of your parents in you. Your dad's sense of humor, your mom's kindness, it's all reflected back into you."

Her eyes wandered off for a moment, lost in thought. Then, they returned to him, her gaze softened.

"You talk about me to them, huh?" Eden said with a teasing smile, and Ronan felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. He hadn’t expected his family to say so much—especially making it sound like he was obsessed with her. Okay, maybe there was some truth to that, but he didn’t plan on her finding out this soon. He thought he’d have more time to prep them before they met her, but clearly, his family didn’t play it cool.At all.

"Yeah, just a little bit," Ronan replied with a casual shrug, his lips twitching upwards. She retrieved the wine bottle from his hand, taking a casual swig before recapping it and stowing it away in the backpack. Then, she handed him the camera.

"It's time," she said, prompting him to set up the camera. Ronan attached the stabilizer to the camera to avoid shakiness due to his nerves.

"It's time to talk about my parents," Eden stated, and Ronan nodded in response, switching on the camera. As he did, he swallowed hard, attempting to moisten his dry throat, feeling the weight of nervousness lingering in the pit of his stomach.

"I grew up on the Upper West Side in one of those old brownstone apartments with the fancy crown molding. The place had all this ultra-modern furniture, but honestly, I never got why it had to be so uncomfortable. It's like they just wanted to show off how rich they were by making sure you couldn't relax. The floors were this cold, white Italian marble."

She paused for a second, a cloud crossing her face as she thought back. "One of my first memories is accidentally spilling paint on that marble floor. My father lost it. He was so angry, he locked me in my room for twelve hours until school the next day. No dinner, no bathroom breaks. I was six." She shook her head a little, her voice shaking with the weight of the memory. Ronan couldn't help but inhale a shaky breath as Eden shook her head, her gaze sad as she looked up at the stars again.

Eden’s voice softened as she spoke, “By the time I was eight, my parents would leave me alone for days, usually on business trips. Our apartment was close to Central Park, so I'd walk down and cross the street by myself. I'd wander around the park, looking for them, not even realizing they'd left me behind.” She let out a small, bitter laugh. “My dad was totally against hiring any staff or babysitters. I guess he didn’t want anyone around who could see how messed up everything really was. So, I just lived on peanut butter sandwiches for days because I had no idea how to cook.”

She trailed off, her gaze distant as her thoughts drifted back to those years.

"By the time I was ten, they were still going on trips, but I stopped going to the park to look for them. It was honestly better when they weren’t around." Eden paused. "It's crazy to think that, at ten, I could see my parents for who they really were."

Her gaze shifted far away, lost in the memories that seemed to pull her in. "My mom," she went on, her voice quieter now, "had really bad mental health issues. She’d lock herself in her room for hours, barely able to get out of bed. I’d make her peanut butter sandwiches just to make sure she ate something. Otherwise, she wouldn’t eat for days."

Her hand found his ankle, gripping it tightly like she needed something to hold on to.

"My dad was the one I learned to avoid at all costs," Eden said, her voice low and steady. "He had this rage inside him, always ready to explode. One wrong move, and he'd yell at me until he was out of breath. My mom... she just let him do it. She let him tear her down every day. Eventually, when I got old enough, I started getting the same treatment."

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