Page 18 of Thanks for Coming Along

"Nice to meet you, Ingrid," Ronan said softly to the closed door. He turned his head and met Eden's gaze, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Tonight was fun. Thanks for humoring me." Eden beamed, her captivating eyes locked onto his. Then, a mischievous spark danced in her gaze. "Thanks for coming along. I'm Eden Percy, and this is BNN. Goodnight," she said in a deeper voice, mimicking his BNN sign-off. He was taken by surprise for a brief moment, but then a hearty laughter burst out of him. There was a surge of exhilaration in his veins, knowing she was familiar with his work on BNN. It was strange to think that she had watched his broadcasts.

"Seems like fun follows you wherever you go. See you tomorrow, Eden," he said, sharing a momentary gaze with her before heading towards the front door. His heart felt lighter, and his mind was remarkably clear for the first time in months.

As he closed the front door, he heard Ingrid say, "I was looking at his butt. How did the pants know?" Eden's laugh was cut off once he fully closed the door. He stood outside the door briefly and ran his hand through his wet hair. He was royally fucked. He looked down at his clothes, realizing he had to ride his motorcycle sporting hot pink sweatpants and a glitter-accented "Spice Girls" shirt.

11

Ronan

Ronan sat on a bench, waiting for his granddad. They’d planned to meet near Pasadena, close to the festival where he was supposed to film with Eden later that day. His eyes wandered to the pond in front of him, watching ducks glide lazily across the water.

His mind wandered to the night before; never in his five years as a journalist had he allowed himself to be so...unprofessional. He’d never let himself get too close to the people he interviewed. Hard lessons had taught him to keep a safe distance.

Still, his mind drifted back to a family he’d met in Egypt. He’d walked into their home and felt an immediate connection, something rare and unexpected. But when he returned the next day, they were gone—vanished without a trace. The house was empty, abandoned. Ronan never found out if they’d fled some looming danger or met a tragic end. A part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that their disappearance was somehow his fault, and that thought haunted him for months.

It was just one more layer of guilt, stacked high on a career full of them. Each layer felt like a chapter in a heavy book, dense with regrets. And though he wasn’t sure if he could rewrite what was already written, he was slowly learning to face it, one page at a time.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he glanced down to see a call from his boss, Mr. Lopez.

"Good morning, Mr. Lopez. How are you today?" Ronan greeted.

"Hey Ronan, I'm good. Just wanted to touch base with you. How's it going with Eden?" His boss maintained his usual friendly tone. "I know she wasn't thrilled about the big documentary crew. How's it working out one on one?"

"Yes, we both felt that one on one is more intimate. It's progressing well," Ronan replied.A little too intimate.

"I trust your opinion, Ronan. Whatever you think will lead to the best documentary, follow it." Mr. Lopez stated. The way Ronan was going would likely lead to his imminent death but a damn good documentary.

"Besides that, how are you holding up? I know it's been hard adjusting since Yemen." Ronan had been fortunate; BNN had granted him an extended break following his last assignment. It was time that he desperately needed to get back to normal.

"Better. It's been just over 8 months now, but I'm still taking it day by day," Ronan replied to his boss. "How is Bobby?" He couldn't resist asking about Bobby, his colleague who had been injured in Yemen. He hadn't found the courage to speak to Bobby directly, so he often relied on others to gather information. A persistent guilt still gnawed at him, a sense that he was responsible for Bobby's life-changing injury. After all, he was in charge of the team, and one of his crew members got injured on his watch.

"He's doing well, spending time with his family. I think he misses talking with you," Mr. Lopez mentioned. Ronan felt a sharp pang of guilt. He knew it was unfair that he hadn't spoken to Bobby, but he still couldn't bring himself to do it. Facing him was something he wasn't ready for just yet.

"Oh, hold on a second. I've got Jackson Foster breathing down my neck. Do you want to talk to your old cubicle buddy?" Jackson Foster had started at BNN around the same time as Ronan and shared a cubicle with him during their first few months at the network. They had remained friends over the years, occasionally meeting for coffee or dinner when Ronan was home. Jackson had rapidly ascended the ranks and now anchored one of BNN's prime-time shows.

"Yeah, put him on," Ronan responded.

"Murphy, what's up, man? It's been a while," Jackson's smooth voice echoed over the line, carrying his distinct southern accent.

"Nothing, Foster. I've just been watching your prime time slot and self-flagellating myself," Ronan replied with a small smile.

"Crazy, I've been doing the same with your interviews. So what's this I hear about the Eden Percy documentary? How on earth did you score that?" Jackson's voice conveyed a hint of incredulity.

"Pity, more or less." There was a snort from Jackson on the other end of the line.

"So, when are we catching up? I haven't laid eyes on you in almost a year besides through my TV screen." The last time Ronan had seen Jackson was just before his Yemen assignment. Their friendship had always been easygoing, founded on their mutual passion for journalism.

"Soon. I've been working on getting back to my old self." And he had been, slowly. His therapist had told him healing takes time, and he was living proof of that.

"Well, that's good to hear. We've always got a spot on 'Jackson Foster 24/7' if you ever feel like spit-shining my shoes. Maybe even feeding me grapes while I read my cue cards," Jackson said with a smile in his voice.

"Over my dead body, Foster. I'd rather eat my own shoe for lunch," Ronan replied.

"Still the same old odd duck, I see. On a serious note, I could genuinely use your help behind the scenes. I'm taking a railing from the BNN executives, and your insights on international affairs would be invaluable," Jackson's voice held a hint of seriousness.

"I'll consider it. I'll get back to you once I wrap up my current project." There was no way Ronan was going back overseas, so working with Jackson's team would be a promising next step for him. Ronan heard the telltale sounds of his Grandad's feet shuffling behind him before he saw him.

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