Page 115 of Edge of Unbroken

“What do you mean?”

“She left. Last night some time. I don’t know when. I don’t know where. She’s just… gone.” I can hear in his voice how upset he is.

“What happened?” I ask, eliciting a deep sigh from him. Man, I wish I was there with him.

“God, everything is so fucked up, baby.” I can envision him raking his hand through his hair like he does when he’s overwhelmed or frustrated, when his emotions threaten to drown him—unable to express them because he never was allowed to do so safely.

“Just tell me, sweet boy.”

He groans. “Ugh, we got into it yesterday.”

He tells me about the conversation he had with his dad yesterday—his mother’s newest way of tormenting Ronan—how Miranda found him, that he had too much to drink. I swallow hard when he gets to the part about Miranda coming on to him, when she tried to convince him to have sex with her. That by-now-well-known little monster in my chest blinks its eyes open, perking its head up. It does that whenever Ronan mentions Miranda in passing. It growled angrily when he told me Miranda had snuck into his room one night and crawled into bed with him, despite Ronan’s heartfelt reassurances that there was nothing going on between them. He may have been truthful about not having any romantic feelings for her, but he was obviously wrong about her intentions.

“Nothing happened, baby, I promise,” he says, his voice pleading.

“I know,” I respond quickly. “I trust you.”

“I told her she didn’t actually want me; that she was just trying to fill a hole in her life, and she kept arguing with me, saying she loved me, that she had loved me for a long time. And she asked me if I had ever loved her. And I honestly don’t know. So, she asked if I ever felt for her the way I feel for you now…” He trails off, his voice heavy.

My heart skips a beat. “What did you tell her?” I close my eyes, anticipating his response. I’m not sure what I want his answer to be, and honestly, even if he said he loved her when they were together, what matters is that he loves me now.

He pauses. “That I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you and that I would never feel that way ever again,” he says with such profound conviction that my heart threatens to break apart.

I’m at a loss for words, unable to speak.

“But I told her that didn’t mean I don’t care about her; it’s just not in the way she thinks she needs me to. She said I was abandoning her, baby. And then I fucking let her drive away. She was so trashed. We both were. Fuck….” he says, choking on his words. “When I woke up this morning she was gone. No word about where she was going. She just left me a letter.”

“What does it say?”

“I can read it to you if you want.”

“Only if you’re comfortable.”

“I have nothing to hide, baby.”

I can hear paper rustling. “Okay, here goes,” he begins, and reads Miranda’s letter to me.

Ronan,

God, I don’t even know where to start, other than with: I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what came over me yesterday. I could blame it all on the alcohol, I guess, or the fact that I went to see my dad in the morning and things turned out, well, terribly, like they usually do. But the truth is that all of that would just be an excuse, and I know my behavior was inexcusable. I’m so sorry for hijacking your emotions when you were already so on edge. You’d had a terrible morning. I knew you were working through heavy stuff, and I did nothing but add weight onto your already heavy shoulders. It was so selfish of me.

I could also say that none of the things I said meant anything, but that, too, would be a lie. Everything I said yesterday, even though I was very drunk, was true. I do love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids. And when we finally got together, I felt happier and more complete than ever before in my life. Even though we’re so different in so many ways—hot good boy versus equally hot bad girl—I feel bonded to you. I know it’s because of our shared experiences with crappy ass parents.

But what is also true is that I know you’re fighting a war. I know how hard you’re working to heal from everything your mom did to you. And I know how much you love your feline. It’s so obvious that she’s everything to you. The way your eyes light up when you talk about her, the way you smile when she comes up in conversation, the way you say her name like she’s a poem written only for you—she’s so lucky to have you.

Regardless of how I feel for you, though, I should’ve never told you. I shouldn’t have put you in a compromising position where you had to take a defensive stand because if you hadn’t, you would’ve allowed me to fuck up what you have with Cat, which, I know, is the very last thing you would ever want. It was selfish and disrespectful, and I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to be another person in your life you can’t feel safe with, and it hurts my heart to know that I’ve abused that trust you had in me to be gentle with your soul. The sad thing is, though, that I can’t guarantee I’d never put you in that position again because… well, I love you, and the heart wants what it wants. I can’t truthfully say that my head always wins over my heart. In fact, most of the time the opposite is true—it’s another thing that sets you and me apart—especially when I’m around hot good boys.

So, I have to go. I meant it when I said I can’t be around you. It just hurts too much. And it’s too risky because I might end up doing something to hurt you in some way. I don’t want to hurt you. So, I’m leaving Montana.

But Rony, please know this: you’re not to blame for my feelings. You didn’t do anything to lead me on (other than, holy shit, why are you so fucking hot? And why do you have to be so damn good). You’ve made it clear that we’re just friends, and you’ve made it even clearer that your heart belongs to your feline. I just need you to know that I’ve felt this way for you for a very, very long time and so I’m telling you not to feel bad for your inability to reciprocate. It’s okay. It really is. This isn’t your fault. You’re amazing, smart, kind, fucking hilarious, and have I said hot? If not, GOOD FUCKING GOD YOU’RE SO DAMN HOT. If I was your feline, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off your tight body. Okay, that’s probably just the residual alcohol talking.

So here are some parting thoughts for you, which you should definitely take to heart because I’m older and wiser than you: your mother’s a bitch. She always was a bitch. The things she told you were lies. She fed you bullshit all your life. You deserved none of the things she did to you. She’ll pay for it one way or another. You are good, Rony. You are worthy, Rony. You are strong, Rony. You are enough, Rony. And… have I mentioned how hot you are? It’s okay to be vulnerable. You don’t have to be so fucking strong all the time. Honestly, you should cry sometime. Just try it out. See how it feels. It’s kind of a nice release. Keep trucking. I know you don’t see it or feel it, but you’re coming along. Remember what I told you: talk about the shit you went through. It doesn’t feel great in the moment, but it chips away at the burden and slowly but surely, you’ll feel the pain ease. The people who love you are in it for the long haul. You’re not alone.

Please don’t worry about me, okay? I’m a big girl. I know how to rough it in the real world, and I promise not to do the thing you told me not to do. I know it freaks you out. And please, please don’t try to call me because I will ignore your call. If I need you, I know how to find you.

I love you, both in a romantic and in a non-romantic kind of way. I mean that. You’re loved, Rony. More than you will ever know.

Randi

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