by L.H. Cosway
I heard him take a deep breath before he said, “You asked me for help; you asked me what to do, and I want to help you.” He sounded solemn, like he was making me a promise. “If you really love this guy, then this is what I think you should do…”
Chapter Twenty-Two
@ShellyKeeling08: @RonanFitz Have you read New York’s Finest today??!?!
@Starryeyes: @RonanFitz I just read the blog post and my heart is bursting at the seams <3 <3 <3
@Jennybabes45: @RonanFitz If you don’t love her back, I swear I’ll punch you in the testicles.
*Ronan*
I was going to end up wearing a hole in the rubber; I knew I was. The screen on the treadmill read twenty-two miles; the calories I’d burned were well into the thousands. I was even starting to feel lightheaded. I knew it was Tom when I heard the front door open and somebody step inside because he was the only one with a key. Ma and Lucy had long since gone home, and, despite the fact that Ma had been getting on my last nerve, I kind of wished they were still here. It would make my heart feel less alone.
My heart that Annie was destroying.
How a person could be so afraid of rejection that they’d give up the potential for true happiness boggled my mind. We were finished. I was done…but my fucking heart still held out hope, making every breath feel like someone was stabbing me with a thousand needles.
Tom came into the room and stood watching me for a minute. Then he walked up to the treadmill and told me I had five seconds to get off before he pulled the plug out. I didn’t savor the prospect of face-planting on the rubber, so I reluctantly slowed my run and stepped off. My entire body was dripping with sweat, and my muscles spasmed in a way that said I’d overdone it. Tom handed me a towel.
“I have to be honest, mate—you look like shit.”
“Not sleeping and an overabundance of lactic acid will do that,” I deadpanned and went to knock back a bottle of water, emptying it almost all in one go. I’d been functioning on less than three hours sleep a night.
“And having your heart broken,” Tom put in.
I scowled. “Piss off.”
My phone pinged with yet another notification, but I ignored it. I’d been ignoring it for hours now, too stubborn to face the world. Annie didn’t want me. Well, she didn’t want me like I wanted her. That was the only fact I could handle right now. Any online bullshit could wait.
“Have you spoken to her?” Tom asked, wincing at my harsh response.
“Yes.”
“And…?”
“And nothing. I’m moving on.”
Now, if only I could convince my heart of that. This pain was worse than any injury or beating I’d ever had to endure.
“Moving on to what? Tying up women like Brona and letting them sell their story to the highest-bidding tabloid? You were famous before all this, but now everyone knows who you are. You can’t go back to the way things were.”
His tone put me on edge. “I never said I could. And why are you here anyway? Don’t you have work?”
He paced and continued talking, ignoring my question. “I’ve even had photographers hanging around the restaurant, you know. It’s verging on ridiculous. And I came because I give a fuck. Look what happened the last time you lost the plot—you nearly killed that prick Sean Cassidy. I’m here to make sure you don’t go down the same road again.”
“Jesus, Tom, that was a completely different situation. Who do you think I’m going to hurt? Annie?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it.”
I was about to throw back some cranky retort when my phone started buzzing and I recognized Lucy’s ringtone. She was the only person whose calls I never ignored, so I went to pick it up.
“Lucy,” I answered.
“Oh, my God, bro, have you been online yet this morning? Have you seen it?” Lucy began, her voice positively bursting with emotion.
“I’m taking a break from online, Luce. What is it?”
She let out a worried sigh. “So you haven’t seen it. Okay. You need to go onto New York’s Finest right now and read the latest post. Crap, why didn’t you tell me about any of this? Why didn’t you tell me who Annie really was?”
What she said had me moving through the penthouse at warp speed and searching for a computer. “There wasn’t a right time.... How the hell do you know?”
“Quit asking questions, and just go read her post. Call me back when you’re done.” She hung up, and I finally found my laptop. My heart pounded, the anticipation killing me as I waited the fraction of a second for the page to load. Then it was finally on the screen, and I felt my skin prickle as I started to read.
New York’s Finest
Blogging as *The Socialmedialite*
April 22
LADIES AND GENTS! I have an announcement!
You know that guy I featured on my blog a few months ago? The really, really hot Irish rugby player who plays the position of “hooker” in the RLI (Rugby League International)? The one with the anger management issues, the body of a gladiator, and the face of a movie star? The one with the questionable fashion choices, leading me to ask whether he was the lovechild of a leprechaun and a hobbit? Ronan Fitzpatrick? Yeah, that guy.
Well, I have a confession to make…. I'm in complete and total foolish love with this man. I love him more than Dara Evans loves stealing baseballs and candy from children, or clubbing baby seals and turning them into coats. I love him more than Sean Connery loves talking about Scottish politics while living in Southern California with a llama. I dream about him; I miss him when I don't see him; and I want to spend the rest of my life trying to get him to eat ice cream and ruin his diet.
I don't care if he wears toe-shoes...okay, that's a lie. I need to talk to him about the toe-shoes, but even if he did continue to wear the toe-shoes, I'd love him anyway. He is the strongest person I know—and the kindest, the bravest, and the most generous. And I've pushed him away because I was too afraid of being seen. I was too afraid of being known. I was too afraid of deserving and needing someone, but it's too late. I need him. I need Ronan Fitzpatrick. And fuck, damn, shit, hell—I deserve him.
I love him more than my fear. I love him more than my safety and my peace of mind. I love him more than I value my common sense. I love him more than being anonymous.
So...there it is. I've just committed social media suicide (and maybe professional suicide), but I don't care. I would rather crash and burn in the flames of courage than sit in the comfortable, lonely shadows of air-conditioned cowardice for another second.
<3 The Socialmedialite
AKA Annie Catrel
“Holy fuck,” Tom swore as he read over my shoulder. “Your girlfriend has a pair of balls on her, that’s for certain.”
I was still in too much shock, the words on the screen blurring my vision; otherwise, I would have given Tom a wallop for insinuating the woman I loved possessed testicles. But okay, metaphorically speaking, she did have a pair. My heart beat faster than my brain was moving, and considering my brain was racing faster than Usain Bolt on steroids, that was saying something.
After everything that had happened, I’d lost all hope. I didn’t think Annie was ever going to give us a real chance, and now I had one hitting me square between the eyeballs. That’s what the article was about, wasn’t it? It was her saying she was all in; she was saying “come and get me” in the only way Annie could.
I thought of the implications of what she’d just done. We’d narrowly escaped her being exposed as The Socialmedialite when her laptop was stolen, but now she’d come out of the proverbial virtual closet. She’d signed off as Annie Catrel, and the media was going to be all over it. All over her.
I had to find her.
Quick as a flash, I was out of my seat and pulling on my boots, rummaging in my coat pockets, trying to find my car keys.
“Hey, hold up, mate,” said Tom, placing himself in front of me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
&nbs
p; “To find Annie.”
“Not right away, you’re not. Maybe sit down and take a breather for a minute, yeah?”
“I don’t want a breather. I need to see her,” I said and tried to push past him. Unfortunately for me, Tom was a tall fucker, and my head was all over the shop.
“This woman means the world to you—I can see that—but I’m sure she’s feeling pretty delicate right now. Such a big confession will do that to a person. Maybe wait ’til you’ve both had time to process. Otherwise, you might fuck things up worse than before.”
I lost some of my steam as his words took root, my brows furrowing in frustration. I had fucked things up with Annie the last few times I’d seen her. I’d pushed her. Then I pushed her away. And fuck if she didn’t just push me back.
“And anyway, you need to shower before you go anywhere,” he said and steered me in the direction of the bathroom.
Before I knew it, I was standing under the spray, drowning my need to see her in hot water and soap. What Annie had written was running through my head in a loop. I already knew that she loved me; the struggle was in getting her to admit it, both to me and to herself, and now she’d just told the whole world. I couldn’t believe how much everything had changed in such a short amount of time. I was still wondering if this was a dream. Yesterday I was comatose, heartbroken and depressed beyond measure. Now I couldn’t stop grinning as I punched my fist into the air in victory.
Yeah, that’s right, I just victory-punched, butt-naked in the shower.
I just loved her so much I felt I was going to burst with it.
I’d been wrong. She was so fucking brave. I was going to kiss her all night once I got my hands on her just to show her how proud I was. Shit, I’d buy her a thousand roses and a shop full of éclairs in appreciation of her bravery. I knew it had taken everything for her to do what she’d done.
Screw Tom. I was going to find her right now.
Five minutes later, I was dressed and out the door, Tom calling after me to wait. He might have been taller than I was; but I was faster and sneakier, and I managed to make it to the elevator before he could catch up. Before I knew it, I was burning rubber on the road to Annie’s. I found myself with one hand on the steering wheel, the other at my mouth as I chewed half my fingernails off with nerves.
The last time we’d spoken, emotions had been running high for both of us. I’d said things I shouldn’t have said. I just hoped that what she’d written meant she’d forgiven me and it wasn’t just some way of coming clean to the world about who she really was.
No, that definitely wasn’t it. If it were, then she wouldn’t have included all the stuff about loving me.
When I got there, I had to park across the road from her apartment building because there were vans and cars blocking half the street. Curious. I got out and strode across, only to see the paparazzi crowded around the door to the lobby when I got closer.
Fuck.
I was about to turn around and get back in my car because if I approached them I’d be swamped in seconds; but then I heard her, and my heart exploded.
“Please, let me by. You’re crushing me,” Annie demanded, and my feet were moving again, my hands balling into fists. Those fuckers had clearly caught her leaving the building and had pounced like a pack of ravenous wolves.
“Socialmedialite, tell us why you came clean?”
“Annie, have you spoken to Ronan yet?”
“Did you write the post to win him back?”
They all threw questions at her, one after the other in a never-ending stream, cameras flashing rapidly, the lights blinding. She must have been terrified, though she was hiding it well; she’d lifted her chin in defiance. There were at least thirty of the fuckers, all surrounding her. When I reached them, I began pulling them back one by one. It only took a moment for them to recognize who I was because seconds later the cameras were flashing at me and questions were being thrown in my direction.
They cleared back a little when they saw the murderous look on my face, and when I finally got to Annie, I found her against the wall, clutching her handbag, her eyes wide as she tried to hide her fear. They’d cornered her away from the door so she couldn’t get back in after she’d left. The moment her eyes connected with mine, I saw a myriad of emotions flash across her face, the most powerful of which was relief.
“Ronan,” she breathed as I took her into my arms, shielding her from the horde. I ran my hands down her face to her neck and then along her body, an all-consuming instinct to check if she’d been hurt.
“Are you all right?” I asked, my voice coming out in a growl since I was so pissed. One guy was hovering over my shoulder to try to get a shot, and I felt like hitting him, making an example to the rest of them to back the fuck up.
Annie brought her hands to my chest, and I looked down to see they were shaking, her eyes wide and flickering between mine as if to ask, What have I done?
She seemed a little bit out of it, so I repeated my question. “Annie, answer me. Are you all right?”
Swallowing hard, she finally found her voice. “I’m okay, just a little…surprised. I didn’t expect them to find me so quickly.” She sounded stronger than I expected, and it made me proud.
“Fucking parasites. Come with me. Just stay close, okay?” I said, ducking down to meet her eyes.
She nodded, the fear she’d been holding at bay starting to bleed through. “Okay.”
Taking her hands, I pulled them around me so she was holding onto my waist. Then I placed her firmly under my arm and began leading her through the crowd.
“Back the fuck up,” I warned any pap who dared get too close. They all did as I instructed.
A couple of minutes later, we were at my car, questions still being thrown at us about our relationship, about Annie being The Socialmedialite, about whether or not I knew all along. I reached across her and opened the door, using my body as a shield to keep them at bay as she climbed in. Once I had her secured, it was easier for me to get around to the driver’s side, probably because I had no qualms about pushing and shoving people out of the way.
At one point, a short guy grabbed me aggressively by the shoulder, and I swung around, temper flaring as I gripped his collar with one hand and clenched the other into a fist, ready to punch. When I saw the look of sheer terror on his face, all my anger drained out of me. He was just a person trying to do a job. Yeah, he was a parasite, and he was going about it all the wrong way; but he didn’t deserve a beating. None of these people did. I had zero respect for how they chose to make a living, but I wasn’t going to waste a single ounce of anger on them anymore. It wasn’t worth it.
I was sure there’d be some stories circulating the next day about how I’d manhandled a photographer, but I didn’t care. My goal right now was to get Annie away from here and somewhere safe. They could crucify me all they wanted.
Their shouts were muted only when I climbed in the driver’s side and slammed the door shut. Annie had her phone in her hands, scrolling through her messages. It looked like she was doing it as a means of calming her nerves rather than because she actually needed to check them.
“Joan called and asked me to c-come into the office,” she said, her voice breaking up a little. “I didn’t realize they were all outside until I’d already left, and then they blocked the door so I couldn’t get back in.” The final part was whispered, and something inside me snapped.
“Fuck,” I swore and pulled her into my arms, kissing the top of her head. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
“It’s my own fault,” she muttered, her face pressed into my chest.
“No, it isn’t. Anyone with a shred of human decency should know it’s not right to corner a woman all alone like that. Those pricks could have really hurt you.”
“I’m okay,” she sniffed. “But I think I should maybe take some self-defense classes.”
I laughed lightly and then let out a long sigh. “Look, I’m going to get us away from here. T
hen we need to talk. If I stay here any longer, there’s a good chance I’ll get out of this car and deck someone.”
Annie only nodded silently in response, and I started the engine. I drove in the direction of Davidson & Croft, stopping a few streets away when I saw a rare parking spot. Once the engine shut off, silence filled the car, and I didn’t know what to say first. I was still trying to find the right words when Annie broke the quiet.
“So, you read my post?” Her voice was so small that I almost didn’t hear her.
I turned my body to face her. “Yeah.”
It was clearly a struggle, but she forced herself to look me in the eye. I was surprised when her voice became demanding, fierce as she prompted, “And?”
“Hilarious, as always,” I answered affectionately, and she frowned, biting her lower lip, looking upset as she glanced out the window.
I heard her mutter, “Crappity, crap, crapper. Fuck a duck and smack a rapper….”
Trying not to laugh, I leaned forward and caught her chin in my hand, bringing her attention back to me. “It was also the bravest, most honest thing I’ve ever read, and I don’t feel worthy of the sacrifice.”
“But I love you,” she said far too loudly for the inside of a car, her eyes big, then rushed to continue, “I wanted to show you I was all in, and I didn’t know how else to do that, to make you believe it. So I gave up my anonymity. There’s no going back now.”
I stared at her for a long time as a smile shaped my lips. “You sound so frightened, love.”
“I am frightened. I’m terrified. But I’m not only frightened. I’m…I’m angry with myself for leaving you in Ireland and not giving you a chance, giving us a chance. You deserved better. We both did. And I’m angry with you for not giving me a chance to explain last night. But I understand why. But I’m still pissed. But I forgive you, and I want you so much. I love you.”
This last bit made me smile like an idiot. “She loves me….”
“Yes. She loves you. And she wants to marry you, and part of her is still afraid you’re going to change your mind—and now I’m talking in the third person because I’ve been going crazy and I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours.”
