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His forehead wrinkles as he looks around, unconvinced.
“Everything is fine,” I assure him as I move into the room. Sitting Shiloh down on the bed, I sit on the corner, watching Ronan check every nook and cranny. “Why am I so important to you?”
Ronan freezes for a moment before tucking his gun back in his pants. Finally. “I’ve been told to keep you safe until they can rule out your involvement,” he says simply as he looks me dead in the eyes. I stare at him for a little longer, the silence sitting heavy on our shoulders as Shiloh rubs his head against my arm, his gentle purr settling my racing heart.
That doesn’t make sense. I know it doesn’t make sense. Yet, things revolving around my parents rarely ever did. Did they make sure that I would have protection in the event that they passed? Were they in trouble when it happened, and now I’m in danger? Was their death even an accident?
I didn’t allow myself to think about it in the days after finding out they had died. In fact, I don’t let myself think about them much at all. To me, my parents are just people who I spent a lot of time with growing up. I don’t have a significant emotional attachment to them, and although I always wished them well, I knew that was a battle I would never win. Having them respect me. Having them be good people.
I knew what they did. I knew what they were capable of. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes, burned in my memory.
I never wanted to be them. I never wanted anything to do with it.
But for the first time, Ronan has me considering what their deaths mean. I haven’t spoken to them in a long time, and I doubt they’d ensure I’m protected even while alive. I’m positive I wasn’t left anything, either. The most I was bothered to do was show up to the funeral, and even then, Adam and I were only there for a little while. I bounced the first chance I got, which was clearly not my finest decision.
There’s some sort of freedom in that, right? In knowing that you’re not your past. That when it came down to it, no one can use you as an example of nature versus nurture. You chose peace. You chose to be an exemplary person.
You chose the safe route.
“I’m going to stay out on the couch,” he tells me as he turns, his eyes narrowing just slightly at Shiloh, still sitting comfortably in my arms, purring away.
I shrug, heading into the bathroom for a shower.
THREE
RONAN
Sydney iseverything I thought she would be. Annoying, entitled, and hard to work with.
Jerry’s feelings about her aside, Sydney’s cushy life shouldn’t irritate me as much as it does. But looking around her apartment, seeing all the luxuries she’s had in this life splayed about, I can’t help but feel a nudge of irritation for my friend who had nothing.
I settle into her couch, sinking into the cushions. It’s like sitting on a fucking cloud. Despite all the money we have now, our couch isn’t even this fancy.
The walls are wrapped in a silver, textured wallpaper, and I can’t help but wonder if she asked to put it up. If that’s even allowed here, or if she just simply doesn’t care about damages or her security deposit.
Because it was a large deposit. She pays a lot to live here.
Hearing the shower turn on, I look at my phone, letting myself settle a little bit. I’ve been on high alert all night, and I just really want to sleep. Something I know isn’t going to come easy, if at all.
Despite my distaste for her, something is interesting about Sydney. Something that draws me to her. I think it’s just the mystery. Why would someone completely write off their parents and then go to the funeral? She didn’t seem comfortable. Instead, she was unhappy and hapless.
But she knew people there.
I watched from the corner as she schmoozed with some of her parents’ top clients. Some big politicians. I’m not even sure she knew who they were exactly. Old family friends, distant family. They were all together, talking like her parents weren’t responsible for thousands of lives lost. Many of whom were innocent. Many who only ever wanted to do good in this world.
I don’t blame her for not doing something about it. The fact that she didn’t seem to ride her parents’ coattails is probably one of her only redeeming qualities. But I want to know why.
There has to be a reason, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.
My phone vibrates, and I sigh, instantly knowing who it’s going to be.
Are you with her?
“What do you think?” I mutter, rolling my eyes as I answer her.
Yes, I’m at her place now.
Getting up from the couch, I head to the kitchen for water. I know which cabinet her cups are located in already, but I use the time to snoop, opening each one and looking for anything suspicious. You’d be surprised where rich people decide to hide important things.
