Page 27 of Formula Dreams
And suddenly, Iwantto look.
“Okay, I have an idea then,” I say, letting my words hang for a bit.He stares back at me.“You’re down a friend, the whole Lex-and-Posey fallout.I’ll graciously volunteer to be your friend.”
His skepticism is evident.“Aren’t you supposed to be meeting Nash and Lex for dinner right now?”
I wave a hand at him.“I canceled when I saw you walking in here.You looked like a better adventure.”That earns me a half smile—barely there, but real.It softens his face, and for a second, I wonder if I imagined it.
“Don’t need a friend,” he says, lifting his glass, “but I do have manners… next beer’s on me.”
I beam a smile at him, the kind that dares him to call me relentless.“Excellent.Tell me about the call you got right before we did the checkout scene today.”
Ronan blinks, then frowns like I’ve handed him a math problem wrapped in barbed wire.“Are all Italians as nosy as you?”
I lean into the bar slightly, nudging his elbow with mine.“I’m not nosy.I’m a concerned friend.”
He doesn’t respond right away, but I see it—his posture shifts, the slight stiffening in his shoulders.I know he heard me sayfriend.I also know that word is probably like foreign currency in his world.
“It was your mum you were talking to?”I press, gentler now.
It’s a guess, but his tone got me thinking.I expect denial, especially when that “Go to hell” look flashes across his face.
But to my surprise, he doesn’t throw up a wall.Instead, he blows out a breath and mutters, “Yeah… she’s… needy.”
He saysneedylike it means more than he lets on, like it’s a placeholder for everything he doesn’t want to say aloud.
A couple of locals laugh over by the dartboard, but I don’t let my attention stray.“I heard you tell her she shouldn’t be drinking.”
He exhales again, a tired, hollow sound that tells me more than his words ever could.“Yeah.”
I wait.
Ronan stares at his glass, then finally speaks.“It’s complicated.Has been for a long time.”
“Your entire life?”I ask.
“Actually, no,” he says, his voice clear but distant.“She started drinking and doing pills—prescription stuff—when I was about eight.Before that… all good memories.Beautiful ones, even.”
I feel a painful tug inside.The way he saysbeautiful—like it’s a ghost that visits sometimes but never stays.My heart clenches, because I can’t even imagine.My parents are stable to the point of boring.Sure, they might argue over wine but always end the night sitting close on the couch.
“It sounds like you take care of her,” I say.
He nods, slowly.“She lives in a house—estate, really—near Woking.My father bought it for her.They’re still married, technically, but he lives in London with his mistress.”
I whistle softly through my teeth.“Wow.That’s some family drama there.”
“Welcome to the Barnes’ legacy,” he says, and though I hear bitterness, it’s resigned.
I let my eyes roam over him.He’s stiff with tension like he’s waiting for me to judge him.
But that won’t ever happen.“Has she ever tried to get sober?”A nosy question, but he seems to think we Italians don’t know how to mind our own business.
Ronan grimaces as if the words taste bitter.“Unfortunately, rehab never seems to stick.”
I turn slightly toward him.“I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head.“Don’t be.She doesn’t hit me or set the house on fire.She just calls at the worst times and says things I’ll regret letting myself hear.”
“That’s a lot to carry around,” I say.If I didn’t think he’d freak out… I’d give him a hug.
