Ringer by C.J. Duggan Read Free Book Online

I will put sugar in your fuel
tank; do I make myself clear?”
    Ringer’s jaw clenched, any trace of humour
drained away with my threatening words. I had finally found his Achilles heel:
his beloved Ford.
    “My mistake.” He nodded in a gentlemanly
manner.
    It was almost like my ego had been stroked
as I took it as a small victory. I nodded in return before spinning on my heel
and heading back to my door.
    “Of course, in order to call you that, you
would firstly have to have a heart.”
    I stilled, turning towards him, dumbfounded
that he was still talking. My eyes locked with his.
    “And as for the former,” he said, pushing
off from his doorframe, “there is nothing sweet about you.”
    Before I could even take in his sledge, he
had walked into his room and slammed the door behind him.

 
     
    Chapter Nine
     
    Ringer
     
     
    I thought at
first I was hearing things, then as I pressed my ear to the wall the very
reality hit me like a ton of bricks.
    No-no-no-no-no. Fuck!
    Miranda was crying.
    A soft sob that made my shoulders sag in
defeat; never before had I felt like such a giant arsehole. I hadn’t even
gotten a great amount of satisfaction in baiting her like I should. She was
obviously planning to leave for a reason; something had obviously gone down bad
enough for her to want to be away from her family, so bad that she resorted to
sleeping next to me.
    Definitely rock bottom.
    I should have just walked straight up to
the bloody car, asked if she was okay. Instead of getting my back up every time
she was around me. Sure, she didn’t exactly bring out the best in me but that
gave me no right to accuse her of having no heart, because listening to the
whimpers next door, regardless of her icy façade, she had feelings. I made a
mental note to just be a bit more … thoughtful in the light of day.
    Ah, Christ, I felt like shit.
    I ran my hand through my hair, pulling away
from the wall; I started pacing hoping that the distance from it would leave me
unable to hear it. No such luck.
    Even standing over the opposite side of the
room, I could clearly hear her crying, as she became more distraught and
consumed by emotion. It was clear; I was getting no sleep tonight. The guilt
wouldn’t let me. At first she tried to contain her sound, but now it seemed
like it was the breath hitching, sobbing kind of tears, and they were the
worst. Harder to control, impossible to ignore.
    Please, please, anything but tears. Be a
bitch, treat me like dirt, and make my life a nightmare. Just. Don’t. Cry.
    I sat on the edge of my bed, my head buried
in my hands as a war raged inside of me. I blew out a long breath and lifted my
head, staring at the thin wall that divided us.
    Fuck!
    Before reason or logic could come flooding
into my mind, I stood and made my way to my door. I made no effort to creep
around or worry about being heard, I let the full force of my footsteps be
heard on the decked floor. And as I came to stand directly in front of her
door, I inhaled deeply, praying that she would insist she was fine and tell me
to go away.
    I knocked lightly on the door.
    “Miranda?”
    I knocked a second time, this time harder,
met by silence. I knocked for a third time, harder still.
    “Miranda, are you okay?”
    “Go away,” she croaked.
    “Listen, I just want to say … I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for what I said.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    “I am, I didn’t mean it … I just, wasn’t
thinking.” Every word came out of my mouth stagnated and wooden; it was as if
apologising was such a foreign thing to me, but thinking about it, it wasn’t
something I did, well … ever.
    “Sure, easy to say sorry to a door,” she
scoffed.
    I closed my eyes, praying for the strength;
here I was debating my authenticity at some ungodly hour through a door, trying
to comfort some princess. I counted to three, reminding myself to be more
‘thoughtful’.
    “Fine, I’m coming in,” I called out.
    If it was the last thing I would do, I
would