Page 38 of Beneath His Robes

I should have felt like a hunter, but all I felt was the cold distance between what I had done and what I longed to do.

I couldn’t look at him any longer.

“I should have taken the shot sooner,” I whispered, my voice rough, barely more than a breath. “We’ve lost enough time.”

He looked away, walking over to grab the legs of the deer. His words were colder than the freezing air. “Yeah. We have.”

* * *

The warmth of the house surrounded me, thawing my body from the harsh winter outside. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the smell of the cooking venison filled the air. It should feel comforting and like home, but everything felt off. The table was set perfectly, and my family’s voices and the house’s background noises hummed as they talked about the day’s events, but I couldn’t focus on them.

All I could think of was Ronan, sitting across from me, just a breath away, and everything that we couldn’t forget in the forest.

The weight of what happened between us in the woods still pressed on my chest as if I were being stoned. I could feel the phantom hint of his lips on mine, the memory of the kiss that nearly undid everything.

It’s too much to carry and keep buried beneath the surface.

And yet here we were, sitting at the family table, trying to pretend that nothing was different.

Nothing had changed.

But we knew better.

I glanced up, trying to make it look like I was engaged in the conversation, trying to follow my father’s latest story about the hunting trip he took that ended with the burnt meat.

However, all I heard was the sound of my pulse in my ears, all I could see was Ronan, his face unreadable, his jaw tense, flexed like when I was beneath him on the pine.

He was picking at his food, not really eating.

Neither of us were.

Our appetites had burned for a different type of hunger.

We were trapped in that moment, stuck between the past we’d run from and the impossible present we now found ourselves in.

“Eli, how’s your priestin’ duties been?” my father’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I was startled by the question. My eyes flicked over to Ronan before I answered.

“Fine,” I muttered, my voice flat.

I tried to sound casual, but I couldn’t escape how Ronan looked at me like he was waiting for me to say something, explain anything, and make this better. But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t fix this.

Not now, not with them watching…maybe at all.

I tried not to let my gaze linger too long on Ronan, but my eyes betrayed me, flicking back to him almost immediately. He returned my gaze, but his expression was neutral, carefully guarded by his years of denial, and perfectly fitting into society.

I tore my eyes away, focusing instead on my plate, pushing my food around absently.

The silence only grew, heavy with everything unsaid.

“So, Ronan…” my mother said, trying to break the awkward silence. “You’ve grown so much since we last saw ya. What ya been doin’ in that fancy city?”

Her voice was kind and welcoming, but I couldn’t bear the tension in the air.

My chest hurt, my stomach twisting, as I remembered the last time she saw him—when everything between us was simpler. Back when Ronan and I were just two boys, innocent in our love for each other, unaware of the pain that would come later.

“Uh, I’m a mechanic,” Ronan replied, his voice a little too tight. He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was trying. I could see it.

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