Page 45 of Beneath His Robes

I ran so fast, so far from the man I ached for.

Will I ever stop running?

I shut my eyes now, pressing my fingertips to my temples, trying to block out the memories. But they were too vivid. Too real. Ronan’s eyes had burned with something I could never forget.

A longing, a plea that I had never been able to shake. And the way his hands had felt against my skin—God, how could I have let go of that?

I wanted him. I knew I did. The ache in my chest had never gone away, even when I convinced myself I had buried it. But I couldn’t ignore the truth: I was a priest. I had made my choice. I had taken my vows before God.

But the thought of Ronan…of us…the way he had kissed me, held me, made me feelalivein a way I hadn’t felt in years. It was all I could think about now, even after all this time.

It would be so easy to give in and let go of my collar and everything I had worked for. I could walk away and be with him, let the passion consume me until there was nothing left but the two of us together…our own heaven in the hell we created.

But then, what would I be?

What would I be without my faith?

Without my calling?

The questions echoed in my mind, louder now.

What would I be if I gave into temptation?

What kind of man would I become?

Before I was a priest, I was a reckless mess, wild and untamed, broken from the past of the very man that barely held me together now.

I took a slow, steadying breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. The memory of Ronan’s touch, the taste of his kiss, was still there—still burning in the back of my mind like a brand that refused to fade. And in that moment, as I stood alone in the church, I knew that no matter what I chose, the fire between us would never be extinguished.

I couldn’t outrun him. Not completely. Not when I still felt his ghost inside me every second of the day.

Father Franklin had been right. I couldn’t deny what was inside me. I could only pray that, somehow, I would find a way to reconcile this war within my heart. But how? How could I reconcile the love I felt for Ronan with the man I had become?

I reached for the exit, my heart heavy with the uncertainty that clung to every step. But even as I stepped out into the cold night air, I knew one thing for certain: no matter how far I ran or how hard I tried to resist, Ronan would always be a part of me. And sooner or later, I would have to face that truth.

* * *

The trailer park was as rundown as I remembered—faded, dented trailers huddled together like forgotten souls, each one holding secrets I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear.

I hated this place.

I hated the way it felt like the world was suffocating here, the air thick with desperation. But there was no time for hesitation.

I parked my car, my mind racing. The call from my mother came through an hour ago. She said that Missis Saint Clare hadn’t been in good spirits since Ronan left, and for many reasons, it felt like my responsibility to see how I could help her.

I hadn’t seen her since the hospital.

She’d been frail the last time but chipper and talkative. She wasn’t like that. She was a bit too quiet, always too eager to avoid eye contact, as if the bruises on her face weren’t the only ones she was hiding.

I should’ve done something before I left. I should’ve noticed the signs. But there had been so much else on my mind. Ronan. His anger. His pain.

Now, I was here, standing in front of the trailer I barely knew from childhood. Ronan had always hidden this place from me.

I had been here a handful of times to pick him up for a day out or drop him back home from wrestling practice. It looked even worse than I remembered. The grass around the lot was brown and unkempt, and the yard was littered with cans and old tires. The trailer itself was sagging, the paint peeling from the sides like skin falling away from a dying body. I could see the care that Ronan tried to put into this place, but the small amount he did was just enough to keep it standing.

I knocked at the door, the sound sharp against the silence, but there was no response. I knocked again, harder this time, anxiety creeping into my chest.

Where was she?

---