Page 73 of Beneath His Robes

The nurse returned shortly after, soft-spoken but firm, asking me to step back for a moment so they could adjust Ronan’s pain medication. I didn’t want to leave his side, but I knew I had to go, for now, at least. I was just happy they stopped asking me to leave the hospital.

I reluctantly let go of his hand, feeling the loss of warmth and the disconnect. The room felt colder once I moved away, with the sterile white walls pressing in, making breathing harder.

I had spent so much time trying to protect Ronan and shield him from the pain of the world, but it felt like all of it was slipping through my fingers now. It was like everything I had worked for had been undone in one brutal moment.

I stood by the window, staring out at the dim light of the street beyond, trying to gather myself. The weight of the situation crushed me from all sides.

How could I have not known?

How could I not have seen what he was going through?

The questions circled around and around, and the more I tried to answer them, the more I just spiraled deeper into this pit of guilt.

But I couldn’t let myself fall apart—not here. Not now. Not when Ronan needed me. He needed me to be strong.

My eyes moved back to him, still so fragile, so still, as if everything he had been through had drained all the life from him.

I wanted to shout.

I wanted to demand the world make sense again, to turn back time and undo what had been done to him, but I knew it wasn’t possible. I knew that even if I could scream at the top of my lungs, it wouldn’t bring back the safety and security he had lost.

I didn’t accept that the prison couldn’t locate the men who hurt him. I wouldn’t accept the negligence of that entire rotten hell.

I sat back down beside him, my chair creaking under my weight, and gently took his hand again, my fingers brushing against the roughness of his skin.

“I’m here,” I said quietly, my voice hoarse. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His fingers twitched slightly, and for a moment, my heart skipped a beat.

Was he waking up?

I leaned closer, searching his face, but his eyes remained closed. Still, the small movement of his hand gave me a shred of hope. Maybe he could feel me. Maybe he could hear me.

I had told him everything.

I had told him how much he meant to me, how his strength had been the thing that had kept me going for so long. How the mere thought of him made my heart beat faster, made everything—no matter how dark—feel like it might be okay, eventually.

But now, all of that seemed so fragile.

He had been broken, and I wasn’t sure if he would even want me anymore.

He had been hurt in ways that cut deeper than…anything. And I had no idea how to fix that. How to make him feel whole again.

“You’re stronger than you think, Ronan,” I whispered, barely audible, my breath shaky. “I know you are. We will get through this. I know we will.”

But deep down, I feared that no matter how much I said it, no matter how much I told him he could fight through it, the scars of what he had experienced would remain. They would follow him, no matter how many promises I made.

He couldn’t hear me right now. He couldn’t answer, but I had to believe that somehow, somewhere inside him, the Ronan I knew—the one full of fire and who never let anyone see him break—was still there.

“I’m not leaving,” I repeated, my voice steadying despite the storm inside me. “I’m here, Ronan. I’ll stay with you through this. Whatever happens.”

The silence in the room was deafening, but I didn’t mind it. It gave me the space to think, to process everything that had happened in the hours since I’d arrived. But as I sat there, watching Ronan sleep—recovering from that hell—I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting back to what he must have gone through. The pain. The terror.

And the helplessness he must’ve felt.

I leaned forward, my forehead resting against his hand. I had never felt so useless in my life, so powerless to help someone I loved so much. But I refused to give up on him. I wouldn’t let this break us. I wouldn’t let this breakhim.

The hours dragged on. The world outside felt distant, as though nothing existed beyond these sterile walls, beyond the low hum of machines and the quiet rustling of nurses and doctors.

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