Page 71 of Beneath His Robes

I could barely feel my legs beneath me as I walked through the sterile hospital halls, dragging that damn stuffed deer in my grip. I couldn’t let go. It was my grounding point the moment Ronan was incarcerated, and now I needed it more than ever. The world around me felt distant, like I was moving through some kind of fog, each step slower than the last. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed with an almost mocking steadiness, indifferent to the chaos unraveling inside me.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t think.

Ronan.

Ronan had been hurt. Badly. The cop’s words, those brutal, crushing words, kept echoing in my head.

Assaulted. Raped. Brutalized.

My stomach twisted into a tight knot, and I wanted to scream. The images in my mind were unbearable. I could barely hold onto myself, let alone keep my composure long enough to walk to his room. The cop assured him he’d be safe. How could anyone say he would be safe after this happened?

The doctors said he was stable. I reminded myself.

But what did that even mean?

How could he be stable after that?

How could he be okay after what they’d done to him?

I felt sick. I wanted to run, tear down the halls, demand answers, do something—anything to fix this. But all I could do was follow the doctor’s lead, my feet heavy, my body betraying me with every slow step. I tried to hold the tears back, wanting to be strong for Ronan. I didn’t want to feel weak at this moment.

“He’s in here,” the cop said, his voice too calm, too distant.

I couldn’t focus on his face, the way his eyes avoided mine. All I could see was the room in front of me. The door cracked open just enough to see Ronan’s form. I stepped through it as if in a daze. The cop stayed outside, and my heart was already in my throat.

There he was. He looked so…broken.

I almost didn’t recognize him, the way his body lay still in the bed, the way the machines beeped quietly beside him, monitoring his fragile state. And those chains on his wrist, the handcuffs that locked him to the bed despite him being unconscious.

It made me sick.

I wanted to reach out and touch him, but my hands felt like they were made of stone. Every part of me screamed to do something, to make it right, but the reality was raw and cruel.

He was hurt, and I was helpless to save him…just like when we were kids.

He pushed me away with smiles and lies to protect me when it was always him who needed to be saved.

All the years of Jack’s abuse, Miranda’s ignorance, and society’s pressures…he did it all.

Alone.

And now history was thrown in my face. He was still fighting a losing battle where he took on the entire world. If only he would have let me in. I…

I hadn’t been there to protect him.

My breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t stop the sting in my eyes and hold back the tears that blurred my vision anymore.

How had we gotten here?

How had this happened to him?

Why were people so cruel?

I walked toward him slowly, my heart aching with every step.

His face was bruised and swollen in places, and his lips cracked. His eyes were shut, like he could erase the world around him and hide behind his eyelids. I almost couldn’t bear to look at him, to see how much pain he’d endured. But I forced myself to move closer, my hand trembling as I reached for his.

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