Page 72 of Beneath His Robes

He was warm.

He was warm in a way that made my chest tighten with relief, yet it made my heart ache worse. I gently brushed a strand of dark hair from his forehead, my fingers lightly grazing his skin, but he didn’t stir.

His breathing was steady but shallow, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if he was even still here with me. There was a bandage covering his knuckles, showing how hard he fought.

“Ronan,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath, afraid he would blow away from me altogether if I spoke any louder. “I’m here. I’m here…I’m so sorry.”

I could feel the tears threatening again, but I fought them back. I had to be strong for him. I had to be. He needed me.

“I wasn’t there,” I continued, my voice breaking. “I should have been there. I should’ve…I shouldn’t have listened to you. I don’t know how this happened. But I swear to you, I won’t let them get away with this. I won’t let this break you, Ronan. Not when you are finally free.”

I didn’t know if he could hear me. I didn’t know if he even understood, but I needed to say it. I needed him to know that I wasn’t going to leave him to suffer alone.

I lowered my head, pressing my forehead gently against his, as if I could somehow transfer every ounce of comfort I had into him, if only for a moment. I willed God to let me endure his pain and implored him to let me bear the weight.

The guilt—It was suffocating.

It felt like it was suffocating me from the inside out, and I couldn’t shake it. I should’ve protected him. I should’ve known they were going after him after what he said to me. I should have warned someone to get him moved somewhere else.

I was careless and too focused on Miranda.

I failed him.

I failed his mother, and I failed her son. And now he was here, broken, fragile—too fragile for this world, for this life, for all of the cruelty it had thrown at him.

I pulled back after a while, my heart still heavy in my chest. I kissed his fingers, treasuring his warmth and reminding myself he was alive. I wanted to tell him everything would be okay, that he was safe now, but the truth was, I didn’t know if it would ever be okay.

How could he be okay after they took so much from him?

What had been done to him couldn’t be undone.

The scars would always remain.

I stayed there for what felt like hours, just sitting beside him, holding his hand, talking to him in whispers, hoping that somehow, someway, he could hear me. I told him about everything I hadn’t said before—the things I was too afraid to tell him, the fears I’d kept hidden.

I held all my dreams and fantasies so close to my heart, everything from our childhood to my conversations with the other members of the church.

I laid out my entire life.

I spoke of my guilt for the woman who died because of my actions and my carelessness. I told him how much I loved him, how much I needed him, how I couldn’t do this without him.

But most of all, I promised him something I wasn’t sure I could keep.

“I’m not leaving you, Ronan,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “No matter what happens, I’m not leaving you. Not again.”

I sat there, unable to pull myself away, even as the hours dragged on, even as the nurse came in to check on him and gently asked me to leave for the night.

But I couldn’t.

I wouldn’t leave him alone.

Not when he was like this, not when he was broken and vulnerable.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

I fell asleep with his hand linked to mine, my head resting near his. I needed to feel his warmth.

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