Chapter 21 Ronan #2
My chest heaved. “But—you know now. You know, and you’re going to hate me and leave me and—and—”
“Shh, babydoll,” Wes soothed. “I’m not going to leave you, not going to hate you. I just want to know what happened. He forced you, didn’t he?”
My stomach twisted, but I gave a stilted nod.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured. His thumb stroked the side of my throat, grounding me, even as his words hollowed something out inside me. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
I shut my eyes, shaking my head before the memories could come. But they did anyway—flashes of blood, of light too bright, of shouting I couldn’t place.
“He… he said that if I shot them, he’d let me and Henri and Lia go. He said that he wouldn’t hurt us if I did it.”
Wes didn’t move his hand. He kept it there, steady, holding me in place like I’d fly apart if he let go.
I continued whispering, “Mom and Dad—they told me it would be okay. They told me to do it, and that they loved me so—” My voice broke, and tears welled up in my eyes. “—so much.”
Wes murmured, his own voice rough with emotion, “Oh, doll. They did. I know they must have loved you more than anything.”
My throat burned as teardrops slid down my face. “It was horrible. I didn’t want to, I didn’t—”
“I know. I know you didn’t, and I’m so fucking sorry.” He hesitated, then bent forward, pressing his lips against my temple. A tear dripped from him onto my cheek, mixing with my own despair.
“Dad was f-first. He looked so brave. He looked me in the eye and nodded. Mom was crying, but she kept telling me that it was okay, that she knew I had to do it. I thought—I thought that after her, it’d be over.
That my siblings and I would probably be left for the police to deal with, and then maybe we’d go to the hospital or something. I—” My sobs overtook my words.
Wes’s grip tightened slightly, just enough to keep me grounded. “Shhh, I’m here, Ro. It’s alright. It’s not your fault.”
Something inside me cracked open—fear, grief, guilt, all tangled into something that felt too big to contain. I turned my face into his thigh, breathing through the ache in my chest as his thumb traced slow, reassuring circles against my skin.
“We’ll get revenge for them, baby, I promise,” he said.
“He—he promised he wouldn’t hurt them,” I sobbed. “He promised, Wes. He promised.”
“I’m so sorry,” he choked out.
“Two of his guys were standing behind my family, one behind me and Elias. It was only a few seconds after Mom—the men they—they shot them at the same time—”
Wes held me as I cried.
Pain bloomed beneath the bandages until I could barely breathe. I turned my face into his leg, clutching at his thigh like I was trying to keep myself anchored to something real. Every sound that came out of me was excruciatingly raw.
“It’s okay,” Wes whispered, over and over again, his voice shaking but sure. “You’re okay, Ro. You’re okay, babydoll. Let it out. I’ve got you.”
It wasn’t just Elias. It wasn’t just the house, or my parents, or Henri and Lia. It was everything.
It was twenty years of pretending I didn’t care, of pushing down every memory that hurt, every bleeding wound that never healed. It was every moment I’d forced myself to smile, to flirt, to act like I hadn’t spent half my life barely living but waiting impatiently for death.
The pain, the confusion, the grief—all of it broke free, like the dam in my head that I’d erected to keep me sane, to survive, had finally cracked open.
Wes didn’t move. He just held me—his hand still firm on my neck, his other arm curved protectively over my shoulder, his thumb brushing slow, grounding circles into my skin. His breathing evened out, like he knew I needed something solid to match mine against.
At some point, I lost track of time. The world narrowed to the sound of my own crying, the rasp of my breath, and the warmth of him beneath me. My body shook so hard that it hurt, but still, he didn’t let go.
I don’t know how long I cried. Long enough for my throat to go raw, for the tears to run dry, for my body to finally give in to exhaustion. When the sobs faded into uneven gasps, I felt the faintest pressure on the back of my head—Wes’s lips, soft and unhurried.
His fingers moved back into my hair, combing through it slowly. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Just breathe. You did so good, Ro. So fucking good.”
I wanted to tell him not to say that, that breaking apart like that didn’t feel like it was good, but the words wouldn’t come. I was empty—wrung out and dizzy and barely holding on.
After a while, his hand left my hair, brushing instead over my temple. “You need some water, doll,” he said gently. “And you’ve gotta eat something, then take your meds.”
I shook my head faintly. “Don’t go.”
He smiled softly, a little sad. “I wasn’t gonna. But someone’s gotta bring it in. You want me to get it, or let someone else come in?”
“Stay,” I whispered.
“Okay.” He pressed another kiss to my hairline. “I’ll stay.”
A few seconds later, there was a quiet knock at the door. Wes didn’t move his arm from around me. “Come in,” he said quietly.
Footsteps padded into the room. I didn’t look up. I didn’t want to see whoever it was, didn’t want to leave the small, safe space I’d built in the curve of Wes’s body.
I heard the faint clink of glass, the rustle of plastic. Then Wes’s voice again, low but steady. “Thanks, Grey.”
No answer. Just the sound of the door shutting again, soft as a sigh.
Wes exhaled and looked down at me. “See? Didn’t even have to move,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along my jaw. “Now, let’s try to get you a drink, yeah?”
I didn’t answer, but when he reached for the glass, I turned my head slightly toward the sound, trusting him to guide me.
“Love you,” I murmured shakily before placing my lips on the rim of the glass.