Chapter 24 Ronan
Ronan
“Looks like this is it,” Wes announced, pulling into the small gravel parking lot.
The car shuddered to a stop, the sound of crunching stone fading into silence.
I stared out the window for a long moment, at the iron gate ahead with its simple arch of letters—St. Dymphna Cemetery.
The name felt heavy on my tongue, though I didn’t say it aloud.
The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and flowers in through my rolled-down window.
I didn’t move until Wes cut the engine. The world went quiet, the hum of the car dying away, leaving only the soft rattle of leaves.
“You don’t have to get out right away,” Wes said gently. “We can take our time.”
I nodded, fingers tightening around the door handle. “I know, but I’m ready.”
The air outside was cool as we stepped out of the car.
Gravel crunched beneath my boots as we made our way toward the rows of headstones. The grass was neatly trimmed, with patches of late-autumn flowers tucked into vases here and there. Someone tended this place, kept it alive, even when the people it holds are long gone.
Wes stayed a few paces behind me, quiet. I was grateful for that. I didn’t think I could have spoken even if I wanted to.
It didn’t take long to find them. The headstones were small but clean, four in a row—my mother, my father, my brother, and my sister. Their names were carved deep, the letters smooth under my fingertips when I knelt. Someone had left fresh white daisies on my mother’s grave. I wondered who.
There was an open space next to the graves, as if it were waiting to be filled. It wasn’t marked, but I could tell it was for me.
My throat tightened, burning with emotions. “They didn’t have any extended family or anything,” I murmured. “No one left to claim them. But the people from town… they raised money to bury them here. Made sure they weren’t just—left there.”
Wes stepped closer, his shadow falling beside mine. “That was kind of them.”
“Yeah.” My voice cracked.
I brushed a bit of dirt off the base of the stone, tracing the etched date with my thumb.
Wes knelt beside me, close but not touching. He let the silence breathe between us, unhurried.
“They didn’t deserve what happened,” I whispered.
“No,” Wes said softly. “They didn’t.”
The chilly breeze stung my eyes. I blinked, though it didn’t help much. “You have no idea just how many times I’ve thought that I should’ve died with them. It felt unfair to be kept alive.”
Wes turned his head, eyes sharp. “Babydoll, no…”
“It’d have been easier.”
“Maybe. But you wouldn’t have met me,” he said quietly. “And you wouldn’t have gotten to make it right.”
I exhaled shakily, staring at the names. I laughed softly. “I was going to try to get you to kill me,” I confessed, making his eyes go wide.
“What?”
“I couldn’t kill myself. So when I was assigned to you, I met you and realized how different you were from my other marks… I decided to try to get you to kill me, like in self-defense, you know?”
A broken noise left him. “Oh, Ro, baby. I would never hurt you.”
I smiled at him, warmth filling my chest. “I know that now. And even at the beginning, after a while, I knew you’d never do it.
But also, I stopped wanting it. I started thinking about a life with you, and how that would look.
Christmas markets, maybe getting a cat together, celebrating birthdays, going to more of those fancy restaurants you kept dragging me to. ”
Wes wrapped his arms around me, and I nuzzled into the space between his neck and shoulder.
“I love you so much,” he murmured.
The words settled against my skin as I breathed him in. “I love you too.”
When I finally pulled back, I reached into the pocket of my coat and felt the small, smooth weight there. The stone had been in my hand since we’d left the house, but I hadn’t been ready until now. I turned it over between my fingers, tracing the uneven letters I’d carved myself.
Andreas Hoff.
Wes noticed immediately. “What’s that?”
I looked at the space beside my sister’s grave—the one that felt like it had been waiting for me all along—and set the stone down there, pressing it into the cold dirt. “A marker,” I said quietly. “For someone who isn’t here anymore.”
He stayed silent, eyes on me.
I sat back on my heels. “Andreas Hoff died the night my family did. I used to think maybe I could go back, find pieces of him, but… I can’t. He’s gone.” I drew in a slow breath. “Elias gave me the name Ronan, and I used to hate it because it came from him. But I don’t anymore.”
Wes’s brows furrowed. “You don’t?”
I shook my head. “He might’ve given me the name, but he doesn’t own it. I do. I’ve lived with it, bled under it, survived with it. And I’m not giving it up. I’m going to keep it and make it mine.”
A small smile tugged at Wes’s mouth. “Ronan fits you,” he said softly.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice rough. “It does.”
I looked down at the small stone one more time, at the name that used to be mine, and for the first time, I didn’t feel like it was a weight dragging me backward. It was just… part of the past. Something I could leave here with the rest of them.
Then I looked back at Wes. “There’s one more thing,” I said. “I want to change my last name.”
He tilted his head, curious. “To what?”
“Cohen.”
For a moment, he didn’t breathe. His eyes widened slightly, and then softened, something breaking open in his expression. “Ro…”
“I don’t want to be a Craig anymore,” I said, the words firm. “That name was his. It was a chain, and I’m done wearing it. I want yours.”
He swallowed hard, his hand trembling a little as it reached up to cup my face. “You mean that?”
I leaned into his touch. “I do. I want to be Ronan Cohen. If you’ll have me.”
Wes let out a shaky laugh that was half sob, half joy. “You have no idea how much I want that, babydoll.” He kissed me, slow and careful, and when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine. “Ronan Cohen,” he whispered like it was something sacred.
I laughed, a few tears threatening to fall from my eyes. “Fuck it kinda rhymes.”
Wes hugged me, the smile on his face blinding. “You can’t take it back now. Not allowed.”
Wes’s laugh rumbled against my chest, warm and grounding and everything I’d never had before I met him, and for a long moment I just stayed there—buried in his arms, surrounded by wind and silence and the faint rustle of leaves.
It was the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty, just full of things too big for words.
When we finally stood, the sun had started dipping lower, a pale orange bleeding through the trees. The shadows stretched long across the grass, over the stones, over the small one I’d placed myself.
I stared down at it and felt something settle deep in my chest. Not peace, exactly, but a kind of stillness. A knowing.
“Goodbye, Andreas,” I murmured. “You can rest now.”
We walked back toward the path slowly. I could feel the weight of everything behind me—the years, the hurt, the ghosts—but it didn’t feel like it was chasing me anymore. Just… following, the way memories do.
When we reached the car, I looked back once more. The daisies on my mother’s grave caught the light, glowing faintly in the fading sun.
“Do you think they’d be proud?” I asked.
Wes didn’t answer right away. He turned to look with me, thoughtful. “I think,” he said finally, “they’d be glad you lived. That you fought to come back from it. That you didn’t let him win. I think they’d be very proud.”
My throat tightened again, and a tear slipped down my cheek. “I hope so.”
Wes leaned in, brushing a kiss against my temple. “I know so.”
I smiled faintly, resting my head against his shoulder for a heartbeat before pulling open the car door. The gravel crunching again under our feet as we climbed in.
“Thank you for coming with me. I wasn’t sure about coming alone, driving here by myself.”
“No, thank you for sharing them with me. Next time, though, remind me to bring flowers.” Wes smiled, resting his right hand on my thigh.
Outside the window, the cemetery gate slipped past us, and I felt the weight lift from my shoulders.
Because Andreas had finally been laid to rest—
And I was finally free to live.